BRADLEY WALTERS ARCHITECT

Bradley Walters, Lisa Huang
University of Florida, Gainesville FL U.S.A.

The complete first edition of the book is available for purchase at a number of retailers, including Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Developing-Creative-Thinking-Beginning-Design/dp/1138654876.

Citation:
Walters, Bradley and Lisa Huang. 2019. “Oculata Manus: On the Role of the Body in the Making of Creative Minds.” In Developing Creative Thinking in Beginning Design, edited by Stephen A. Temple, 225-238. New York: Routledge.

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INTRODUCTION: CONCEPTUAL CHALLENGES

Young designers and beginning design students are often motivated more by emotion, immediacy, and sensuality than by ideologies, theories, or abstract principles. Causal relationships that are remote in perception, time, or space are less relevant than those that are immediate, present, and concurrent. Even when students understand the presence of these remote relationships, it is difficult for beginning design students to weigh them appropriately when compared with factors that may be much less significant but more present or immediate.

In many architectural design programs this closeness is discounted. Instead, students are asked to begin designing with concepts and “big ideas” as a means of creative inception, gradually working toward greater and greater specificity. Unfortunately, many student design projects remain largely in the realm of the speculative and untested drawing, remote from bodily experience, with materiality and matter either completely absent or only tentatively suggested in rendered images and scaled models. This approach does not adequately prepare students to address issues of process, constructability, emergent technologies, sustainability, the complexities of integrated practice, or the multisensory nature of materiality. In a hyper-mediated image-laden world, “materiality” has shifted from the matter and substance of buildings to a two-dimensional applique that can be interchangeably applied to three-dimensional models or renderings. Students without practical experience do not comprehend that the material properties, craft, and methods of assembly can greatly impact design decisions. As articulated by architect and educator Giuseppe Zambonini (1942–1990), “integration of the representational process in drawing with the experience of material itself is among the most difficult to communicate if one does not already believe that material—in its structural and esthetic properties—precedes the transforming idea” (Zambonini 1988, 16).

Many beginning design students operate in a space where material reality exists as a remote horizon. This limits the ability of students to engage an important and expansive aspect of practice and limits architectural possibilities. In order to close this distance, it is critical for beginning design students to work with matter directly to understand its physical characteristics (weight, dimensions, limitations) and its relationships to other materials (joints, intersections, adjacencies) and to the experience of architecture. This essay probes alternative approaches to design education that invert traditional approaches by engaging materiality, matter, and detail early to promote deep learning by beginning design students that can engage their personal development.

Initiation, Transmission, and Growth

In his treatise Learning from Our Mistakes, Henry J. Perkinson (1930–2012) identified three metaphors that define historical and contemporary approaches to forms of education: education as initiation, education as transmission, and education as growth. Of these, the most persistent in contemporary culture remains the idea of education as transmission, a methodology that arose in parallel with the industrial revolution. To the extent that “knowledge” can be collected, parsed, ordered, and packaged, it can be transmitted from one person (“teacher”) to another (“pupil”). The transmission model of education relies on the ability of the teacher to fully know and understand a certain, delimited body of information. It is a closed and bounded process, limited always by the extent of the teacher’s knowledge. In a transmission model the role of the student is as a passive receptor of knowledge. While useful for the relaying of certain kinds of rote data, this educational model does not offer strategies for teaching creativity or innovation.

Perkinson suggests that the metaphor of education as transmission has been superseded by an emergent “metaphor of growth,” which redefines education as the “natural development” of a person. In this educational model, “the teacher’s task now is to create a proper environment, an environment that will promote ‘the growth of the individual’” (Perkinson 1984, 4–5).

Aligning with other criticisms of historical educational models, Sir Ken Robinson claims in his well-known TED Talk that “schools kill creativity.” Robinson points to the transmission model of education as too narrow and limiting. He suggests that “we are educating people out of their creative capacities” by discounting the roles of the whole body and whole being within the educational process (Robinson 2006). Creativity operates through transformation of both the process and the creative person. An education as growth model requires that the teacher create strategies and opportunities that engage the mind and body, allowing the full richness of students’ potential to be realized.

The Seeing Hand

Published in many forms across Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, “emblem” books brought together enigmatic visual images and secular or religious texts, offering moral guidance for their readers. The images, while representative and iconographic, were typically constructed by combining multiple different images in novel ways to create new hybrid relationships or associations (see Figure 15.1 ).

One such construction is Emblem 16 from the “Emblematum libellus” of 1546, attributed to Andrea Alciato. Each page of this particular emblem book consists of three parts: a title phrase, an image, and a series of declarations. Emblem 16 is titled “Be sober and remember to withhold belief. These are the sinews of the mind” (Alciato 1546, 28). The image itself shows an open hand, with an open eye and eyelid set squarely within the palm, near the center of the image. To the right, the wrist is wrapped in a bracelet of pennyroyal (Mentha pulegium), a highly aromatic species of mint believed by ancients to have numerous medicinal properties (Grieve 2017 ). The hand hovers in front of a portion of an indistinguishable city, marked by multiple buildings set atop a rocky shoreline, near a body of water. Below the image, the text reads as follows:

Don’t give easy credence; don’t be intemperate. So said Epicharmus, and these maxims will prove the sinews and limbs of man’s mind. See here a hand with an eye, believing what it can see. See the pennyroyal, the plant of ancient soberness. By showing it, Heraclitus calmed the mob and milked it when heavy with bursting sedition. (Alciato 1546, 28)

This emblem is a reminder to question and carefully examine experience. The bracelet of aromatic pennyroyal, deemed to have cleansing medicinal properties, safeguards its wearer from the dust and busyness of the city. But it is the peculiar conflation of hand and eye that draws our attention. The “oculata manus,” or “hand with an eye,” suggests a need to engage multiple senses simultaneously, with each sense informing the other. It is believed to be tied to the expression “seeing is believing,” attributed to Erasmus (Alciato 1546). But what does it mean for a hand to see?

Thinking With Our Hands

The eyes provide a perception of the physical world from a distance and therefore require us to make deductions or assumptions to create complete and cogent concepts out of incomplete information. By contrast, the hands are able to eliminate the physical distance through direct, immediate, and close contact with the world. This allows the hands to “see” in a different way from the eyes. There is a sharing of information between the senses and an interchange that occurs between each of the senses and the brain that expands possibilities. Creativity and imagination are not exclusively the domain of the brain. Thus, thinking of, experimenting with, and reflecting on ideas occurs in both the hand and the eye. Each sense can become a critical proponent in teaching and learning through experience that generates creativity and imagination.

In his book The Hand, neurologist Frank R. Wilson illuminates the significance that the hand and tactility play in the development of human intelligence. Wilson writes “the brain keeps giving the hand new things to do and new ways of doing what it already knows how to do. In turn, the hand affords the brain new ways of approaching old tasks and the possibility of undertaking and mastering new tasks” (Wilson 1998, 146). The hand is not passively controlled by the brain, but in fact, the hand offers new knowledge and discoveries through haptic experiences. The brain relies on the exploration of the hands in engaging the physical world. This is a reciprocal and interdependent relationship: The hand functions as an extension of the brain, with no separation between hand and brain.

The Hand and Creativity

In his work on visual cognition as a professor of psychology at the Center for Mind and Brain at the University of California, Davis, Dr. John M. Henderson uses eye-tracking, computational modeling, and neuroimaging methods to understand relationships between biological processes and understanding. In 2016, he found that “areas of the brain related to perception and movement were more engaged when readers were attending to words that refer to concrete real-world objects that can be manipulated. This result supports the view that meaning is ultimately grounded in perception and interaction with the world” ( Hopper 2016 ).

At a most fundamental level, the hand touches matter to understand its physical qualities and characteristics. This haptic knowledge either confirms or challenges our perceptual understanding of that physical matter. A material may look hard and stiff from a distance, but upon touching it, we might find it soft and pliable. On another level, the hand has the active ability to play, manipulate, and experiment. Wilson recognizes the hand’s contribution to the creation of meaning: “Playing with anything to make something is always paralleled in cognition by the creation of a story” (Wilson 1998, 195). Any act of making or physical engagement of matter is about creating and igniting the imagination. This requires the hand to “see” and “think” while exploring possibilities and limitations. Through numerous trials and errors, experimentation, and reflection, learning occurs.

Dr. Karin James, a psychologist at Indiana University, has conducted studies in which she asked children who had not yet learned to read or write to reproduce a letter form or shape presented to them.

The children, “were then placed in a brain scanner and shown the image again. The researchers found that the initial duplication process mattered a great deal. When children had drawn a letter freehand, they exhibited increased activity in three areas of the brain that are activated in adults when they read and write: the left fusiform gyrus, the inferior frontal gyrus and the posterior parietal cortex. By contrast, children who typed or traced the letter or shape showed no such effect.” (Konnikova 2014)

The role of the hand is significant in the learning process. The differences in neural activity generated by freehand drawing as opposed to tracing or typing was attributed “to the messiness inherent in free-form handwriting: Not only must we first plan and execute the action in a way that is not required when we have a traceable outline, but we are also likely to produce a result that is highly variable. That variability may itself be a learning tool. “‘When a kid produces a messy letter,’ Dr. James said, ‘that might help him learn it’” (Konnikova 2014).

The Hand and the Design Process

As architectural designers, we cannot ignore the importance of the hand’s role in the design process and its role in interacting with and engaging the tactile environments we create. In The Thinking Hand, Juhani Pallasmaa emphasizes that:

Architecture is also a product of the knowing hand. The hand grasps the physicality and materiality of thought and turns it into a concrete image. In the arduous processes of designing, the hand often takes the lead in probing for a vision, a vague inkling that it eventually turns into a sketch, a materialization of an idea. (Pallasmaa 2009, 16–17)

Design ideas are materializing through drawing and making. The hands take on a major responsibility in exploring ideas through drawing on paper, drawing on digital screens, or constructing with physical matter. Relying on only one mode of working endangers the hand’s potential for imagination. Pallasmaa’s use of the term “probing” is critical. Beginning design students often get frustrated when they cannot immediately produce a faithful physical representation of their ideas. The translation from thoughts into physical matter requires the hand to continuously test and refine design ideas through various modes of working. As Henry Perkinson has noted:

Pupils create knowledge by modifying their present knowledge when they discover its inadequacies. Without critical feedback, no learning can take place—there can be no growth in knowledge. I suggest, therefore, that whenever learning does take place in any classroom, it happens because of critical feedback. There is never any transmission of knowledge. This is an illusion—like an optical illusion. All learning is a modification of present knowledge. (Perkinson 1984, 178)

In informing design teaching pedagogy, the “seeing hand” serves as a reminder that architectural design is not exclusively an intellectual project but rather work that engages the hands and body as well. At the same time, the hand is not a mute instrument but rather a sensing organ of perception and reflection. Importantly, through critical work of the hands, students new to architectural design can learn to calibrate their hands and eyes to allow them to work together more fluidly.

MATERIAL MATTERS

Materials are the medium of architecture. The architect needs to know how to work with materials to create meaningful buildings and assemblies. In the construction industry, architects must communicate design intent clearly such that it can be realized and built by others. The hand that communicates design ideas through drawings needs to also have a haptic understanding of materials. It is important not to lose the presence of matter and the tactility of the hand in the design process.

In design education, studio projects often operate and start at a macro scale. Students start the design process examining the site and program organizations to develop a concept for a building design. Work is done at representative scales to gradually develop the design for the built project. Work is often accomplished iteratively and increases in scale as a designer develops and determines more about the design of the project. Each iteration is a test of design ideas. As Pallasmaa writes:

Design is a process of going back and forth among hundreds of ideas, where partial solutions and details are repeatedly tested in order to gradually reveal and fuse a complete rendition of the thousands of demands and criteria, as well as the architect’s personal ideals of coordination and harmonisation, into a complete architectural or artistic entity. An architectural project is not only a result of a problem-solving process, as it is also a metaphysical proposition that expresses the maker’s mental world and his/her understanding of the human life world: The design process simultaneously scans the inner and the outer worlds and intertwines the two universes. (Pallasmaa 2009, 107–108)

The presence of matter cannot be ignored in design education. What is designed using representations or in the computer at some point must be tested in the physical realm. The haptic knowledge the hand gains from working with different materials and understanding various processes of working with matter establishes a close parallel with the construction of buildings. Only the “seeing hand” can comprehend mass, weight, and gravity and its effects on design ideas.

When working with matter in beginning design education, students typically engage materials at representative scales. Physical models can be an effective way for beginning students to visualize spatial design ideas. The ability to hold, rotate, and modify physical models generates a connection between the senses and the brain. The hand measures spatial dimensions and assesses relative proportions. If varied materials are used in making models, there can also be a relative tactile understanding of material qualities. Even at representative scales, students manipulate materials—paper, foam, plastics, wood, plaster, wire, etc.—that cannot be treated in the same way. Each material requires its own distinct set of assembly processes and strategies. What can be used to cut and adhere the material? What is the strategy to connect one material to a different material? Typical white glue functions as a good adhesive for wood and paper, but the same glue does not work with plastics or metals. Although design students are not usually able to work with “actual building materials,” they are engaged in learning and developing strategies for working with and joining varied materials.

In the design studio, physical models are used to represent and explore different building and material systems. A steel structural system is very different from a concrete structural system, as the materials of steel and concrete vary in dimension, proportion, mass, and means of fabrication. In working with physical models, students are challenged to work with substitute materials to capture materiality. In a 1:100 (approximately 1/8 inch = 1 foot) scaled model, representative materials can be manipulated to capture material qualities that imply heaviness or lightness, thickness or thinness, and solidity or ephemerality.

In a small-scale 1:200 (approximately 1/16 inch = 1 foot) model, issues of weight and gravity may seem inconsequential. Since representative materials are physically small and light, the student may not fully grasp the consequences of weight in architecture through these models. However, contending with matter becomes serious as the scale of physical models increases. When working at 1:30 (approximately 3/8 inch = 1 foot) scale, students can occupy models with their hands, heads, and bodies to physically grapple with mass and matter. In large physical models, the thresholds, apertures, and scales of spaces become more familiar. In these, students can see direct relationships with the body and better understand the physical implications of material decisions. The consequences of manipulating wood versus paper, for instance, become evident. At 1:200, paper may be able to hold itself without other materials for support, but at 1:30, the presence of gravity is evident. That same thickness of paper will submit to the pull of gravity without the support of a framework. To work with wood at 1:30 scale, the hand may not be able to cut it without the help of woodworking tools. New skills are needed to expand the hand’s knowledge of materials.

Scale mediates the intricate web of relationships in working with matter. The beginning design student needs to know how big something is, the amount of matter to be used, and the relative sizes of things. There is a direct translation from physical models to building: students engage materials with their body, deploying hand tools, mechanical power tools, and digital technologies to shape raw materials. Working with hand tools in a woodshop requires students to think in layers of materials. Design students develop an understanding that the pieces they make are dependent on one another, in direct correlation with construction. In the act of making at larger scales, singular or isolated systems evolve to become more complex components that do many things, alluding to an economy of means. Students contend with the weight and mass and substance of materials as they learn to carefully craft tectonic joints and building assemblies.

Design students’ hands are critical for intimately understanding the issue of gravity that is absent in drawings and for probing relationships between architectural constraints and material realities. Instead of starting with the design of a whole building at a zoomed-out scale, the strategy of zooming into full-scale work offers the hand an opportunity to explore issues of tactility, phenomenology, and the poetics of material assemblies. When students work directly with building materials, they develop a tacit knowledge of matter, structure, and assemblies. The hands are challenged to tackle the physical and intellectual resistances of working directly with full-scale building materials. Working at 1:1 scale, students do not use representative materials. While Plexiglas (an acrylic), polycarbonate, and glass can all be transparent materials, they each have very different material properties. Substituting one for the other changes the working processes and assembly methods. Working at full scale, weight and gravity have an immediate impact. A material cannot stand alone without the support of other materials.

Many internationally recognized architectural practices also approach design in this way, producing material studies, prototypes, and mock-ups in order to test innovative material and assembly ideas. The level of success and recognition they achieve is due largely to their efforts in ensuring that progressive design ideas and methods of building can be constructed and executed with the utmost craft and precision. By working directly with materials and manufacturers early in the design process, their building proposals come to embody a material awareness and sophistication uncommon in work produced by firms that do not engage materiality directly. The work of these progressive offices better communicates design intent, especially in response to the very real issues of construction.

Hands-on material experimentation at full-scale exposes students to issues of structural soundness, construction tolerances, and the effects of constructability on design ideas. Through their own direct experimentation with building materials and assembly techniques, students learn to better understand risks and limitations associated with typical and novel products, materials, methods, and technologies. By designing in parts at full-scale, students learn that the part can inform the whole. In working with building materials hands-on and at full scale, design students address scale, proportion, materials, and texture in a manner in which all contribute to the design work. The student’s experience of making at full scale provides a deep tacit knowledge of and respect for the work of skilled craftsmen, tradespeople, manufacturers, fabricators, and contractors.

Experiential Learning

These hands-on approaches to pedagogy grow out of and participate in educational research centered on experiential learning. In the mixing of old and new that characterized the Renaissance, Francis Bacon (1561–1626) strove to see through cultural, historical, and religious constructions that clouded what he believed to be more fundamental realities. In his Magna Instauratio, Bacon writes that:

For man is but the servant and interpreter of nature; what he does and what he knows is only what he has observed of nature’s order in fact or in thought; beyond this he knows nothing and can do nothing. For the chain of causes cannot by any force be loosed or broken, nor can nature be commanded except by being obeyed. (Bacon 1620, 264)

But at the same time, he also espoused the importance of history. As Charles Whitney writes, “almost every point Bacon makes features an arresting and often imaginatively interpreted quotation from an ancient poet, philosopher, historian, or divine” (Whitney 1986, 57). While Bacon marks the beginning of the metaphor of education as transmission, he also sows the seeds for the educational strategies of growth that followed. Bacon placed great confidence in the role of direct experience, expressing a clear “distrust of reason” and a critical “reliance upon the senses” (Jones 1937, xix). Bacon’s approach is thoroughly modern. He “expresses his historical self-consciousness by insisting on his own and his age’s independence from the past, and by calling for the invention of novelties that will further distinguish present from past, and the future from both” (Whitney 1986, 11).

John Dewey (1859–1952) was one of the most influential educational reformers of the twentieth century and one of the most vocal proponents of experience-based educational practices. Dewey compared traditional and new or progressive educational models as follows:

To imposition from above is opposed expression and cultivation of individuality; to external discipline is opposed free activity; to learning from texts and teachers, learning through experience; to acquisition of isolated skills and techniques by drill, is opposed acquisition of them as means of attaining ends which make direct vital appeal; to preparation for a more or less remote future is opposed making the most of the opportunities of present life; to static aims and materials is opposed acquaintance with a changing world. (Dewey 1938, 19–20)

The emphasis on experience was a central part of what Dewey defined as progressive education. Even as he recognized the centrality of experiential learning, Dewey acknowledged the difficulty of creating experiences that were appropriate for specific educational outcomes. “Experience and education,” he writes, “cannot be directly equated to each other. For some experiences are mis-educative” (Dewey 1938, 25). He defines the value and merit of a given experience in the context of subsequent experiences, noting that “everything depends on the quality of the experience” (Dewey 1938, 27). Appropriate educational experiences require careful selection, scripting, and sequencing as a part of a continuous process. Although the educator is shaping the entire process, the student is charged with focusing on each aspect more or less separately. Dewey writes that “we always live at the time we live and not at some other time, and only by extracting at each present time the full meaning of each present experience are we prepared for doing the same thing in the future” (Dewey 1938, 49). This suggests a certain urgency and a re-centering of education on the present rather than in service of a remote and unknown future.

Jean Piaget (1896–1980) applies this thinking to psychology and educational pedagogies in very particular ways, articulating the educational process as a definitively active one. Piaget insists that “concept formation is dependent upon the subject engaging in physical activity” (Phillips 1982, 17). In a fundamental way, Piaget’s work stems from:

One key epistemological belief, namely, that knowledge, at least of the most important kind, is not something which can be “given” by one human being to another. Piaget is concerned to maintain that the development of the kind of knowing which lies at the heart of human intelligence—the kind that crucially distinguishes a mature from an immature mind—is something which each one of us must construct for himself. (Elliot and Donaldson 1982, 158)

Piaget conceived of the learner “as an active, fallible creator of knowledge who seeks order” (Perkinson 1984, 70). Fallibility is a central tenant, acknowledging not only the possibility but also the productive possibilities of failure.

Deeply affected by the thinking and work of Albert Einstein and Charles Darwin, Karl Popper (1902–1994) challenged the inductive processes that were then (and still now, by many) considered to be central to the scientific process. He would argue that instead of looking for tests that might verify theories, we should be seeking out those “crucial tests that could refute the theory tested” (Perkinson 1984, 24). This “critical rationality” required us to “give up looking for justification of knowledge and instead look for errors, inadequacies, and limitations that inhere in our present knowledge or follow from it” (Perkinson 1984, 26). Popper suggests that “knowledge grows through conjecture and refutation, through the procedure of trial-and-error elimination” (Perkinson 1984, 35). For Popper, human beings are fallible creators of knowledge. If all knowledge is conjectural, “we cannot justify it. But we can improve our conjectures by subjecting them to criticism. The possibility of continued improvement follows directly from our being fallible creators: since knowledge can never be perfect, then it can always be improved” (Perkinson 1984, 38).

The critical, reflective process requires active, participatory engagement of the student. As Perkinson notes:

Pupils do not have to be motivated to learn, or compelled to pay attention, or controlled, or coerced. Pupils learn, that is, modify their present knowledge or conduct, when they discover that it is inadequate. Note that it is the pupil himself who must recognize and admit the inadequacy, error, or mistake. It is not sufficient for someone else (like a teacher) to point it out. Pupils must discover their own mistakes. (Perkinson 1984, 170)

This experiential educational process is better suited to the development of design students’ creative abilities:

What is essential to “creative” or “inventive” thinking is a combination of intense interest in some problem (and thus a readiness to try again and again) with highly critical thinking; with a readiness to attack even those presuppositions which for less critical thought determine the limits of the range from which trials (conjectures) are selected; with an imaginative freedom that allows us to see so far unsuspected sources of error: possible prejudices in need of critical examination. (Popper 1976, 48)

This sense of commitment to direct investigation is the operating premise of the design studio: constant searching, engaging the hands, body, and mind as ideas are tested and new knowledge is created.

REMOTENESS AND IMMEDIACY

To construct a design process centered on meaningful spatial relationships, it is important that “building” becomes situated within a discipline and discourse of design that operates at many scales simultaneously. It involves redefining “architecture” to be not only the built environment outside the studio but also to be the design work on the studio table itself (Walters and Huang 2012, 403–408). If architecture is fundamentally based in relationships among and between things, it is possible to define “architecture” as a wide array of design operations and practices that construct and/or describe particular relationships. An important part of teaching design studio is the focus on relationships between changes in various scales, media, material, and disciplines from the detail to the room to the building to the site, not necessarily in that linear order (and ultimately to those lateral and downstream implications). Working within this pedagogic structure, the beginning design student becomes fully involved in the design process in a direct and immediate way. The work in front of them is not a surrogate, apparition, and/or representation of something absent: it is the thing itself. By repositioning architecture in this way, students have an opportunity to be close to it and to quickly develop the ability to critically engage their own work and the work of their peers. This is an important part of our design studio learning process at the University of Florida School of Architecture.

This approach to studio pedagogy builds on Popper’s “evolutionary epistemology” as a new theory of knowledge based on learning from mistakes. According to Popper, “the learner is active, not passive; a creator, not a receptor, of knowledge; a seeker of order, not needing motivation or control in order to learn. The learner learns from making mistakes” (Perkinson 1984, 40–41). This iterative learning process involves a direct, immediate engagement with architecture, as it lives on the drawing board, in models, and in full-scale material studies. The materials at students’ fingertips provide direct multi-sensory feedback, allowing students to work through mistakes quickly.

The haptic experience of materials and making informs a bodily understanding of mass and matter. As fallible creators:

We should look on ourselves (and all organisms) as problem-solving rather than end-pursuing. For, since our conjectures will always be limited, inadequate, mistaken, or false, then it follows that our conjectures will always generate new problems. So we are continuously and continually engaged in problem-solving. (Perkinson 1984, 38)

Having an intimate and sensual knowledge of materiality early in design education enables students to have a more acute understanding of its possibilities and the potential of materials to impact formal decision making. Engagement in making gives shape to a constantly searching, problem-solving design process.

A pedagogy of making is a messy and at times perilous process, fraught with failed attempts. But these are necessary attributes of a learning process that brings the body in such close contact with matter and foments the creation of deep knowledge. It is a process that becomes meaningful precisely through engagement with the body, and one that becomes more refined through each subsequent iteration.

REFERENCES

Alciato, Andrea. (1546) Emblematum libellus. Venice: Aldus. Translations and digital version prepared by Alciato at Glasgow. Glasgow, Scotland: University of Glasgow Library Special Collections. Accessed August 2, 2017. www.emblems.arts.gla.ac.uk/alciato/emblem.php?showrel=y&id=A46a052.

Bacon, Francis. (1937) “Magna Instauratio 1620 [The Great Instauration].” In Francis Bacon: Essays, Advancement of Learning, New Atlantis, and Other Pieces, edited by Richard Foster Jones, 237–363. New York: The Odyssey Press, Inc

Dewey, John. (1938) Experience and Education. New York: Free Press

Elliot, Alison and Donaldson, Margaret. (1982) “Piaget on Language.” In Jean Piaget: Consensus and Controversy, edited by Sohan Modgil and Celia Modgil, 157–166. New York: Praeger Publishers.

Grieve, Maud. “Pennyroyal.” A Modern Herbal. Accessed August 2, 2017. www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/p/pennyr23.html.

Hopper, David. “John Henderson, University of California Davis: Your Brain on Reading.” The Academic Minute. Accessed July 11, 2016. https://www.academicminute.org/p/john-henderson-university-of-california-a6a.

Jones, Richard Foster. (1937) “Introduction.” In Francis Bacon: Essays, Advancement of Learning, New Atlantis, and Other Pieces, edited by Richard Foster Jones, ix–xxxiv. New York: The Odyssey Press, Inc.

Konnikova, Maria. “What’s Lost as Handwriting Fades.” The New York Times, 2. Accessed June 3, 2014. www.nytimes.com/2014/06/03/science/whats-lost-as-handwriting-fades.html.

Pallasmaa, Juhani. (2009) The Thinking Hand: Existential and Embodied Wisdom in Architecture. Chichester, West Sussex, U.K: John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

Perkinson, Henry J. (1984) Learning from our Mistakes: A Reinterpretation of Twentieth-Century Educational Theory. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.

Phillips, Denis. (1982) “Perspectives on Piaget as Philosopher: The Tough, Tender-Minded Syndrome.” In Jean Piaget: Consensus and Controversy, edited by Sohan Modgil and Celia Modgil, 13–29. New York: Praeger Publishers.

Popper, Karl. (1976) Unended Quest: An Intellectual Autobiography. La Salle, IL: Open Court Publishing Company.

Robinson, Ken. (2006) “Do Schools Kill Creativity?” TED. Accessed June 10, 2016. www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.

Walters, Bradley and Lisa Huang. (2012) “Speculative Making: Engaging Mass and Matter.” In End of in the Beginning/Realizing the Sustainable Imagination: Proceedings of the 28th National Conference of the Beginning Design Student, edited by Jodi La Coe, 403–408. State College, PA: The Pennsylvania State University.

Whitney, Charles. (1986) Francis Bacon and Modernity. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.

Wilson, Frank R. (1998) The Hand: How Its Use Shapes the Brain, Language, and Human Culture. New York: Pantheon Books.

Zambonini, Giuseppe. (1988) “Notes for a Theory of Making in a Time of Necessity.” Perspecta, 24: 3–23.

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