I just got back to the southern land (thank God). The cold was definitely not serving my mental state well :) But just being two days done with school, I can say, this was the best semester at CMU Design yet. I think I learned more about who I am as a designer, for example, how design crosses so many different disciplines and is unable to be defined narrowly within professions. I actually wrote an article on Imprint (Printmag's design blog) on this idea. Through researching and designing in my thesis project, I also saw how different types of design (communication, interaction, information, architecture, etc) all work together to most effectively solve (or attempt to solve) the wicked problems of the world. It is not just one isolated design field that encapsulates good design; rather, it is many design fields coupled with non-designers and design research to uncover the best solutions and innovation. So, even though I've always known the effectiveness of multiple design disciplines involved in one project, I'm starting to put it into practice and experience how beneficial it is.

Friday, we (the 2nd year design grads) had our thesis poster session that documents what we've done this semester and our next steps/questions for next semester. My project is about designing for people to overtake (through social impact) the Western Diet and enter into a new space of 'Sitopia.' You can download my poster here.



And, finally, I did a joint project between my information design and prototyping classes where I attempted to illustrate to individuals the current problems with the western diet system while simultaneously teaching them how they affect the system and how the system affects them. At the final crit, I received a lot of feedback on how I can make this better, which I plan on doing over the holiday. But, for now, this is what I have.

Type rest of the post here Click Here to Read More..

Fall 2010

So this semester has been a doozy so far. Yeah, I said it, a doozy. The summer ended faster than I could blink my eyes and here I am mid-november not remembering how I got here. Anyway, I thought I'd give a quick update on work stuff and school stuff.

Work stuff:
Jeanette and I finally finished Squash & Beyond today (woo hoo!) We did our best to make it as fun, energetic, user-friendly, and interactive as possible given our client's needs and our time constraints. Zafi, owner of Squash & Beyond, was really happy with the final outcome, which is the best part!

Towards the end of the summer, I teamed up with my brother to re-design my family's grocery store website, Calandro's Supermarket. He and I worked together to make it clean, fresh, and informative. We also caught it up with the times by incorporating social media and allowing more customer interaction. On the old website, customers couldn't find anything they needed nor could they easily send messages and requests to the store. This is hopefully just the first iteration of Calandro's new website. We hope to continuously make it better.

And, for school stuff:
I've been working on my CMU Design Thesis, which attempts to illustrate the Obesity and Food problems we have in the United States. You can track my progress on my thesis blog.

And, lastly, I just did my first full scale Flash project in my prototyping class. It is an exercise tool to help you find new fun activities depending on your mood! You can check it out here. Click Here to Read More..

SUMMER 2010

I figured I should post something interesting to my blog since I haven't done any blogging this whole summer.

In case you were wondering, it's been the best summer ever. I've taught a lot of yoga, I went to Seattle to present GURU to Microsoft, and most importantly, my CMU classmate, Jeanette Leagh and I have made a mini design firm (Leagh + Calandro). Between the two of us, we've gathered a couple of design projects, taken over the CMU Grad studio space, and gotten to work!!! We've seen projects from start to finish, we've honed client relations skills, and we've experienced the greatness of the CMU design process. We hope to brand our little company if time EVER permits :)

About a month ago, we made a videosketch for the company, BectranApps. It (in a bright, colorful, and quirky kind of way) illustrates the problems with the paper credit application process. Our client was amazing in giving us free range over the visual style and he was also very helpful in guiding us in understanding this credit application pain. Jeanette and I had ABSOLUTELY no idea what credit managers do... Now, I feel like I could be one (errr. maybe that's going over the top, but ya get what I mean).

Check it out (fyi- vimeo did a really good job of washing the video out a lot... so sorry about the whiteness and brightness. the colors are actually quite beautiful):



Next, I worked solo on a CD song art project for my dear musician friend, Peter Simon. The song is called, Awake and Dream. It's a beautiful song, and Peter makes beautiful music.

Check it:



And, currently, Jeanette and I are working on the rebranding and redesign of the website for the company, Squash & Beyond. It is a summer camp and international touring camp for teens who want to get better at their squash game. Apparently, it is the best squash camp in the country with one of the most not-so-great web presences in the country. Jeanette and I are doing some major facelifting on this one. I will post some images in the future as we aren't far enough along in the design process for noteworthy image posts.

We are also currently spec-ing out a redesign of a pamphlet that goes along with BectranApps video sketch for potential Bectran clientele. It's going to be a sweet info design project :)

Check back later for more! Click Here to Read More..

Don't use Comic Sans

For all of those type and colour junkies out there (yes, coloUr), check out Facebook.

Helvetica with Comic Sans from Sarah Calandro on Vimeo.

Color & Communication
Kristin Hughes and Mark Mentzer
CMU Spring 2010 Click Here to Read More..

Flex Time Standards Act for Information Workers

Sarah Calandro
Design Seminar II
Argument

I am living in Los Angeles, CA working for an architecture firm. I'm supposed to be in my desk chair at 8:30 am (sometimes, I am about eight minutes late). I check my gmail, then my office email, and then I open powerCADD to begin a day of click-clicking on my mouse. Around 10 a.m. I refill my coffee mug in the kitchen, have a two-minute conversation with a co-worker, and then I return to my desk. I have a set of reflected ceiling plans that need a lighting fixture placed in the center of every room and two feet offset from all four corners. The building I am working on is 65,000 square feet so this is going to be my activity for the next three days. Andrew Bird and his delightful sounds keep me efficiently clicking on my mouse for the next two and a half hours. After a productive morning, it's time to stand up, stretch, and go find lunch. I walk across the street with a co-worker for a turkey sandwich from Vons supermarket. One hour Iater I return to my desk, spend five minutes checking my gmail, then my office email, and I return to my lighting fixture activity. About thirty minutes in, my focus begins to deteriorate. I think about the jog I plan to take after work and how this would be the perfect time to take it. But I am confined to the office, so instead, I take four separate trips to the bathroom to keep my blood circulating through my body. An hour later, the tryptophan from my turkey starts to set in so I go to the office kitchen, make cup of coffee number three of the day, grab a chocolate chip cookie, and then return to my desk. I've been saving my new This American Life episode for just this moment. I put on my headphones for sixty minutes of stories about people who fear sleeping. Yes, it takes my attention away from my task at work, but it also keeps me from nodding off to a half-lucid dream about lighting fixtures.

In 1938 when the Fair Labor Standards Act was passed, the term 9 to 5 was coined and the full time 40 hour work week was set in place. It was originally created to prevent industrial workers from working too many hours, getting tired on the job, and getting underpaid for their work.(1) This benchmark has sustained itself for 70 years and has become widespread across office cultures of all kinds. For a workplace that is about physical work, this standard is efficient. The employee constantly produces, but because she doesn't have to be thinking creatively or analytically for eight hours straight, she can maintain productivity. I have a friend who works in a printing press. He spends his days pulling paper, sorting paper, keeping the printers moving, labeling envelopes, etc. etc. Yes, his job gets monotonous, but his efficiency in production doesn't go down because he's bored; he keeps things moving nonetheless. He likes his schedule. Get in, get it done, and get out in eight hours (and if it takes longer than eight hours, get time and a half pay). The Fair Labor Standards Act flows quite nicely with this work system.

As society shifts from the Industrial Revolution to what is now being called the Information Revolution (2), this 9 to 5 benchmark is becoming less and less suitable for both our work environments, for our mental productivity, and for our overall life balance. We are entering an economy where information jobs are outnumbering the physical labor jobs from the ages of manufacturing. Productivity is dependent on mental clarity; workers are required to use their brains all day and the rest of their body is static. Technology is also advancing in such a way that national and international collaboration is possible. Google Wave, Skype, and even more fancy technologies allow for "in-person" meetings across large distances. And, obesity and non-communicable disease is on the rise with physical inactivity being one of the primary causes. (3) Sitting in an office chair all day only makes this problem worse. So, now I will pose the question: Why has the 9 to 5 benchmark for full-time seeped into information-related careers and why hasn't what I like to call a 'Flex Time Standards Act' been passed?

When I started my first full-time job, I was told to be at work at 8:30 am every day and that I would be able to leave at 5:30 on most days. I would also have a one-hour break during the day for lunch and I could take it at any time so long as it didn't interfere with office meetings. I realized very quickly how many hours a day I spent dazed out not paying attention to what I was doing. I probably averaged four to six productive hours of work a day. But even then, I still managed to complete the work required of me on time and with high quality. So, why did I have to sit there clicking on my mouse, (all the while building up blood clots in my legs and overdosing on caffeine to stay awake) if I wasn't being productive for the other two to four hours?

Many companies will argue that it is important for collaborative projects to be done in the same space at the same time in order for the outcome to be its best. It is also important that clients and contractors can contact a specific person during standard office hours. When all parties are on the 9 to 5 schedule, all parties can collaborate between the hours of 9 to 5. Coordination for setting up meetings is much smoother when employees are already planning to be at work during the office work day. Alternative methods for collaboration (i.e. the use of Skype Video meetings) is a decent substitution, but the effectiveness of a meeting is never as good online as in person. Also, employers want to know that their employees are working when they say they are. When they see them in the office clicking in front of a computer screen, they must be productive. Right?

Through talking with people and working with people, I have found that when it comes to productivity, every individual is different. Every brain has mental clarity peaks at different times throughout the day and it isn't necessarily even consistent daily for each individual. Mental clarity and productivity can change based on a number of different factors be it diet, number of hours of sleep, life situations outside of work, the work that is being done, etc. Some days engagement in higher level strategic thinking for eight hours straight is possible. Some days, only three or four hours is possible. I'm not saying that individuals don't get routined in their natural working style; they definitely do. I'm just saying that every day can be different and if work schedules followed the ebb and flow of the human body, productivity could dramatically increase.

In the past decade or so, many large scale companies are picking up on the importance of a flexible working style and are giving employees more freedom with their schedules. They realize a happier employee is a more productive one. They also realize that more and better work gets done when each individual works at their own pace and on their own set schedule and style. At Sun Microsystems, Inc. an "Open Work" program is in place. Employees work when and where they want. Thus far, the employees enrolled in the program have averaged a 34% gain in productivity. Best Buy Co, Inc. offers a Results-Only Work Environment (ROWE) where employees don't work a set number of hours; rather, they work to achieve certain goals with an expected level of quality. They work as much time is needed and are paid for the quality of the work they do, not the time they spend doing it. Employees again work when, where, and how they want to. PNC Financial Services Group, Inc. also has a flextime option available for their workers; 25,000 of their employees are enrolled to work flex hours, job-share (share responsibilites with co-workers), and/or telecommute (work from home). "A 2005 study by the non-profit organization Corporate Voices for Working Families found that a compressed work week pilot program at PNC resulted in: work that had previously taken two days being done in one day; absenteeism dropping from 60 days to nine days; improved customer service; and the company saving over $100,000 in turnover costs." (4) Is this not enough to convince those companies that are still mandating the 9 to 5? Well, not yet...

Many employers of information workers will argue–and they have a point–that not all companies get the best of the best workers–you know, those workers that are loyal and dedicated to their work (the ones who work at Sun Microsystems, Best Buy, and PNC). Employers think that if they offer open scheduling for their employees, they'll be taken advantage of. And it is probably true–many employees probably would take advantage of this. There are many work environments where a more free style of working just wouldn't do the company enough good to outweigh the bad. But, I think in many cases there are ways around this. Employers don't have to offer this to everyone and they can offer it based on merit–which may even benefit them. Employees can earn flex time and in order to keep flex time, their work must not suffer. It must get better. There must be a motivational system intact. Of course, an individual will take advantage of flex time if they aren't dedicated to the company and have nothing to lose. Though, I firmly believe that when a good leader is in place, generally speaking, employees will be motivated, loyal, and proud of the work they do. They won't take advantage of freedoms given to them. They will simply work harder to keep those freedoms.

I would say the benefits of a flexible working style for those professions within the Information Revolution far outweigh the 9 to 5 standard. I propose the Flex Time Standards Act for Information Workers. Routine is good. But a fixed routine without consideration for an individual's needs is not good. If I could choose my working schedule, I would get a lot more done during working hours and my work would be of much higher quality. I would wake up at 6 am every day, work for 4 hours, engage in an outdoor physical activity, eat lunch, relax, and then I would return to work around 1 or 2 pm for four or five more hours. I would definitely not choose 9 to 5 with a one hour break in the middle. If you were given the freedom to choose, what would be your working style?

1 "Federal Employees and the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA)." US Office of Personnel Management. Web. 23 Apr. 2010. .

2 Brent, Edward. "The Information Revolution." Mizzou - University of Missouri. Web. 23 Apr. 2010. .

3 "Global Strategy on Diet, Physical Activity and Health." World Health Organization (2004): 2-4. Web. 16 Apr. 2010.

4 "5 Flextime-Friendly Companies." CareerBuilder.com Jobs - The Largest Job Search, Employment & Careers Site. Web. 23 Apr. 2010. Click Here to Read More..

Blaise J. Calandro, Jr. (my dad)

A Narrative History
Design Seminar II


On a Spring day in 1956, nine-year-old Blaise and his brother Charles exit the school bus at 4142 Government Street-right at the edge of South Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Blaise's routine is always the same. He enters the front screen door of his family's grocery store-known as Calandro's Grocery. The words "Plee-zing Food Store" are written in bold letters across the top of the white-painted concrete block building. There's a white and green striped awning above all six windows and the entrance door. From the bustle of the street, the four short aisles of product can be seen and Vennera Calandro, in her yellow and blue flower print apron atop her A-line cotton knee-length dress, stands behind the cash register, waiting to help the next customer. Her blackish brown hair is wavy and tucked into a bun at her neck. Her pale olive skin and brownish blue circles under her eyes make her look tired. But, she always has a smile on her face when her boys get off the bus and come into the store. "Hey mama," Blaise says to her as he grabs his moon-pie and Coca-Cola from the store shelf."

Some afternoons he goes to Duby's Field to play football with the boys from the neighborhood. Anywhere between ten and twenty kids will be out there picking teams and Blaise-because he's one of the fastest and most agile-is always picked first. Other afternoons he stays at the store to work doing a variety of activities for a reimbursement of $1/day. So, he decides to spend this afternoon organizing glass bottles for soda bottling companies to come pick up and reuse. Customers pay a fee if they don't return their used bottles to the store, and bottling companies won't pick up the bottles if they aren't sorted by brand name. So when customers come to do their shopping, they drop their bottles in the large wire bin that sits at the store entrance. Over a few days, the piles can turn into mounds of brown, green, and clear bottles with syrupy residue stuck to the bottom. One of Blaise's jobs is to carry these bottles around back and organize them. He has a routine for stack-and-sort that he's repeated so many times that it's seamless. Even though he'd prefer sports over work, he has a responsibility to his family business-and he's found a way to make it fun. He pauses, gazing intently at the bottles, and thinks back to the Dr. Pepper jingle he heard a few days before on the radio. He sings, "Drink Dr. Pepper. The friendly pepper upper. hmm hmmmm." He picks up an RC Cola bottle and places it to the RC Cola stack. Pauses. Does a little shake. And reaches for the next one. Stack. Shake. Hum. "The friendliest pepper upper in toooooown." This small routine done in the alleyway of Calandro's Grocery to the hum of refrigeration motors drowning out his high-pitched voice, is the start of a lifetime of self-satisfaction through productivity.

In the early 1900s, both sets of Blaise's grandparents came on a boat from Sicily to the States. Like many other families processed through immigration at the time, their last name was morphed from Calandra to Calandro at Ellis Island. At first, they settled in the rural towns of Tickfaw and Independence, Louisiana-where Vennera D'Anna and Brazil Calandro met and got married. Soon after, the newlyweds ventured to Baton Rouge with a vision and determination to succeed. Their Italian Catholic heritage was not welcomed by their Protestant counterparts-they had to live on the suburban outskirts of town, they weren't welcomed by many of the neighboring families, and elitist social clubs were not about to let the 'dagos' in. Oftentimes, Protestant white women would drive up to the front of the store in their Cadillac Devilles and-without eye contact-say to Blaise, "Hey. Son. Go get me a carton of cigarettes and a head of cabbage." Their upperclass attitude infuriated him-but reflecting back he says, "The way to overcome the stigma is by making something of yourself. And that's exactly what my parents did. And they instilled it in me." His family had no choice but to work hard. The store was the center of their universe. Little did Vennera and Brazil know just how successful their vision would be.

In 1963, when Blaise was a high-school junior, he maintained his athletic abilities from childhood-he was one of the best runners on the track team. But sports weren't his only talent. He had an intellect that gave him the curiosity to fix most anything from lawn mower motors to broken radios and televisions. The value and pride he found through work at an early age imprinted a work ethic that rose above most others. "I refused to let anyone think I owed them anything. I wouldn't even let my parents give me things. My dad and I had an unspoken deal-I would rather work for things than have them given to me. I don't want to be indebted to somebody because they gave something to me. I think my dad really respected that about me." Everything Blaise did, he did with utmost commitment-his motivation being simply the challenge to do his best. "I'd get so frustrated if I knew something could be better and I couldn't figure out how to make it better. The challenge was enough for me to work and work until I got that thing -whatever it was-to perform at its best. I guess that's why I pursued engineering-to create, make better, and fix what was broken. And I guess that's why I took on the challenge of making an already successful grocery business to be even more profitable." At that point in time, Blaise had decided that he didn't want to rely on the family business for success. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps to make a life from the ground up. "Daddy was good at everything he did. He had a lot of street smarts and was a tremendously strong role model. To be as good as dad you had to be pretty damn good. To be better than him was almost impossible."

In 1968, Blaise graduated from Louisiana State University with a Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering. For the next twenty-five years, he worked as an engineer for Ethel Corporation, Bernard and Burke, and Calandro Engineering and Electric-a freelance company that he started. When he was 31 years old, he got married to Debbie Parker, a southern belle from Natchez, MS. Until they had their two children-one boy and one girl-she worked full time as a registered nurse. Blaise had decided early on that he didn't want to work in the grocery business, and he followed through wholeheartedly. His only responsibility at the store-by then known as Calandro's Supermarket-was electrical maintenance and repair; a job that his father paid him to do.

On Saturday, April 23, 1993, Blaise and his family were in Natchez, MS for the funeral of Debbie's mother. That morning, he spoke to his dad on the phone. "We'll be there in a few hours. We're just leaving Baton Rouge. I love you, son." Blaise was somewhat taken aback when his dad said that he loved him, as this was usually an unspoken sentiment. About an hour later, Blaise received a phone call from the Mississippi State Police. A man in a red Toyota truck had fallen asleep at the wheel after an early morning fishing trip. He crossed over the white line of the two lane highway just in time for Brazil to say to Vennera-who was driving, "Honey, watch out." Blaise's mother spent the next six months in the hospital and the next year in rehab. His father, Brazil Joseph Calandro, Senior, at a healthy age of 82, was immediately killed.

Around a thousand people attended the wake. And hundreds more, the funeral. Blaise hadn't cried so intensely since he was a very young child. His respect for his father, and all the achievements of his life, was more apparent than ever before. Brazil started as an outcast minority. His dedication made the Calandro's name well-known within the confines of Baton Rouge. His father's death marked a transition point in Blaise's life. His career as an engineer came to an immediate halt when he was left with shared ownership of the business with his three brothers. He felt a responsibility to make his father proud, to help extend this Baton Rouge tradition into the future, and maybe even help make it better. "It was a challenge for me to go in and contribute. I had to go in there with humility and learn something that I didn't know much about. When Daddy died, the operations were messy and inefficient. And my brothers and I had to troubleshoot a lot to get things moving again. It felt good to get other people motivated and on board with change. I think Daddy would be proud of me."

Now, 63-year-old Blaise spends his days at Calandro's Supermarket #2, located at the corner of Perkins and Siegen Lane about seven miles southeast of the original Calandro's at 4142 Government. This is the new South Baton Rouge, where business is booming and the wealthy are moving. Nowadays, the customers love every bit of the Calandro's tradition in their hometown. They come to the store sometimes just to pick up some homemade Italian meatballs and say "hello" to Blaise and his brothers. Each day presents a new set of fixable challenges-from spilled milk on the floor to broken refrigeration equipment. Every now and then, Blaise might pull out an old memory or two to get him through the day. "Drink Dr. Pepper. The friendly pepper upper... Click Here to Read More..

A bit about why Architecture (with a capital A) is awesome.

Information Writing
Design Seminar II

Have you ever stood outside of a very tall building, looked up at it, and wondered how, in all of its complexity and largeness, that it came to be? Have you ever been to a museum clad in curved glass with funny looking angled panels on the roof only to go inside and find that the light most perfectly blankets each piece of artwork in the most precise way? If you are inside now, look around you. Did you know that the space that you're in was once a preconceived idea in the creative mind of an architect? Maybe you have thought about this before but haven't had any answers. I am here to tell you that these daily interactions you have with the built space around you are a product of hundreds-maybe even thousands-of years of architects striving to create the perfect space.

In the early days of civilization, architecture was simply a way to protect the human from the disorder of the natural world. In other words, to keep the rain and the bears out. It slowly evolved into a field where art and science merge to a fuzzy place somewhere in the middle. It is scientific because it is, in its very nature, technical. It involves heavy materials being hoisted into the air and placed on top of structural elements that humans must safely inhabit. And at some point-probably as Greek architecture evolved-it became an artform. Not only was it important to the greeks that heavy stone be placed on top of large columns to maintain a safe space away from nature, it was important that the perfect proportions represent the cosmos (or heavens). Many Greek temples were sacred spaces built to honor the gods. And then when Christianity came to be, these values filtered into the Gothic and Renaissance churches. Architecture wasn't only to keep the bears out-it was an artistic cultural collaboration to embody God.

Architecture today has become even more complex in its definition than back in the day. Many of the early values of architects are still important-including proportion, truth of material, relationship to nature, the meaning of vast open space, etc. But now, we have the addition of environmental awareness, digital prefabrication, structural technologies that push the boundaries of what can be built, and a million other things. As a student of architecture and then a professional in the field, I have learned a lot about both the science and the art of architecture. And I have learned that the architectural pioneers from history, and even from today, are the ones that understand the science of architecture, and simultaneously, strive to pursue the art of architecture in every project they encounter. It's not about engineering a box or an oversized sculpture for people to hang out in; rather, it's about forming a space that connects the inhabitants with something larger.

So, what constitutes good architecture today? Well, that's a very involved question and I could continue the detailed history from ancient greek architecture all the way to now to fully explain it. But I don't want to bore you, so I will be brief. Good architecture can be done in an infinite number of ways. It is not solely the conceptual process of design nor is it the final building that represents good architecture. It is some marriage of these two things where intentions, boundaries, and values are set up in an artistic, freethinking design process that considers three-dimensional form, space, light, journey, curiosity, etc. and then combines these with the technical methods for building. Both sides of this marriage must be fully developed for good architecture to occur. A good architect will never let a mechanical duct fall below the ceiling line (unless it is intended) nor will he use a random mess of materials on the facade of a building. A good architect will even spend time on the design of a bathroom-an area that is often an afterthought. A good architect will recognize his limitations and work creatively within them. A good architect will respect the environment, the materials, the context for which the building will be placed, the client's motivations and desires, and most importantly, the inhabitants who will experience the building on a daily basis. A good architect will learn-over years of practice-to take a multitude of factors into consideration and, hopefully, will contribute to making architecture-and therefore our physical world-better.

From the early days to now, architectural shifts are largely a result of pioneers pushing the limits of the current state. Some of them include Leonardo da Vinci (yes, he was an architect), Filippo Brunelleschi, Michelangelo (yes, also an architect), Andrea Palladio, and Le Corbusier. Each challenged how architects designed with respect to space, materials, form, nature, etc. Today, it seems we have a growing number of pioneers. I wish I could tell you about them all in great detail, however, I will touch on just a few prominent ones that you may have heard about-Frank Lloyd Wright, Louis Kahn, and Frank Ghery.

In the mid to late 1800s, most buildings were decorated boxes completely separate from the organic nature on top of which they were placed-and then Frank Lloyd Wright came along. He was a catalyst to change the way architects think about space. He linked architectural space to the horizontal organic space of the natural world. So, to put it simply, he lowered ceiling heights to intensify the horizontality of nature-it literally flows into and through his buildings. He also found a way-through the Usonian Prairie Home-to bring good architecture to people who-in most cases-could not afford it. Simplicity of structure and material and a step away from unnecessary expensive decoration helped make this possible. Some of his most famous dwellings include Fallingwater, The Robie House, and the Guggenheim Museum in New York.

Louis Kahn, an architect from the mid-1900s, challenged the way architects thought about building form and truth of material. He valued honesty in how he used materials and this honesty became the decoration of the building. For example, his concrete forms at the Salk Institute in La Jolla, CA have small holes and unsmoothed edges showing the story of how the structural concrete was formed in the construction of the building. At the Salk Institute, a small stream of water travels from the center of the courtyard westward to a waterfall overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Though I hate to dumb down Louis Kahn, the master of space, material, light, and form, this stream is much like an infinity edge swimming pool. It is perceived as a continuation of the ocean. At the Kimbell Museum in Fort Worth, TX, Kahn engineered light and curved concrete in such a way that the concrete sparkles like silverish gold. He taught architects that using material merely for its aesthetic was completely dishonest to the inherent nature of the material. Rather than painting a material to make it beautiful, allow nature to inform the beauty of the material. Let concrete be compressed, let steel be in tension, let bricks stack, and leave space between materials for expansion and contraction. "'You say to a brick: 'What do you want, brick?' and brick says to you: 'I like an arch.'"1 In his simple way of understanding materials, light, and building form, Kahn is looked to as a master.

In architecture today, there is an imminent change in the process of building. You may have heard of Frank Ghery before. He is currently pushing the limit of how and what we can build. If you've ever been to Los Angeles, CA and seen the Walt Disney Concert Hall or if you've been to Seattle, WA and seen the Experience Music Project, you should know what I'm talking about. Frank Ghery's buildings are massive curving metal forms. They are what some architects call 'Blob'itecture-which is architecture that looks as though a blobby gel-like substance was blown up to a large proportion for humans to inhabit. I won't discuss the controversy over whether or not this 'blob'itecture is spatially well designed, but I will say that Ghery has sparked a revolution in what engineering can do for architecture. Before Ghery, curving and blobbing forms made of steel and glass were pretty much impossible. Determining many curving steel beams with no regularity or similarity is so complex its not worth the time or the money. So, how does Ghery-and other revolutionaries of today-do it? Well, as of now, the process is quite involved and has yet to be refined. But it basically requires a complete change of standard building processes. Typically, two-dimensional construction documents are brought on site and constructed from the ground up. Ghery's buildings must be digitally machined and constructed off-site-a process called digital prefabrication-and then taken on-site to be chunked together like a puzzle. As time goes on, prefab will become more and more feasible, and maybe one day, will become the norm. If this happens, Ghery, and a few of his counterparts, will be considered the impetus of the movement.

In considering the early days of ancient civilization, to the days of Ancient Greece and Rome, to the revolutionized built world of today, how do you think architecture affects your life? Well, architects have changed the way you interact with your physical world. Wright realized that the format of the modern, middle class lifestyle and its relationship to nature did not match the boxy ornate architecture of the day. So, he changed it. How your family interacts both on the interior and exterior of your home may be different if it weren't for him. Kahn changed the way light, form, and materials interact, and he challenged simplicity and the sublime. If it weren't for Kahn, cities may be more plastered than they already are with fake decorative details, and the beauty of concrete may not be as appreciated. If it weren't for Ghery, engineering may never have been challenged so drastically. And we may forever build from the ground up rather than with new digital prefabrication technologies. To put it simply, architecture literally shapes what your world looks like and how you feel in it. It directly (or indirectly) affects almost everything you do. So, next time that you're standing in front of a really tall building, think about the thousands of years of architects and buildings that preceded it and ultimately made that building what it is. Click Here to Read More..

Snow Day at Mellon Park

Scenic Writing
Design Seminar II

Mellon Park is three feet high in snow. The black gate encompassing it is merely black spikes rising out of an infinite white blob. On one side of the gate is the street that can't be seen under all the snow. And on our side is the valley of the park that inches its way up the hill. The hill is like an enormous ocean wave right before it's peak that has been frozen still and dusted with white powder. A few trees dot the surface of the park. They are massive versions of the black gate—foreign bodies protruding up through the blob. The snow absorbs the sound of the voices echoing over the top of the hill. Jonathan and I are like two knee-deep statues watching our dogs run rampant, stamping the vast blanket.

A black lab and two young boys—one in a blue jacket, the other in a red—race up the hill, carving out a new walking path. The dog gets distracted and runs over first to Mara, my yellow lab. She sniffs Mara's butt, and then Boo—Jonathan's red and black mutt—comes up and pokes noses with her—black nose to black nose. When the dog, "Bella," is called back, she glances over her right shoulder, hesitates, and then dashes up the hill towards her pack.

Mara's tail has sped up like a hummingbirds wings. The yellowish-white blur is spastic. Specks of snow, like dust, fly around her hind legs and the sun shimmers through them making fireworks during the day. Jonathan begins packing up snowballs and dropping them by his side. Their heaviness sinks them down—maybe ten inches—into the white powder. "I'm getting a bunch ready so I can throw one, and then when Boo comes back, I'll hit her in the face with the next." Jonathan's black hair and tan skin contrast the overwhelming white of the field of vision. As soon as Boo sees the round form of the snowball, she goes still. Her eyes are glued to Jonathan's gloves cupping the snow. His right, somewhat muscular arm cranks back. His jacket crackles as the material scrapes against itself. Boo's gaze follows; up, over to the right, and then like a dart, she's across the park. Mara follows but stops halfway. She watches Boo's nose insert itself into the snowball crater. Boo takes a few bites, swallows, and then runs back. Again, Jonathan's arm cranks back. Crackle. WAP. Before I can even see what happened, the snowball is gone. Boo's pointy nose wobbles up and down as she crunches and swallows. "Watch. It doesn't even phase her. Boo. Get it." He throws another. Again, it lands perfectly and she swallows. "Did you used to play baseball or somethin?" I ask him. "Yeah. I was a pitcher." Boo prepares herself. Crackle. WAP.

I look over at Mara. She has wandered to the tree that catches the bottom of the hill. She hops from one snowcrater to the next. She stands still, pointing her gaze to her next location. Then she flies straight up in the air and lands two feet forward—snow dust blurring her to a fuzzy, yellowish-white. The snow is tail height and her head is lifted to keep her from drowning. She sets up again. Prepare. Look. Jump. On this one, her butt swings to the right and knocks her off balance. Her whole body, except her
pink nose and the crown of her head, disappears into the blob and a cloud of sparkly snow encompasses the air around her. Her butt swings back and forth as she sturdies herself. "Maraaaaaaaaa." I yell at her. Her head jerks around and stops—slightly angled to one side. A few clumps of snow balance on top of her head, between her square-shaped ears. "Come." She plunders obnoxiously through the untouched powder towards me. Some jumps clear the snow completely, keeping a foot of peace between one dot and the next. Others begin to connect the dots as a paw accidentally scrapes across the top inch layer of snow. By the time she reaches me, there are fifteen craters that have unsympathetically disrupted nature's creation.

Boo's black and red face is sparkling with snow. She's intently waiting for the next snowball to fly straight into her mouth. Mara then sturdies her feet, leans back, and plunges on top of Boo. Boo glances back quickly and re-adjusts her gaze to the snowball. Again, Mara pounces—one foot on Boo's back, the other in the snow. Her body falls to the left, and disappears into the abyss. Snow surrounds her whole body except her tail. It remains in view—straight and swinging—like a pendulum keeping to the beat of a fast-paced song. This time, she stands up strong, right behind Boo. Boo is completely still, staring at the snowball. Mara's lips curl and her nose flares. Her head bounces forward and she barks once. Her tail is now sticking straight out, no longer swinging. Boo stares at the snowball. Mara barks twice more. Each bark growing deeper. "Err. Err. eeeeeeee. Urr. Urr." She pounces on Boo again. Boo snaps back at her and then stiffly reconnects her eyes to the snowball.

"Throw one at Mara. See if she can catch it." My lips move in slow motion as the cold seeps in. Boo sits in angst. Mara barks. Jonathan prepares. Boo's black tail starts wafting the snow behind her. "Catch it Mara!" He says. As soon as she turns her head towards him, WAP. It hits the side of her nose. Her whole body jerks still and her eyes go wide. Three seconds go by and then she shakes—her collar tags clinging together, snow encircling her. Jonathan throws another, this time far off into the park valley. Boo dashes towards the snowball and Mara chases her. When Mara catches up, her front legs go down into the snow like a sphinx and her butt protrudes into the air. She barks five or six times head bobbing back and forth forcing out louder and louder barks. Boo's head goes under the surface of the snow as she searches for the snowball. She comes up rapidly chewing, snowcrumbs all around her mouth. She runs back to Jonathan; Mara still in sphinx pose. Mara's gaze follows Boos movements all the way back over to us. Jonathan prepares another snowball and throws it. Boo again darts off. Mara chases her; barking. Boo eats the snowball and runs back leaving Mara behind.

Finally, a group of sledders forms at the top of the hill. Male and female voices echo across the park. A male voice yells out. "Just pick up your feet and hold on." I see him push the other figure down the hill. The deep chunky sound of the human-weighted plastic rolling over the mound of half-packed snow resonates as the sled comes down, closer towards us. Mara's ears pop up and her gaze shifts from Boo to the noise. She runs right in front of the sled as the olive-skinned mid-20-something girl crashes into the snow. The girl squeals in laughter and Mara runs two circles around her. Mara's head leans in to lick her. The girl gets up, dusts off the snow, and trudges up the hill. Mara stays at her heels. The next guy preps the sled. "One. Two. Three. GO." The sled spins down the hill and he grips the sides of it for dear life. A gruff "Urrf." exits Mara's belly as she tries to catch him. Her feet get caught in the snow and she stumbles. The sledder falls over, his black Gortex turning gray when the snow sticks to it. A huge grin forms on his face as Mara hops around him and he pats her on the head. My gaze shifts back to Boo and Jonathan. Jonathan is laughing at Mara and the sledders. Boo is staring at the snowball in Jonathan's glove.


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love with a city

Self-Portrait
Design Seminar II

I absolutely could not wait to look out the window of the plane and see the 405 and 10 intersection— and the miles of traffic that signified we were above Los Angeles, California—my true home away from home. I looked miles below to the ground. It was brown with layers of cracked earth indicating steep, mountainous terrain. Every now and then I noticed a road with a car traveling on it. “We’re probably nearing Joshua Tree... and the windmills” I thought “about 140 miles to go.” I was on my first Christmas break from Graduate School at Carnegie Mellon University, and I had just spent the past eight months in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—a place dramatically different from Los Angeles. I thought back to the last time I flew into LAX. I had just visited Pittsburgh for the first time and—during my visit—had made the decision to move there for Grad School. My stomache had cringed at the idea that it could be the last time I would fly back. But today—with unbridled excitement—here I was.

Two and a half years ago is the last time I can remember feeling this way on the plane into LA. It was my very first visit. I remember it was night in early August and I could see fireworks all around the city. I don’t know why there were fireworks, though, they quite nicely paralleled the discord in my heart as the plane neared the landing pad. My mom had travelled with me to check everything out—which meant, offer me her opinions on each apartment we toured and each job I interviewed for. We found ourselves in the middle of a small studio apartment just south of Beverly Hills when my landlord-to-be warned me. He said, “Be careful—once you move to Southern California, you’ll never leave. And if you have to leave, you’ll forever be dreaming of the sun and the ocean. Are you sure you’re ready?” Well I wasn’t sure. I looked at my mom and she gave me the “Are you okay living 3,000 miles away from home?” look. “Yes.” I stated confidently. “I am ready.” I think I was shaking as I signed the lease.

Up to this point, I had lived in Baton Rouge, Louisiana my entire life. I had just graduated from Louisiana State University with a Bachelors degree in Architecture. Just ten minutes from mom and dad’s, I lived in a bungalow style house in the garden district with my six-month old yellow lab. I had a decent job at an architecture firm downtown. And besides my recent tumultuous breakup with my boyfriend of one and a half years, I didn’t really have a reason to leave except that I was bored. Bored of my running route around the LSU Lakes, bored of the tunnel vision that many people are diseased with there, and even—I can’t believe I am saying this—bored of the duck and sausage gumbo from The Chimes. “I’m gonna move to California one day” had always been one of those statements I said aloud to people but never had any intention of actually doing. But now my newly single-ness and blasē attitude towards home had me energetic for something new. So I took advantage of this ‘impulse’ and very swiftly—before it wore off—took the necessary steps to make it happen. The next thing I knew, I was standing in my to-be studio apartment just a few miles east of the Pacific—a few miles south of, well, Hollywood.

A month after my apartment and job searching visit in Los Angeles, I packed the car and made the four-day drive west from Baton Rouge. Most people would say, “It takes an average of six months to love living in Los Angeles.” I guess I’m the exception because it took me about three trips to Runyon Canyon, one trip to the Promenade in Santa Monica, and maybe a trip or two to the beach to be sure that Los Angeles was stealing my heart. The next two years would be fantastic. My dog, Mara and I, would explore every inch of the city and soak in every bit of the sun. I think I knew early on that I didn’t have much time there because I placed precedence on gorging myself in everything unique to Southern California. Beach Volleyball, Westcoast Poweryoga, Marathon Training on the Santa Monica Strand, and hiking in the mountains were only a few of my activities. Each time I went home—though I was happy to be reacquainted with family, friends, and gumbo—I felt evermore distant to the life I used to know there. Flights back to LA had a routine: the fervent search for the 405 and the sigh of relief when it was spotted. It was a routine of unabashed independence. A place where I felt connected to the outside world and freed from the chokehold of life in Baton Rouge.

About a year after I moved to Los Angeles, even though weekend life was really really good, my day job was not. Every day I literally had to tear myself away from my apartment and into my desk chair at work. The sifting through mechanical drawings for the 65,000 square foot monster house I was working on was dramatically different than creating the expressive architecture I had come to know in school. I realized very quickly how much more important money was over innovation in the professional world. And what made things even more depressing, was that there was not much I could do to change the process of induction of Junior Architects to Experienced Licensed Architects—I needed something like 300 units under supervision plus nine exams to obtain my license. This would take three to five years of mouse clicking and drawing sifting. And even after this, the day-to-day work wasn’t guaranteed to change. The architecture profession was becoming the new chokehold in my life.

My daily mantra shifted from “get paid Monday through Friday so Saturday and Sunday can happen” to “how can Sunday through Saturday be seamless?” In other words, “How can I get paid to love every second of my life?” I answered my question with: 1. Become a yoga teacher so you can get paid to yoga. 2. Get a Masters in Design so you can get paid to create. Well, right before I left California, I completed number 1—I now get paid to yoga. Number 2 will commence in May of 2011.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” My mom asked when we pulled onto the 10 freeway to head back East. “No, I’m not ready to go. Not at all.” I replied. In this moment of leaving, LA was the bandaid and I was the skin—this ripping apart was almost too painful to manage. I swallowed a few tears as we drove towards the desert. Los Angeles had taught me about myself and the world—and how to search within to find happiness without.

So here I was—almost eight months since I left—fervently searching for the 405 again. My heart thumped when I first spotted it. Then I saw Palos Verdes, the Hermosa Pier, and the Ferris Wheel in Santa Monica. The sky was blue and the smoky haze of yellow that always hovered above the city was still intact. In a few moments, I’d be released again. Back at home—back in my space of utter comfort and bliss. I knew that it had been the right decision to move away, but my landlord was right on. I would always dream of the sand and the sea, the blue sky, the traffic, and the smog. I was only here for a few days this time, but hopefully next time, I’ll be back to live.
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My friends.

I have 809 friends on facebook (I know - that's a totally cliche thing to say). But of those 809, there may be about 20 people that I am actually truly friends with. And of those 20, there may be about 10 that I actually truly talk to often. And of those 10, there may be about 5 that are actually truly close friends. Some of you may object to this statement because I always say, "my best friend from ____" or "my best friend from ____." But really, in my day-to-day life, I don't have many friends at all. Just a few people that I actually share life with. Of course there are those that I talk to once a year and can just dive right back in like no time has passed. But in reality, my numbers are very low. And as I get older, the numbers just get lower.... I guess that is just how life goes. All this is okay with me though because the friends that I have are some of the most amazing people I know. Right now I'm in California visiting my old lifestyle. I don't have many friends here either. I have a lot of acquaintances - A LOT. In a place where 'me me me' is the mentality and there's no time for anybody or anything, I still have a select few here who - at the drop of a hat - will go out of their way for me. And I am feeling so blessed. Especially as I sit here in Hermosa Beach at my friend Graeme's apartment waiting for my friend Eileen to arrive so we can go spend the day on the beach. And as I think about the past few days and how I flooded Graeme's garage when I used his broken washing machine and he graciously brushed it off like it was no thing. We just dried it up and went for beer and sushi. And then I think about the fact that Eileen rescheduled her life this weekend just to be with me. So I just want to give a shout out to the amazing friends that I do have - including those not here with me in California. Yall are truly amazing. You teach me how I can be a better person and a better friend.

I'm off to the beach :) Click Here to Read More..

Visualizing the Information Space...

of HarmenLiemburg.nl

Here's my final studio project that I've been slaving over for the past week.

Check it.

Visualizing the Information Space... from Sarah Calandro on Vimeo.

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How Yoga Teacher Training, Edward Cullen, and Raw Chicken Changed My Life

In the land of yoga, Yoga Teacher Training marks a major life transition. People go through teacher training for multiple reasons. Some people want a complete career change. Some a new side income. Some want to deepen their yoga practice. And then others just want to meet interesting folk and practice yoga with them. I wanted to become a yoga teacher not only for the obvious - I loved yoga and wanted to share the love with others. But I also wanted relief from my profession as an architect, I wanted something new to direct my passion towards, and - though I would have never admitted it then - I was young and single and, well, always up for meeting new interesting people (in particular, the somewhat attractive male types of people). I repeat, I would have never admitted this then.

One night in the fall of 2008 after one of his vigorous vinyasa flow classes, Tamal Dodge announced that he would be holding a 200-hour yoga teacher training in the spring. Now, not only was Tamal my favorite yoga instructor, but he knew a lot about yoga - he had grown up on an Ashram in Hawaii and was basically immersed in yoga his entire life. Also, at $1,095, he had the most affordable training program on the market - I hadn’t seen anything less than $3,000 anywhere - and this was not just California teacher training costs. It seemed like $3,000 was the standard across the entire world. This was perfect - I gave Tamal a $200 down payment the very next day.

I waited in angst for the next six months. It was that time in life where anything and everything was possible - I wanted to do it all, and I wanted to do it right then. Full of stress and busy-ness, I went through nine graduate school applications, one marathon, one boyfriend (and then breakup), and about a hundred architecture detail drawings before I was onto my next task - the most satisfying of all: Yoga Teacher Training. I arrived at 806 Broadway in Santa Monica, California around 12:30 pm for my first day of yoga school. I was like a child on the first day of Kindergarten - I was wearing my new Lululemon yoga skirt atop black spandex pants, a tank top, and of course, my yoga mat slung over my shoulder. The mystery of the next nine weeks amped my excitement. I knew this was going to be life changing.

Thirty others, already wearing their prayer beads and flipping through their new Bhagavad Gitas, looked up at me when I walked through the door. The variety was like no other. Chelsey and Graham - a couple who had fallen in love practicing yoga together. Mary Anne - an academic type with a Phish fetish. Katie - a bubbly-girl from Pittsburgh with a Boston Terrier named Petey. Arana (aah-rah-nah), who fits more properly - with his savage look - amongst a battalion of Maori warriors preparing for battle rather than a group of yogis preparing for yoga. Jeff Van Ness - mmm Jeffrey - the blue-eyed, dark-haired, cuban hottie from South Florida. Jennifer - the boisterous laugh-er who was really into selling weight loss products. Haley - the beautiful Asian girl with a throaty, alluring voice (I’m sure the guys will flock to her yoga classes). And then there was Vincent - the actor/model from Las Vegas who ate raw chicken on a daily basis and - little did I know then - would sweep me off my feet just a few weeks later.

________

Months before, I had made the decision to take teacher training very seriously. Not only because of the amount of money I was spending, but because this was the only chance I had in this moment, in this place, to learn the things I was here to learn. Take it all in, Sarah. I told myself. You’re in Southern California, surrounded by famous yoga teachers all within a mile radius and for the next nine weeks, you have Tamal at your fingertips to teach you everything he knows. This may never happen again.

The first couple weeks went as expected. Fridays we broke down poses, Saturdays we attended Tamal’s flow class at the Poweryoga studio in Santa Monica, and Sundays we had spirituality classes with Kathy - who apparently had been studying world religions for the better part of her life. The students were all getting to know each other and, thus far, my diligence was keeping me focused.

________

This past Christmas, my mom bought me Twilight, by Stephanie Meier. I thought it was hilarious and stupid that a mother would purchase a teen science fiction novel about vampires for her 25-year old daughter. You see, the Twilight series was a recent fad amongst teens - and apparently also amongst their mothers - about the trials and tribulations of humans and werewolves and vampires and love. And Edward Cullen - the perfection of the male being in the form of a vampire - was the source of the obsession. I was not interested. “No thanks mom. I’ll stick to my books about yoga and healthy eating.” She said, “Sarah, you have no idea. You have to read this book.”

Well, during yoga teacher training, I just so happened to be in the mid-section of the book. Edward was woo-ing Bella and simultaneously, winning my heart. I realized that any man incapable of running at the speed of light, glittering in the sun, ripping apart wild animals with his bare hands, and properly fulfilling a woman’s every need with his soft, perfect skin, his burning gaze, and his insatiable desire to sweep his lady off her feet and carry her to the moon, was no longer for me.

The most recent guy I had dated was Justin. I met Justin at a bar one night in Venice. He got my number. He took me on a date. He kissed me. He said, “We should do this again sometime.” It was very sweet. I liked Justin. Then he didn’t call me for a few weeks and when he finally did - Valentine’s Day to be exact - it was like, for him, no time had passed. Typical. I knew he wasn’t really into me, but because I was bored and single, he was incredibly good-looking, and it was Valentine’s Day, what the heck? We went out. We drank beer. We ate late-night pizza. We had a lot of fun. But could Justin climb atop mile-high trees with me on his back (like Edward)? No. Did Justin eat raw meat with his bare hands? Nah. And, most importantly, did Justin get hypnotized by my very presence? Hell no. This book my mom gave me was setting my standards a bit too high.

________

It was the third week into Yoga Teacher Training, one week after my night of banter with Justin, and a few days after I had injured myself so badly in Shiva Rea’s crazy dance trance yoga class that I could hardly move. Multiple rapid eagle-armed warriors had somehow strained my chest muscle causing inflammation in my lungs. I could hardly breathe that week, much less, do yoga.

I stumbled into yoga class half-texting with Justin and half-focusing on my shortness of breath. I took my seat. When I noticed Vincent sitting beside me, I laughed and said, “I thought about you all week.” He looked at me with an excited grin and I burst his bubble when I continued, “Raw chicken is disgusting.” The week before, I had asked him about his insulated lunch box that he brought to class with him every day. It was filled with jars of liquid-y green and yellow goo that he would drink randomly throughout class. It sparked my interest so I asked him about it. I learned that he was a raw-atarian. But he was not a vegetarian raw-atarian. He was a meat-atarian raw-atarian. He ate raw chicken, beef, fish, eggs; the whole lot. He would also eat raw vegetables and fruits, raw milk, raw butter - and of course, all of this raw-ness had to be the most chemically clean of all organic foods. He did not drink alcohol. He covered his body in homemade pure coconut cream every night - sometimes in place of showering. He only grocery shopped at Whole Foods and the farmer’s market and on any given afternoon, you may find him shirtless, trapezing on the acrobatic swings at Venice Beach. To say the least, yoga teacher training was becoming really interesting. We did not only have a diverse group, but a border-line wacky one at that. I loved it.

That night turned out to be partner massage night to practice simple techniques for our future students. This was perfect for my strained chest - no yoga. “Sarah, do you wanna be my partner?” Vincent asked me. He then flashed a seductive smile my way. Uh oh. For lack of appropriateness, I won’t go into detail, but let me just say, I have never been so gracefully massaged by such a strong man.

By the end of class, Vincent had made it his goal in life to heal my broken chest. By Saturday afternoon, he had my number, by Saturday night he was heavy into research, and by Sunday, we had a shopping date at Whole Foods to heal my chest the raw way.

When I got home after the grocery store date, I realized what was happening to me. No Sarah. No. No. No. You cannot get distracted in yoga teacher training. Don’t do it. I googled his name on the internet. He is sooo Hollywood. Sooo not my type. Photos of him with his perfectly sculpted body, his Italian coconut creamy skin, and his innocent gold eyes stared back at me. I was beginning to feel like I was the main character in a movie. I tried to swallow the giddi-ness rising in my chest because A - I don’t date models. I am not into Hollywood fame. B - If you were to ask my mother the #1 most repulsive thing to me, it would be raw chicken. And C - Yoga Teacher Training is too important to me to get wrapped up in an idealistic love story. I will not allow myself to fall for Vincent.

A week of flirtatious texting led to a night out for raw ice cream and ended with a light kiss on my back porch. Vincent gazed into my eyes and when he said, “Whoa. Now I’m dizzy.” I realized I had met the embodiment of Edward Cullen.

________

There is a discussion in yoga teacher training about the ethics and morals of teaching yoga. One of the very important - and simultaneously most controversial and risqué - is the topic of teachers dating students. Should you? Or should you not? According to Tamal, “Don’t do it.” He would argue that when certain lines are crossed, yoga can very quickly become sexual and therefore lead a person away from the true practice. We are teachers and we are supposed to be true to our practice in all walks of life. And anyway, there’s too much drama and awkwardness that can come along with it. He described a situation that he knew firsthand. A female yoga teacher friend of his had been dating one of her students and they ended up, after a short period, having an explosive breakup. He continued attending her classes and the tension became so apparent - and he violent - that the studio had to ask him to no longer practice there. You can imagine how this reflected on the teacher and on the studio.

In my distracted falling-in-love-with-Vincent state, I couldn’t help but apply this discussion directly to my situation. I still wanted to take yoga training seriously. I questioned if it was a good thing that I began training with this great focus on bringing yoga to the world and only found myself in a blissed out haze of drooling-gushy-loviness. “Vincent, we can’t sit next to each other in class. And, you can’t look at me either.” I explained to him one day before class.

The thing is, since our ice cream date, which then led to our first kiss, Vincent and I spent every moment together outside of his time at school and my time at work. He would drop me off at work in the mornings and then meet me at my apartment in the afternoons. We did yoga together and lied around on the couch together - I even allowed him to consume raw chicken with my utensils in my apartment. This was a huge breakthrough. Some days I would find him in my living room playing with my yellow lab - he would be upturned walking around on his hands while Mara would be jumping around him in barking confusion. My friends called him Wonder Man. Where did this guy come from? I didn’t understand why he liked me so much. I didn’t understand why he wanted to spend time with me. His agile beauty made me feel quite average.

Even though the ethical moral dating debate does not apply to yoga teachers dating yoga teachers, I felt like, in some way, this did. To me, teacher training was a professional environment full of people serious about learning yoga. I did not want there to be any relationship drama originating from Vincent and I disrupting that balance. I thought that he and I could continue on in secret until training commenced. Then if we were ready, we could enter into the public yoga realm with our coupledom. Vincent thought my rationale was off the wall, but he respected it nonetheless. He still did an amazing job of flashing me heart-melting smiles across the room and sneaking in intimate moments during break. A few weeks passed and I was pretty sure that no one in class knew about us. In some way, the secret made things more exciting.

________

Just two weeks before the end of Yoga Teacher Training I took a trip to Raleigh, NC to visit the graduate school of design at NC State University - one of my grad school options. Vincent was beginning to express nervousness about me moving but I reassured him that UCLA was still an option. I just had to keep NC State in mind. When I returned from Raleigh, Vincent continued his random acts of romance. He picked me up from the airport and brought me to Playa del Rey to watch the sunset over the ocean. He was beginning to make it clear to me that he wanted to bring our relationship to another level. I wasn’t completely sure if I was ready - even after all the wooing going on. There was something that kept me feeling insecure about him - he seemed like a lucid dream to me. But I had fallen so wrecklessly for him that my insecurities were buried deep within.

________

Two nights later, at the end of class, Vincent walked over to Haley. Remember? The Asian beauty? He flipped open his phone, smiled at her, and asked her for her phone number. He did not try to hide anything from me. He was not being sneaky. My ears and face and eyes and neck and heart began to burn. There is no way. He would not do this to me. They are just friends. Sarah. Calm down. The next few hours were a whirlwind. We rode home together and he knew I was upset about something. I refused to let him know how I felt. I refused to be the jealous girl - refused. Over and over again he repeated, “What’s wrong Sarah? What’s wrong with you, Sarah?” It was like he knew exactly why I was upset and he wanted me to say it.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the conversation opened up and he began to talk. He told me he had never really liked me that much and he needed to end things before it was too late. He was sorry for confusing me but, “We will never work out.” The words echoed. We will never work out. Panic. Worry. Reality set in.

Sorry for confusing me? Confusing me? I was drugged. I think the proliferation of word vomit that exited my mouth for the next hour probably didn’t do too much good. But still I held true, no discussion of Haley. No discussion of jealousy. The conversation continued in complete tension. From what I understood, somewhere between the time yoga class had started and ended that night, Vincent decided that I was no longer interesting and Haley was the next best thing (of course this is not what he said, but it was definitely the underlying truth). I had experienced a few bad breakups up to this point, but never had I experienced something so gut-wrenching. The only foreshadowing I was given in the duration of dating him was my subconscious insecurity telling me to stay away. Of course I ignored it.

________

For the next 12 hours, I dreaded eating. I dreaded moving. I dreaded speaking. I dreaded yoga. And more than anything, I dreaded going to yoga training. I dreaded the unavoidable possibility of bursting into tears in front of the thirty other happy zen folk I had come to know. I dreaded feeling like a crazy nutbag of emotions in front of them all. My heart was shredded. I hated him. I hated myself. I hated yoga. I hated everything. And I felt like the fool.

I spent the next two weeks of class swallowing lumps of tears as I watched Vincent and Haley wallow all over each other during class - yes, there was even a kiss or two. I had set myself up. Arana, Jeff, Jennifer, Katie, and everyone else had no idea about us. To them, Vincent and Haley sprouted a sweet love during teacher training. I shouldn’t even have to describe the feelings boiling inside me - this universal heartbrokenness.

________

When I think back now to Yoga Teacher Training, I have a multitude of feelings. In yoga training, most people learn about yoga from learned masters of yoga while forming relationships with some of the most interesting people they’ve ever met. And then they turn out into the world to spread the love. It turns out to be, for most, one of the best times in their life.

For me, yoga training was a good time (atleast for the first seven weeks) and it did - and probably will continue to - open doors in my life. On the surface, I learned the obvious - the bandhas, breathing, spirituality, and the perfect alignment of every posture. I also learned a few things that aren’t on most yoga training curriculums - prince charming vampires do not exist, men that are too good to be true probably aren’t so good, and, fyi, follow your instinct when it comes to dating meat-atarian raw-atarian actors. Not only are they well-trained in the art of acting, but they probably have salmonella swiming around in their mouths.

The most valuable thing I learned, though, is application of yoga to life. If there was a workbook to practice maintaining calm amidst chaos, this heartbreaking love story would be a perfect problem. To respond to this experience, I had a decision to make. The past year had been about achieving goals driven by emotions. I could continue on in this (stressed out) way, or, I could take the yogic path. I could live in each day as it came and not allow external things - such as heartbrokenness - to affect my overall happiness. Instead of reverting to old tactics of lying helplessly in a pile of tears on the floor of my living room and gorging myself with sugar, I decided to instill in my life a true yoga practice. I really don’t think I would take yoga so seriously now without the enlightening realizations made then. I’m not sure how life would be now without that experience, but I do know this: I am much happier than I was before yoga training. Because of it, I have a tactile insight to what yoga is, should be, and can be in the life of the practitioner. I find each class that I teach (and attend) to mold me a little more. I’m pretty sure Yoga Teacher Training changed my life.


Besides Jeffrey Van Ness and Tamal Dodge, all other names have been changed for anonymity.
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How My Yoga Neighbor Teaches Me Yoga

This is a story I posted a few months back of a situation I encountered in yoga class one day. I have re-worked and it is much better flowing and more clear. Please send your comments!

Yoga class (unspoken) etiquette rule #1: Do not enter the yogic space of your next-door yoga neighbor. Your presence is not welcome. Thank You.

After three agonizing days of a sketching intensive in my summer design fundamentals course at Carnegie Mellon University, I had an intense craving for a vigorous yoga class. I had just moved to Pittsburgh from Los Angeles, the yoga capital of the US. While in LA, yoga had developed into a platform for my sanity. The focus on the droplet of salty sweat trickling from my brow to my cheek to my lips; the intense Ujjayi breath stinging the insides of my nose and throat, energizing my entire body; the ease of meditative bliss after 75 minutes of intensity - all contributed to my dependence on this trendy, spiritual path.

It was a lukewarm Tuesday in Pittsburgh. My body was tired and my mind was racing. I trudged up the stairs of the Amazing Yoga Shadyside studio juggling my block, yogamat, towel, and water-bottle. I dropped everything down in my usual spot - middle center, between two people - and went to sign in. Everything was normal. The instructors sat in the front gossiping subtlely as they waited for 5:45 p.m. The smell of the incense burned through the air as the heat magnified its smoky aroma. I handed my ten-class punch card to the desk-receptionist and turned back towards my space.

A curly redhead had placed her mat down next to mine and because I was preoccupied setting my intention for class, I disregarded her over-sized neon-blue beach towel breaking rule #1 of good yoga etiquette - it touched every adjacent mat, including mine. Deepening my inhalations I spread my Yogitoes towel onto my mat and collapsed into Child’s pose. The bustle of people slowed down and the instructor took attention.

Suryanamaskar A.
[inhale] Arms reach high.
[exhale] Fold.
[inhale] Halfway lift.
[exhale] Chaturanga.
[inhale] Upward-facing Dog.
[exhale] Downward-facing Dog.

I melted into non-thinking. The soothing oceanic waves of breath through the classroom; the choreographed lightness of the chaturanga jumpback; the throaty vibrations of sound exiting the instructors lips - all reinforced successful meditation.

[inhale] Step the left foot forward. Warrior I.
[exhale] Open the arms. Warrior II.
[inhale] Lift the right leg up. Ardha Chandrasana.

“Yes! Half-Moon.” I thought. Ardha Chandrasana is a balancing pose capable of disclosing years of tension while allowing the heart and spine to open and be free. When achieved in all its glory, Half-Moon feels phenomenal. However, the focus must remain on a perfectly still object while the breath is deep and the abdominal muscles are tightly engaged. Elated, I began the search for my Drishti. Typically I locate a well-formed lump in the drywall. I balance. Stare. Engage. Breathe. Then I step my gaze up until it has reached the ceiling. Once there I find a hole in the acoustic paneling to stare at, and then my arms and legs can soar into Half-Moon. Today of course, Rule-Breaking-Yogi - you know, the curly redhead - wobbled back and forth obstructing the view to all drywall lump Drishtis. Not being unusual to teeter in Half-Moon, I tried to ignore her and brought my gaze straight to the ceiling. I hardly reached my Half-Moon climax when my foot obnoxiously crashed down with a loud thud. Oops.

[exhale] Release the right foot next to left.
[inhale] Switch sides. Ardha Chandrasana.

To my left was a strong Half-Mooner. She obviously practiced yoga often, so I had no worries this time around. My left leg rose. Lump #1. Lump #2. Hips stack. Lump #3. Inhale. Exhale. Abdominals tight. Inhale. Exhale. I had almost taken my gaze to the ceiling effortlessly when I noticed steamy, humid air blowing onto my back. Oscillating-Redhead had her mouth wide open and she panted every last bit of her hot, sticky breath over the line into my yogic space. Rule #1 broken again. “Breathe through your nose,” I wanted to say. The sound of my foot crashing again disrupted my thoughts. Usually, I don’t notice a single person in the room when I practice, but today was especially a challenge. Out of desperation, my mantra changed from the usual “Ham-sa” to “She does not exist.” I chanted this over and over again. She does not exist. She does not exist. Class continued on and despite the breathy gasping next door, I managed to return to the present.

Ahimsa - one of the five Yamas of Patanjali’s eight-fold path - means non-violence. It can pertain to anything from eating strictly plant-based foods to denying negative thoughts towards another. Sometimes Ahimsa is effortless - like abstaining from swatting a fly or kicking someone. However, in certain annoying situations, Ahimsa-deficiency is highly likely.

Class finally reached its pinnacle and I was exhausted. My hair, shirt, pants, face, towel, block, watch, and everything else within a one-inch radius of my mat was doused in secretion soup. For today, my clarity of mind was not going any deeper.

[exhale] Float the hips back. Child’s pose.

Aaaaah. The room sighed in utter relaxation and then, of course, the stillness was broken with a loud whisper. “What a tough class.” It came from the mat to my right (from Redhead / Oscillating Half-Moon / Hot-Breath - pick a name). Humorously annoyed, I thought, “Who would have thought after all the puffing and panting, she would be so worn out?” I caught myself: “Okay Sarah. Positive thoughts. Ahimsa.”

[inhale] Come to standing
[exhale] Lower down. Crow.

I prepared for another of my favorite poses. As I steadily lowered my hands to the floor, Hot-Breath plotted her final disruption. She sucked on her water-bottle waiting for the stars to align in perfect synchronization. And then as she finished her last gulp, an intestinal water-y belch exited her mouth and went straight for my Ujjayi inhale. “Sorry!” She loudly whispered as she looked up at me, mortified. I chuckled and as I floated into Crow I whispered, “It’s okay.” And it was. Click Here to Read More..

Teaching Yoga is like Ustrasana.

Teaching yoga is like Ustrasana. Ustrasana, or Camel pose, can provide 1 of 2 ‘good’ outcomes - the liberating in-the-moment-back-opening-feel-good ‘good’ or the exhausting I-think-I’m-going-to-throw-up-or-pass-out-but-I-know-this-is-good-for-me ‘good.’ For me, moreso than not, it’s the latter. And on the rare occasion that it’s the former, I bask in all it’s glory. As a newly certified yoga teacher - 7 months into my teaching practice to be exact - I find this analogy to be enlightening. In the classroom, some days feel good and some not so good. But all, inherently, are ‘good’ because I learn to breathe through my shortcomings and sacrifice the self. When energy is high, my students and I are on the same wavelength working, together, through the practice. Teaching is liberating. On other days - when the energy is low and my pace is off - my students look at me like I’m a nut. I have to stir up enough positive energy left over from the previous liberating class to pull us all through this next one. Teaching is exhausting. I need a really long Sivasana when I finally make it home.

In these early days of teaching, I’ve learned that the teaching is just as difficult as the doing. It takes focus, attention, discipline, energy, time. A day in the classroom, either teaching or practicing, can tell all: liberation or exhaustion. Is it me? Or is it just me today? Yoga tells me to breathe through it and next time, it will be better. It usually is. Click Here to Read More..

flying words down penn ave: the future of reading

should be self explanatory. ENJOY!

flying words down penn ave: the future of reading from Sarah Calandro on Vimeo.

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Today...

I started grad school.

During my sabbatical from 'real' life that began on April 25, 2009 (the first day of my non-dayjob lifestyle) to August 23, 2009 (yesterday), I have found myself involved in the following:

1. Doing whatever I feel like doing... whenever I feel like doing it.

2. Collecting and reading every single book that I have come in contact with that I find slightly interesting. These books have ranged from "The Omnivore's Dilemma", to "The Twilight Series", to "Eat, Pray, Love", to "Yoga in America" (and many others). From highschool, to architecture school, and then on to playing in the sun in California, I have not had much time to read. So, I have been reading...

3. Learning how to combat cancer (before it starts). Yes, sounds like a big undertaking for my 4-month leave, but yes, I've been eating lots of antioxidants (and working on getting my mother to do the same).

4. Laying in my bed. Surfing the internet. Dreaming of the day I live in Australia, Italy, India... teaching yoga, designing cool stuff, and doing more of whatever I feel like doing.

5. Doing yoga every day. Sometimes twice a day. My yoga practice lately has changed dramatically... and not only that, it is changing me.

6. Spending time with my parents. I have a new-found appreciation for being at home. Home = Cozy. And this time away from the chaotic lifestyle has been all about being cozy. So, thanks mom and dad.

7. Driving across the country over and over again living on granola bars, bananas, gas station bathrooms, and La Quinta Inn's with the one and only, MARA.

8. 2 months of getting to know Pittsburgh, PA. and learning that I am pretty fond of this cute town and it's nice people :)

So, what's next? Well:

1. I'm not quite sure. I know it will consist of a seminar course where I will read Aristotle and Plato, a studio course where I will map out my entire life into a complex diagram of information, Color Photography and Digital Output where I can finally add some color to my bw photography work, and writing: non-fiction genres on my own chosen topic (it's probable I will write about yoga and holistic health).

2. Yoga: teaching and practicing at the rec center on campus and yoga-flow (www.yogaflow.biz).

3. Mara. as always.

4. The un-cozy life. I will HAVE to do things, even when I don't want to.

5. Watching late-night crap TV to turn my brain off. Haven't had to do this in a while, but seems like I'll be thinking so much I'll need some mindlessness.

6. Getting to know and having discussions with lots of awesome people from all over the place.

7. Coffee.

8. Snow.

Here I go...

-S. Click Here to Read More..

wo.rd. line. paragraph. column. / the manuscript grid

Check out this weeks work on aftereffects. It was my first time to ever use the software and I'm quite impressed. I think it may become one of my new favorite programs :)

wo.rd. line. paragraph. column. from Sarah Calandro on Vimeo.

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"Enjoy the little things...

for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things."
-Robert Brault.

From May 12 to June 27th, I found myself in a Timewarp. 47 days...............

of Timewarp.

After being in the big city. Doing everything myself. by myself. for myself. plus a lot more. figuring things out. living, loving, aching...... exhausting my inner being. i went home. I had the option of staying in Los Angeles until the end of June. I could have packed my car and headed straight to Pittsburgh. But, I had this burning desire to go home to mom and dad and sit in a bubble. a comfortable bubble. I pretended I had never left. and by 'never left', I mean, like college never happened. LA never happened. and maybe even senior year of highschool never happened. The ages between 18 and 25 ceased to exist. 17 was blurry. and 16 was maybe just catching on....

But in this time at home, there was a bit of a difference from when I was 16. Have you ever said to yourself, 'I wish I could go back 10 years knowing what I know now?' Life in Baton Rouge, at mom and dad's.... well, I got to go back... But I was enlightened.

When I was 16, I was a mess. A MESS! I was sooo rude. Self-absorbed to the max. Knew the world didn't revolve around me... But did everything in my power to try to get it to! I spent a lot of time worrying about who I was, how I was, and why I thought noone liked me. I cried a lot. I don't think I could have sat down when I was 16 and just thought, 'it's nice to be sitting down'. My mind was consumed with every thought from how I wanted to skip out on swimteam practice, to how I had to make an A on Sister Ursula's chem exam, to how I was going to convince this guy to like me who obviously would never like me in the first place [and yes, knowing that 10 years ago REALLY would have saved me some time]. But really, just a circle of self-centered, self-mutilating, estrogen-stricken, negative, exhausting thoughts consumed my being.

"Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things."

Amidst my vacation at mom and dad's, I began to notice this towel hanging in the powder room next to the kitchen. This little, simple, fabulous quote subconsciously began to hover in my mind throughout my vacation. Enjoy the little things... i.e., washing my hands in the powder room at mom and dad's house. After some time of seeing this towel every day, it would bring a little smirk to my face. I would think, 'Yes, I'm at home. I am at home and I'm drying my hands on this towel and my parents are here, and Mara is here, and I'm happy, and I love being alive.'

I know, this is one of the most well-known of the cheesy quotes of cheesi-ness. It definitely belongs hand-sewn on a towel accompanied by butterflies and flowers in a powder room... at mom and dad's. But it was so refreshing to read this quote that I have seen over and over throughout life, never thinking beyond, 'oh, how sweet...' and then, waking up one day, and realizing it had become a mantra in my head... and it was beginning to make me smile!

I am SO happy I am not 16 anymore. And I am so happy I am here.

So friends-

Enjoy the little things... whatever they may be.

Namaste-

S. Click Here to Read More..

school update : hcd movie

1. design observation
2. physical interaction
3. cognitive interpretation
4. emotional resonance

it's a silly video; though, it will give an idea of how the summer intensive is going at CMU.

human-centered design from Sarah Calandro on Vimeo.

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immersion in humancentered-ness = purge of excess.

the title of this post may seem a bit... um. hypocritical? my goal is that i'm not being hypocritical.

This past week in class, we began a discussion of human-centered design. This discussion will continue for the next 2 years with the intent of teaching my classmates and me how to design for users / viewers / regular people [aka, people who know nothing / a little / a lot about design]. This preliminary discussion was enlightening. Basically, I spent the entire week feeling like I am nothing more than a consumer buying into the ideas of the people that are designing for me.

Let me tell you a little about myself. I have trained myself over the past 10 years of my life to see the world from an objective position. Not objective in the sense of being un-biased, but moreso in the sense that I see the world as an object designed for my viewing pleasure / criticism. Everything that I see, I see as a composition making up a larger composition that exists. I have a strong passion for color, space, shape, dimension, rhythm, balance, etc. Part of this composition of the world [the one that I see], is simplicity... cleanliness... organization... intention. It frustrates me when I see excess... disorder... messiness... randomness. For those of you that know me personally, this explains a bit of my O.C. organizational behavior. I HATE unorganized, unintentional, disorder. Even when it comes to design. Unthoughtfulness kinda makes me crazy. So, I guess this week overwhelmed in the sense that I, along with most others in the world, have completely and totally immersed my life in this chaotic, unorganized, competitive design equation that exists on the screen of a computer. So simple, yet so complicated. I am completely addicted to doing things on a lit-up screen. And what is funny about this is that i absolutely LOVE to do things naturally, but the more I am at a computer, the more I need to be at a computer... You know what I mean? For example, right now I am journaling on a computer that is on the internet. I used to hand-write journal entries. And it used to be something that I loved. I would disconnect from everyone and everything and sit with myself. Now, here I am, on mozilla, publishing my thoughts to the world [and don't forget that I can see my email inbox right now as I write].

I am totally ridiculous. and my life is a damn computer.

I cannot [and at this point, will not] give up my computer. Though, if I were in the ideal situation, I would go 'into the wild' and meditate all day every day. But, I am not going to do that. Though, I would like to limit my usage and only use when I need to. My career mandates that I spend about 75% of my time working digitally. I am going to mandate myself that I actually only spend 75% [maximum] on my lit-up screen. The rest, I must do with my hands. And my free time? Well, that's another story.... I have to figure out how I am going to purge internet surfing, tweeting, gchatting, blogging, facebooking....... so far, no tweeting, gchatting, or facebooking until Friday. I NEED some real physical interaction with human beings... or atleast talking on the phone.

So, I will still continue my weekly blog. But, I just won't be advertising it on facebook... twitter... gchat...

I am now going to paint! Have a wonderful weekend.

Namaste-

Sarah.

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