Reconciling With Your Feet and Toes
The Forgotten Made Visible
Can a toe evoke cosmos? Does it always need to touch the ground? Can a foot evoke secrecy and motion?

IS A PHYSICAL ROOM ENOUGH TO CONTAIN A PERSON?

From Coincidentia Oppositorum


NHUT NGUYEN

It starts with the disappearance of myself into the cracks of my walls, the tiny gaps between the skirting boards and the plasterboards that are filled with my skin detritus, the pipe from my sink overflown with my hair. And then the wall cavity attacks me with my own body parts, growing outwards and violates my lived space. I am soon nothing and the room everything.

The imagery suggests a violent condition between the physical room and the self, raising a question that is relevant in the context of domesticity in the modern homogeneous world: is a physical room enough to contain a person? What is the actual threshold between ourselves and our domesticity? 

If the physical boundary does not define the threshold between us and our own world, then what does?


Are my feet the threshold between myself and my environment? Can you simply lift up the toenail to enter my soul (as opposed to entering through the eyes)? Can the environment lure itself into my body through that tiny slit entrance? 

If the physical boundary does not define the threshold between us and our own world, then what does?


My messy room remains a space for myself. I remove the physical walls to reveal the lived space containing time itself from September 2019 to April 2020. The Covid-19 pandemic forces me to create architecture from everything I have in the room, where the smearing of my room elements using the feet’s point of view - reveals the viscosity of the domesticity.

Can architecture
Reconciling With Your Skin
The Invisible Thin Cut Can architecture evoke a chill running down one’s spine? Can you exercise your fingers and feet whilst holding a handrail? Can you look into the spine of a building? Why do you always have to stand to open doors? Just wiggle your toe and the bell rings away.
Being desperate from not being able to go out, I keep smearing my own domestic until the viscosity becomes space. Collage is a practice to investigate the threshold between parallel worlds.

Until at some point, the threshold between my feet and my domesticity is blurred.


Reconciling With Your Fingers
Poking Your Own Body Can architecture poke you like a finger does? Can you pull fingers to knock on doors? Can architecture give you goosebumps?


I become a physical room, and the physical room becomes I.


Reconciling With Your Eyes and Arms The Slow Split and the Uncomfortable Look Do you feel like being watched whilst talking to a plastic surgeon? Is that your body splitting apart slowly?
.
Is the architecture being pulled apart by its own arm muscles? Can you travel through walls, through that slow split?

EDITORIAL NOTE:

Nhut Nguyen explores thresholds, quite violently too. His project "Is a physical room enough to contain a person?" mercilessly dissects the postulate that we are somehow separate from our environment. Regarding his method, we would be bold to locate his work within a singular modus operandi.

The questions are phenomenological in spirit but executed with a rigour that could generously be described as scientific.


We say this because he is surgical in his use of collage, image and drawing to examine the thresholds between the seemingly parallel worlds of Nhut and his environment. 

Unlike most phenomenologically oriented work, he actually arrives at an answer: "I become a physical room, and the physical room becomes me." And boy, in the current climate, it is increasingly likely for us to mistake this answer to be more than mere metaphor, given our newfound, and inextricable intimacy with, our domestic spaces.

Reconciling With Your Hair and Lips
The Sharp Intense Cut and the Pinhole Injection 
Cutting and joining your body is a violent act. Can architecture evoke that madness of the sharp cut (HAIR)? It’s also known that pinhole injection is commonly used in the practice (LIPS) and a tiny hole in the building can let all kinds of stuff inside. Combining an intense act of cutting with tiny physical leakage.


An independent, youth-led architecture journal from Melbourne (Naarm)


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proudly edited by:
Jack Murray, Connor Hanna, Yuchen Gao, Simone Chait, Yiling Shen, Daniel Bickle-Lazarow, Victoria Marquez,