Mimi Zeiger

Critic, editor, curator and instigator.

Fans of Pin-Up, the gold-covered New York-based publication that mixes architecture and bondage at will, will be pleased to note that it comes out of a long line of magazines, available via the mail but not necessarily naughty. Mimi Zeiger is a self-described “old zinester,” who printed the first issue of her zine about architecture, loudpaper, as a graduate student at the Southern California Institute of Architecture. It was her graduate thesis, and she printed it on paper from de-commissioned maps and put a picture of Elvis on top. More recently, Zeiger added an online component,  her blog; now she is re-visiting zine history with A Few Zines, an exhibition that opens tonight at Columbia’s Studio X.

Upon its publication in 1996, loud paper joined Lackluster, Infiltration, Dodge City Journal, and Monorail as alternatives to trade and academic journals by mixing architecture and pop culture and cultivating a social aspect. To hear Zeiger tell it, publishing architecture zines was part of a vital network of sub-cultures. Zeiger’s was her interest in the Indie music scene: “You couldn’t miss it,” she says, “I was more of arty kid than a punk rock kid. You found your way through sub-cultures.” She compares the types of connections to a Facebook network today, as a community where acquaintances for whom it was relatively easy to reach out. It also brought advertisers together with writers; “Ads were part of the editorial” says Zeiger, describing ads for Dischord Records laid out alongside MIT Press. People have stayed involved, opening magazines of significant distribution like Dwell and American Craft.

Richly-colored canvases line the walls of architect Victor Lundy’s hangar-like studio in Houston, Texas. Some 50 feet wide and 65 feet long, there is ample room to make art and houses his de facto archive. Shelved are battlefield sketchbooks from his WWII service as are numerous magazine clippings featuring the architect’s designs. Over his career Lundy’s designed churches and embassies, houses and, even, inflatable structures. Practicing since the early 1950s, he still picks up the occasional house commission and paints daily. At 85, he has a restless creativity. “These days I am thinking a lot and I am on a verge of a breakthrough,” Lundy says over the phone. “I want to invent something, but it is hard. Every time I paint, the rectangle is a limiting thing. Being an architect, everything I paint is seems less important than the space I make.” The architect’s vision is grander than the canvas. It always has been. Read More …

The architect never studied with the masters, but his work was a radical reaction to the Colorado environment, and an expression of futuristic ideals.

Joel Haertling, son and de facto archivist of the late architect Charles A. Haertling, faxed over a single page written by his father. Titled “Thoughts on Architecture,” it’s a blurry, typewritten list. Charles Haertling succumbed to a brain tumor in 1984, but the text is immediate and cuts across the years: 21 enumerated glimpses into a creative mind. Someone has circled point number 14: “Design is always a tortuous, grueling, almost maddening, though heavenly sweet, task.” The line is as familiar as it is revealing. Look at Haertling’s houses with their radically pitched roofs, daring cantilevers, and mushrooming facades—products of a career spent building in the Boulder, Colorado, area—and you can see both his pleasure and his pain.

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“I was never an architect’s architect. I’m too impatient. I just can’t wait around for years for a building to get built,” says New Orleans sculptor Laurel Porcari. Her preferred medium, kiln-formed glass, is hot, heavy, and dirty, but immediate—a far cry from CAD drawings. Nevertheless, her pieces, cast so that the material flows and warps to take on textures or resemble landscapes, capture an architect’s sensibility. After receiving her Master of Science in architecture. from Columbia in 1993, Porcari headed for Australia, where she taught design in both Perth and Melbourne. She was also working in plastic, hand-printing abstract maps on acrylic sheets to create art installations. Returning to the States, she landed in New Orleans to study in the urban design Ph.D. program at Tulane University.*

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“I was never an architect’s architect. I’m too impatient. I just can’t wait around for years for a building to get built,” says New Orleans sculptor Laurel Porcari. Her preferred medium, kiln-formed glass, is hot, heavy, and dirty, but immediate—a far cry from CAD drawings. Nevertheless, her pieces, cast so that the material flows and warps to take on textures or resemble landscapes, capture an architect’s sensibility. After receiving her Master of Science in architecture. from Columbia in 1993, Porcari headed for Australia, where she taught design in both Perth and Melbourne. She was also working in plastic, hand-printing abstract maps on acrylic sheets to create art installations. Returning to the States, she landed in New Orleans to study in the urban design Ph.D. program at Tulane University.*

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San Francisco’s Mission District—like many low-income neighborhoods in high-rent cities—is a mix of immigrants, primarily Latin American, and hipsters. Gentrification spread rapidly through the area in the late 1990s, during San Francisco’s dot-com boom, but has slowed postbust. On the trendier blocks, taquerias sit alongside sushi-cum-oxygen bars. Live/work lofts and boutique retail spaces serving the better-heeled residents are commonplace. But new construction that addresses both ends of the economic spectrum is rare. Read More …

Uber glossy, chicer-than-thou, magazine Wallpaper subtitles itself “the stuff that surrounds you.” The lifestyle porn peddler advocates a world filled with things: Palms, Karim Rashid baubles and Prada shoes. Anything. Any high-end object from the precious to the perverse to fill the vacuum of consumer culture.

But what is all that stuff that surrounds you? Embraces you? Suffocates you? Artist Shirley Tse looks around and sees plastic. She sees that injected-molded form used to shape your iBook or Oral B, the packaging that surrounds the products: it’s the miracle of plastic that fills the vacuum surrounding us these days. In the translucent, bubble-pack Styrofoam between the box and the object lies the impetus for her artistic vision.

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Pibs. You know who they are and you know who you are. People in Black, or Pibs, as Gail Andersen of Lofts Unlimited calls them. They wear funny glasses and cool shoes, drink double espressos and live in lofts. In the early ’90s, when Andersen and her partner, Ray Kaliski, sold their first lofts in San Francisco, it was the Pibs who were their clientele. Who but the noble, artistic sort would find a safe haven in the bare bones chic of unfinished concrete and soaring ceilings? But as Starbucks brings the urban coffeehouse to Middle America, the loft, the domestic equivalent of the latte, is appealing to a range of people who may even wear floral print. The current real estate market finds the demand for lofts to be steadily increasing, booming, even. No longer confined to New York or San Francisco, loft sales are even brisk in Denver, Miami, and Atlanta. Read More …