The Purist.
If you've taken classes in architecture, chances are good that you've had one-- a professor that wears all black, writes exclusively in the upper-case, and cannot (read CANNOT) to tell you enough about the importance of f o r m . To be fair they've probably forgotten more things about architecture than I've ever known so they deserve respect in their own right. Nonetheless, I have a bone to pick: I was taught about color, but I was never shown. Or maybe I was never encouraged, I can't tell the difference.
The list of acceptable materials for our models was as follows: brilliant white museum board, preferably with the laser-burnt edges sanded off to restore the whiteness; cool gray or, if you were feeling a little saucy, warm gray chipboard; virgin, unprinted cardboard sheets of uniform thickness; light basswood sheets and basswood sticks (for when you simply must operate outside the realm of planes).
If you'd skipped that paragraph, I wouldn't have blamed you. I'm sure reading it was about as boring as working with such sterile materials. The point of using them is to get an appreciation for only the mass and void, the infamous form, of the design, but the end result is lackluster in one of the fundamental ways in which we experience the world: color.
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