As architects, we have a predisposition to reimagine the things we’ve seen so many times before — visualize the geometry, the construction of the fold, the mechanics of the curve. Materiality in form is only as limiting as we allow it to be.

Here are photographs from the long closed pedestal at the Statue of Liberty, looking up  at the fluid geometries of the copper drapery built around a hidden armature of this 305-foot-tall structure.

Views of the Statue of Liberty brought to you by Alanna Jaworski.


The beautiful thing about Architecture, about design in general, is that you get to immerse yourself in a problem…
and take it apart in your mind,
and put it back together in a way
that allows something as ugly as an attic vent to be celebrated.

If this is what a mechanical vent can become, imagine what can be done with a whole building on your canvas…

Views of a copper mechanical vent in Park Slope, Brooklyn brought to you by Tim Jagisch.



When I think of copper, I hear sounds of hammers rhythmically shaping pots and pans and samovars by the hands of the coppersmiths in the dimly lit back alley souks of my town; I can picture the dull reflection of the sun on the jugs and vases as they turned in their hands, indented designs appearing like cuneiform poems on the red surface; I can see young women adorning themselves with thin copper coin belts getting ready for a wedding dance.

Now copper tells me of a man who once intoned, “Four score and seven years ago….”; it tells me of the tinkling of pennies dropped into the tip jar at Dunkin Donuts when no one wants to carry the tiny coins in their purse. But copper has mostly become cladding and counterflashing skirts in my imagination… and a giant copper clad lady near Ellis Island.

View of a copper facade brought to you by Shukri Sindi.