Houses Stranded on a Grid

Architectural Association

[2012-2013] Fifth year project

Diploma Unit 8 - Corporate Domain

unit master: Eugene Han



To see the book, clik here



Born in the trauma of their own dislocation, these houses casually inhabit the grid,
drifting just like every one else, looking for who they are.





dip8project

The House That Wants to be City Hall

is really small. Modestly conservative, it manifests her suburban paranoia in her formal ambitions. Like one in twenty Americans, she owns a Thomas Kinkade artwork. Hers is about one of the original franciscan missions, furnishing her lot like an ancestor's portrait. There she stands, proud in spite of the neighbors, showcasing her mediterranean pedigree. Her history which never was, but always will be.





dip8project

A model of the House That Wants to be City Hall




dip8project

Senna Maria Novela

She moved to Beverly Hills. She moved because it was obvious to her that she'd age well there. She thought her facade could pass for pop, be cool. She has a swimming pool and a tennis court. Behind appearances she secretly enjoys the company of saloons, billboards, night clubs, not very recommendable buildings. Just like her, they are superficial ones, false fronts. Relationships never lasted.




dip8project

A Model of Senna Maria Novela




dip8project

Senna Maria Novela's friends




dip8project

The Tuscan-Revival Spanish Colonial Mission Style Dingbats

They are the illegitimate children of a Beverly Hills Alberti. Clapboard looking like marble, they seem to be pretty acceptable for Los Angeles. A blind date at Liquid Kitty, on Pico, is where they came from. If things go bad, they can still be a night club, maybe. Someone's gotta like pin-striped buildings.




dip8project

Genealogy of a Dingbat




dip8project

Genealogy of a Dingbat




dip8project

The Dingbats as Process




dip8project

A model of the Tuscan-Revival Spanish Colonial Mission Style Dingbats [front]




dip8project

A model of the Tuscan-Revival Spanish Colonial Mission Style Dingbats [back]




dip8project

The Kinkade Craftsman Wall House and the House of the Architect

The Kinkade Craftsman Wall House was once a bungalow, not far from the beach. When the oil derricks arrived things didn't go well. He was left pretty damaged. He put up a wall to remind everyone of were she came from. Or at least what he wanted to think he came from. Now the facade of the house is a painting by Thomas Kinkade. The house can be entered from the door on the painting, on the first floor. The ground floor is not there anyway, the car butchered it into a dingbat.

The Architect's house sits in slight disdain. It is not so impressed with what's going on, or perhaps it is overwhelmed. In any case, it finds relief in the finitude of its own nine square grid. The certainty is like a shelter, the diving board completes the square.




dip8project

The Kinkade Craftsman Wall House and the House of the Architect [back]




dip8project

The House That Wants to be Wilshire Boulevard

used to be a house in Hollywood. She was 'the' house in Hollywood, in its day, the sign of the architectural bonanza of Los Angeles, its own desire to conquest space, the greed, the lust, and the abandonment. A desire so big to push it over the cliff, suspend it over the city like a Camera, forever exposed, prisoner of its own image.



dip8project

The House That Wants to be Wilshire Boulevard

dip8project

The House That Wants to Be Wilshire Boulevard, drifting away

One day, she could take it no more. She jumped in the Sedan DeVille, and left Hollywood for good. Together they looked like a million dollars, in 1969.


dip8project

The House That Wants to Be Wilshire Boulevard, in Playa del Rey

She had a vision, up there when she finally set foot at the top of the hill in Playa del Rey, and looked down upon the sea.

dip8project

Under the House that Wants to Be Wilshire Boulevard

This would be a place where some of the crossing would stay, that feeling of not looking back.

Sitting like a tripod, as it would best suit a photographic house, here the Stahl House could finally be the House that wants to be Wilshire Boulevard.

Just like every one else, in her own dislocation, her own crossing, her own trauma, laid who she was.

Or who she thought she was going to be.

One more fold in discourse, one more piece of L.A.

Language, just casually repeating itself.