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Oculata Manus: On the Role of the Body in the Making of Creative Minds

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Oculata Manus

On the Role of the Body in the Making of Creative Minds

Bradley Walters and Lisa Huang

Young designers and beginning design students are often motivated more by

emotion, immediacy, and sensuality than by ideologies, theories, or abstract

principles. Causal relationships that are remote in perception, time, or space are

less relevant than those that are immediate, present, and concurrent. Even when

students understand the presence of these remote relationships, it is difficult for

students to weigh them appropriately when compared with factors that may be

much less significant but more present or immediate.

In many architectural design programs this closeness is discounted. Instead,

students are asked to begin with concepts and “big ideas,” gradually working

towards greater and greater specificity. Unfortunately, many student projects

remain largely in the realm of the speculative and untested drawing, remote from

bodily experience, with materiality and matter either completely absent or only

tentatively suggested in rendered images and scaled models. This approach does

not adequately prepare students to address issues of constructability, emergent

technologies, sustainability, and the complexities of integrated practice. In a

hyper-mediated image-laden world, “materiality” has shifted from the matter and
substance of buildings to a two-dimensional applique that can be interchangeably

applied to three-dimensional models or renderings. Students without practical

experience do not comprehend that the material properties, craft, and methods of

assembly can greatly impact design decisions. As articulated by architect and

educator Giuseppe Zambonini (1942-1990), “integration of the representational

process in drawing with the experience of material itself is among the most

difficult to communicate if one does not already believe that material—in its

structural and aesthetic properties—precedes the transforming idea” (Zambonini

1988, 16).

Many design students operate in a space where material reality exists as a remote

horizon. This limits the ability of students to engage an important and expansive

aspect of practice, and limits architectural possibilities. In order to close this

distance, it is critical for beginning design students to work with matter directly to

understand its physical characteristics (weight, dimensions, limitations) and its

relationships to other materials (joints, intersections, adjacencies). This essay

probes alternative approaches to design education that invert traditional

approaches, engaging materiality, matter, and detail early to promote deep

learning by beginning design students.

INITIATION, TRANSMISSION, AND GROWTH

In his treatise Learning from Our Mistakes, Henry J. Perkinson (1930-2012)

identified three metaphors that define historical and contemporary approaches to

education: education as initiation, education as transmission, and education as

growth. Of these, the most persistent in contemporary culture remains the idea of

education as transmission, a concept that arose in parallel with the industrial

revolution. To the extent that “knowledge” can be collected, parsed, ordered, and

packaged, it can be transmitted from one person (“teacher”) to another (“pupil”).

The transmission model of education relies on the ability of the teacher to fully

know and understand a certain, delimited body of information. It is a closed and

bounded process, limited always by the extent of the teacher’s knowledge. While

useful for the relaying of certain kinds of rote data, this educational model does

not offer strategies for teaching creativity or innovation.

Perkinson suggests that the metaphor of education as transmission has been

superseded by an emergent “metaphor of growth,” which re-defines education as

the “natural development” of a person. In this educational model, “the teacher’s

task now is to create a proper environment, an environment that will promote ‘the

growth of the individual’” (Perkinson 1984, 4-5).

This is in alignment with other criticisms of historical educational models,

including those of Sir Ken Robinson, who claims in his well-known TED Talk

that “schools kill creativity.” Robinson points to the transmission model of

education as too narrow and limiting. He suggests that “we are educating people

out of their creative capacities” by discounting the roles of the whole body and

whole being within the educational process (Robinson 2006). Education as

growth requires that the teacher create strategies and opportunities that engage the

mind and body, allowing the full richness of students’ potential to be realized.

THE SEEING HAND

Published in many forms across Europe during the 16th and 17th centuries,

“emblem” books brought together enigmatic visual images and secular or

religious texts, offering moral guidance for their readers. The images, while

representative and iconographic, were typically constructed by combining

multiple different images in novel ways to create new hybrid relationships or

associations.

Figure 1. Andrea Alciato, “Emblem 16,” Emblematum libellus (Venice, 1546), 28.

Used with permission of University of Glasgow Library, Special Collections.

One such construction is Emblem 16 from the “Emblematum libellus” of 1546,

attributed to Andrea Alciato. Each page of this particular emblem book consists of

three parts: a title phrase, an image, and a series of declarations. Emblem 16 is

titled “Be sober and remember to withold belief. These are the sinews of the

mind” (Alciato 1546, 28). The image itself shows an open hand, with an open eye

and eyelid set squarely within the palm, near the center of the image. To the right,

the wrist is wrapped in a bracelet of pennyroyal (Mentha Pulegium), a highly-

aromatic species of mint, believed by ancients to have numerous medicinal

properties (Grieve 2017). The hand hovers in front of a portion of an

indistinguishable city, marked by multiple buildings set atop a rocky shoreline,

near a body of water. Below the image, the text reads as follows:

“Don’t give easy credence; don’t be intemperate. So said

Epicharmus, and these maxims will prove the sinews and limbs of

man’s mind. See here a hand with an eye, believing what it can

see. See the pennyroyal, the plant of ancient soberness. By

showing it, Heraclitus calmed the mob and milked it when heavy

with bursting sedition” (Alciato 1546, 28).

This emblem is a reminder to question and carefully examine experience. The

bracelet of aromatic pennyroyal, deemed to have cleansing medicinal properties,

safeguards its wearer from the dust and busyness of the city. But it is the peculiar

conflation of hand and eye that draws our attention. The “oculata manus,” or

“hand with an eye,” suggests a need to engage multiple senses simultaneously,

with each sense informing the other. It is believed to be tied to the expression

“seeing is believing,” attributed to Erasmus (Alciato 1546). But what does it mean

for a hand to see?

Thinking with Our Hands

The eyes provide a perception of the physical world from a distance and therefore

require us to make deductions or assumptions to create complete and cogent

concepts out of incomplete information. By contrast, the hands are able to

eliminate the physical distance through direct, immediate, and close contact with

the world. This allows the hands to “see” in a different way from the eyes. There

is a sharing of information between the senses and an interchange that occurs

between each of the senses and the brain that expands possibilities. Creativity and

imagination are not exclusively the domain of the brain. Thinking of,

experimenting with, and reflecting on ideas occurs in both the hand and the eye.
Each sense is a critical proponent in teaching and learning through experience that

generates creativity and imagination.

In his book, The Hand, neurologist Frank R. Wilson illuminates the significance

that the hand and tactility play in the development of human intelligence. Wilson

writes “the brain keeps giving the hand new things to do and new ways of doing

what it already knows how to do. In turn, the hand affords the brain new ways of

approaching old tasks and the possibility of undertaking and mastering new tasks”

(Wilson 1998, 146). The hand is not passively controlled by the brain, but in fact,

the hand offers new knowledge and discoveries through haptic experiences. The

brain relies on the exploration of the hands in engaging the physical world. This is

a reciprocal and interdependent relationship: The hand functions as an extension

of the brain, with no separation between hand and brain.

The Hand and Creativity

In his work on visual cognition as a professor of psychology at the Center for

Mind and Brain at the University of California, Davis, Dr. John M. Henderson

uses eye-tracking, computational modeling, and neuroimaging methods to

understand relationships between biological processes and understanding. In

2016, he found that “areas of the brain related to perception and movement were

more engaged when readers were attending to words that refer to concrete real-

world objects that can be manipulated. This result supports the view that meaning

is ultimately grounded in perception and interaction with the world” (Hopper

2016).

At a most fundamental level, the hand touches matter to understand its physical

qualities and characteristics. This haptic knowledge either confirms or challenges

our perceptual understanding of that physical matter. A material may look hard

and stiff from a distance, but upon touching it, we might find it soft and pliable.

On another level, the hand has the active ability to play, manipulate and

experiment. Wilson recognizes the hand’s contribution to the creation of meaning:

“Playing with anything to make something is always paralleled in cognition by

the creation of a story” (Wilson 1998, 195). Any act of making or physical

engagement of matter is about creating and igniting the imagination. This requires

the hand to “see” and “think” while exploring possibilities and limitations.

Through numerous trials and errors, experimentation, and reflection, learning

occurs.
Dr. Karin James, a psychologist at Indiana University, has conducted studies in

which she asked children who had not yet learned to read or write to reproduce a

letter form or shape presented to them.

The children “were then placed in a brain scanner and shown the

image again. The researchers found that the initial duplication

process mattered a great deal. When children had drawn a letter

freehand, they exhibited increased activity in three areas of the

brain that are activated in adults when they read and write: the left

fusiform gyrus, the inferior frontal gyrus and the posterior parietal

cortex. By contrast, children who typed or traced the letter or shape

showed no such effect” (Konnikova 2014).

The role of the hand is significant in the learning process. The differences in

neural activity generated by freehand drawing as opposed to tracing or typing was

attributed “to the messiness inherent in free-form handwriting: Not only must we

first plan and execute the action in a way that is not required when we have a

traceable outline, but we are also likely to produce a result that is highly variable.

That variability may itself be a learning tool. ‘When a kid produces a messy

letter,’ Dr. James said, ‘that might help him learn it’” (Konnikova 2014).
The Hand and the Design Process

As architectural designers, we cannot ignore the importance of the hand’s role in

the design process and its role in interacting with and engaging the tactile

environments we create. In The Thinking Hand, Juhani Pallasmaa emphasizes that

“Architecture is also a product of the knowing hand. The hand

grasps the physicality and materiality of thought and turns it into a

concrete image. In the arduous processes of designing, the hand

often takes the lead in probing for a vision, a vague inkling that it

eventually turns into a sketch, a materialization of an idea”

(Pallasmaa 2009, 16-17).

Design ideas are materializing through drawing and making. The hands take on a

major responsibility in exploring ideas through drawing on paper, drawing on

digital screens, or constructing with physical matter. Relying on only one mode of

working endangers the hand’s potential for imagination. Pallasmaa’s use of the

term “probing” is critical. Beginning design students often get frustrated when

they cannot immediately produce a faithful physical representation of their ideas.

The translation from thoughts into physical matter requires the hand to
continuously test and refine design ideas through various modes of working. As

Henry Perkinson has noted:

“Pupils create knowledge by modifying their present knowledge

when they discover its inadequacies. Without critical feedback, no

learning can take place—there can be no growth in knowledge. I

suggest, therefore, that whenever learning does take place in any

classroom, it happens because of critical feedback. There is never

any transmission of knowledge. This is an illusion—like an optical

illusion. All learning is a modification of present knowledge”

(Perkinson 1984, 178).

In our work, the “seeing hand” serves as a reminder that architecture is not

exclusively an intellectual project, but rather work that engages the hands and

body as well. At the same time, the hand is not a mute instrument, but rather a

sensing organ of perception and reflection. Through critical work of the hands,

students of architecture can calibrate their hands and eyes to allow them to work

together more fluidly.

MATERIAL MATTERS
Materials are the medium of architecture. The architect needs to know how to

work with materials to create meaningful buildings and assemblies. In the

construction industry, architects must communicate design intent clearly such that

it can be realized and built by others. The hand that communicates design ideas

through drawings needs to also have a haptic understanding of materials. It is

important not to lose the presence of matter and the tactility of the hand in the

design process.

In design education, studio projects often operate and start at a macro scale.

Students start the design process examining the site and program organizations to

develop a building design. Work is done at representative scales to gradually

develop the design of a larger project. We often work iteratively and increase in

scale as we develop and determine more about the design of the project.

Each iteration is a test of design ideas. As Pallasmaa writes:

“Design is a process of going back and forth among hundreds of

ideas, where partial solutions and details are repeatedly tested in

order to gradually reveal and fuse a complete rendition of the

thousands of demands and criteria, as well as the architect’s

 personal ideals of coordination and harmonisation, into a complete

architectural or artistic entity. An architectural project is not only a

result of a problem-solving process, as it is also a metaphysical

proposition that expresses the maker’s mental world and his/her

understanding of the human life world: The design process

simultaneously scans the inner and the outer worlds and

intertwines the two universes” (Pallasmaa 2009, 107-108).

The presence of matter cannot be ignored in the design education. What is

designed in the computer at some point must be tested in the physical realm. The

haptic knowledge the hand gains from working with different materials and

understanding various processes of working with matter establishes a close

parallel with the construction of buildings. Only the “seeing hand” can

comprehend mass, weight and gravity and its effects on design ideas.

When working with matter in beginning design education, students typically

engage materials at representative scales. Physical models can be an effective way

for beginning students to visualize spatial design ideas. The ability to hold, rotate,

and modify physical models generates a connection between the senses and the

brain. The hand measures spatial dimensions and assesses relative proportions. If

varied materials are used in making models, there can also be a relative tactile
understanding of material qualities. Even at representative scales, students

manipulate materials—paper, foam, plastics, wood, plaster, wire, etc.—that

cannot be treated in the same way. Each material requires its own distinct set of

assembly processes and strategies. What can be used to cut and adhere the

material? What is the strategy to connect one material to a different material?

Typical white glue functions as a good adhesive for wood and paper, but the same

glue does not work with plastics or metals. Although students do not usually work

with actual “building materials,” they are engaged in learning and developing

strategies for working with and joining varied materials.

In the design studio, physical models are used to explore different building and

material systems. A steel structural system is very different than a concrete

structural system, as the materials of steel and concrete vary in dimension,

proportion, and mass. In working with physical models, students are challenged to

work with substitute materials to capture materiality. In a 1:100 (approximately

1/8”=1’-0”) scaled model representative materials can be manipulated to capture

material qualities that imply heaviness or lightness, thickness or thinness, and

solidity or ephemerality.

In a small-scale 1:200 (approximately 1/16”=1’-0”) model, issues of weight and

gravity may seem inconsequential. Since representative materials are physically

small and light, the student may not fully grasp the consequences of weight in

architecture through these models. However, contending with matter becomes

serious as the scale of physical models increases. When working at 1:30

(approximately 3/8”=1’-0”) scale, students can occupy models with their hands,

heads, and bodies to physically grapple with mass and matter. In large physical

models, the thresholds, apertures, and scales of spaces become more familiar. In

these, students can see direct relationships with the body and better understand the

physical implications of material decisions. The consequences of manipulating

wood versus paper, for instance, become evident. At 1:200, paper may be able to

hold itself without other materials for support, but at 1:30, the presence of gravity

is evident. That same thickness of paper will submit to gravity without the support

of a framework. To work with wood at 1:30 scale, the hand may not be able to cut

it without the help of woodworking tools. New skills are needed to expand the

hand’s knowledge of materials.

Scale mediates the intricate web of relationships in working with matter. The

beginning design student needs to know how big something is, the amount of

matter to be used, and the relative sizes of things. There is a direct translation

from physical models to building: students engage materials with their body,

deploying hand tools, mechanical power tools, and digital technologies to shape

raw materials. Working with hand tools in a woodshop requires students to think
in layers of materials. Students develop an understanding that the pieces they

make are dependent on one another, which has a direct correlation with

construction. In the act of making at larger scales, singular or isolated systems

evolve to become more complex components that do many things, alluding to an

economy of means. Students contend with the weight and mass of materials as

they learn to carefully craft tectonic joints and building assemblies.

Students’ hands are critical for intimately understanding the issue of gravity that

is absent in drawings, and for probing relationships between architectural

constraints and material realities. Instead of starting with the design of a whole

building at a zoomed-out scale, the strategy of zooming into full-scale work offers

the hand an opportunity to explore issues of tactility, phenomenology, and the

poetics of material assemblies. Students work directly with building materials to

develop a tacit knowledge of matter, structure, and assemblies. The hands are

challenged to tackle the physical and intellectual resistances of working directly

with full-scale building materials. Working at 1:1, students do not use

representative materials. While Plexiglas (an acrylic), polycarbonate, and glass

can all be transparent materials, they each have very different material properties.

Substituting one for the other changes the working processes and assembly

methods. Working at a 1:1, weight and gravity have an immediate impact. A

material cannot stand alone without the support of other materials.

Many internationally-recognized architectural practices also approach design in

this way, producing material studies, prototypes and mock-ups in order to test

innovative material and assembly ideas. The level of success and recognition they

achieve is due largely to their efforts in ensuring that progressive design ideas and

methods of building can be constructed and executed with the utmost craft and

precision. By working directly with materials and manufacturers early in the

design process, their later building proposals embody a material awareness and

sophistication uncommon in work produced by firms that do not engage

materiality directly. The work of these progressive offices can both better

communicate the design intent and respond to the very real issues of construction.

Hands-on material experimentation at full scale exposes students to issues of

structural soundness, construction tolerances, and the effects of constructability

on design ideas. Through their own direct experimentation with building materials

and assembly techniques, students learn to better understand risks and limitations

associated with typical and novel products, materials, methods, and technologies.

By designing in parts at full scale, students learn that the part can inform the

whole. In working with building materials hands-on and at full-scale, design

students address scale, proportion, materials, and texture that all contribute to the

design work. The student’s experience of making at full-scale provides a deep

tacit knowledge of and respect for the work of skilled craftsmen, trades people,

manufacturers, fabricators, and contractors.

EXPERIENTIAL LEARNING

These approaches grow out of and participate in an evolving body of educational

research centered on experiential learning. For some, the work of Francis Bacon

(1561-1626) marks the beginning of the metaphor of education as transmission.

But it also sowed the seeds for many of the educational strategies that followed.

Rather than approaching education solely as a process of initiating youth in the

culture and customs of a people, education became “a process of transmission

through which the young could be disciplined, or trained, or socialized to the

wishes of the adults responsible for them. The hallmark of this new transmission

metaphor of education was the belief that human beings learn from experience”

(Perkinson 1984, 11). In Henry J. Perkinson’s account, “this new construction of

education emerged from the epistemological optimism of Bacon and his

followers, who believed that human beings could obtain true knowledge through

sense experience, through sense observations.” Instruction became “a technique

for transmitting knowledge to pupils through their senses or sense experiences. By

having students make repeated sense observations of the ‘material,’ the teacher

‘instructs’ them. In time, they ‘learn’” (Perkinson 1984, 11).

Jean Piaget (1896-1980) went further by articulating the educational process as a

definitively active one: “According to Piaget, human beings construct knowledge.

We do not receive knowledge, we create it. We are not passive receptors, we are

active creators. And we create knowledge through the actions we perform—

sensory-motor acts, language acts, and logical acts” (Perkinson 1984, 48). Piaget

conceived of the learner “as an active, fallible creator of knowledge who seeks

order” (Perkinson 1984, 70). Fallibility is a central tenant, acknowledging not

only the possibility but also the productive possibilities of failure. As active

learners, seeking order or coherence, we “try to overcome or eliminate

contradictions when we discover them. One way to do this is to construct new

knowledge, new understandings, understandings better than the ones they are

replacing because the new ones eliminate the contradictions discovered so far.

Thus, we improve our knowledge (learn or develop) through making mistakes”

(Perkinson 1984, 71).

Maria Montessori (1870-1952) advocated a process of learning that allowed and

encouraged mistakes to occur. The first step “is to recognize, or identify, our

errors. Here we come to the key role of the teacher. Instead of ‘instructing’
students, the teacher helps them to educate themselves: she creates an educative

environment, an environment in which they can discover their errors and

eliminate them—an environment in which they can learn from their mistakes”

(Perkinson 1984, 95).

Deeply affected by the thinking and work of Albert Einstein and Charles Darwin,

Karl Popper (1902-1994) challenged the inductive processes that were then (and

still now, by many) considered to be central to the scientific process. He would

argue that instead of looking for tests that might verify theories, we should be

seeking out those “crucial tests that could refute the theory tested” (Perkinson

1984, 24). This “critical rationality” required us to “give up looking for

justification of knowledge and instead look for errors, inadequacies, and

limitations that inhere in our present knowledge or follow from it” (Perkinson

1984, 26). Popper suggests that “knowledge grows through conjecture and

refutation, through the procedure of trial-and-error elimination” (Perkinson 1984,

35). For Popper, human beings are fallible creators of knowledge. If all

knowledge is conjectural, “we cannot justify it. But we can improve our

conjectures by subjecting them to criticism. The possibility of continued

improvement follows directly from our being fallible creators: since knowledge

can never be perfect, then it can always be improved” (Perkinson 1984, 38).
The critical, reflective process requires active, participatory engagement of the

student. As Perkinson notes:

“Pupils do not have to be motivated to learn, or compelled to pay

attention, or controlled, or coerced. Pupils learn, that is, modify

their present knowledge or conduct, when they discover that it is

inadequate. Note that it is the pupil himself who must recognize

and admit the inadequacy, error, or mistake. It is not sufficient for

someone else (like a teacher) to point it out. Pupils must discover

their own mistakes” (Perkinson 1984, 170).

This experiential educational process is much more suited to the development of

students’ creative abilities:

“What is essential to ‘creative’ or ‘inventive’ thinking is a

combination of intense interest in some problem (and thus a

readiness to try again and again) with highly critical thinking; with

a readiness to attack even those presuppositions which for less

critical thought determine the limits of the range from which trials

(conjectures) are selected; with an imaginative freedom that allows

 us to see so far unsuspected sources of error: possible prejudices in

need of critical examination.” (Popper 1976, 48).

This is the operating premise of the design studio: constant searching, engaging

the hands, body, and mind as ideas are tested and new knowledge is created.

REMOTENESS AND IMMEDIACY

To construct a design process centered on meaningful spatial relationships, it is

important that we situate “building” within a discipline and discourse of design

that operates at many scales simultaneously. It involves redefining “architecture”

to be not only the built environment outside the studio, but also to be the design

work on the studio table itself. (Walters et al 2012, 403-408).

If architecture is fundamentally based in relationships amongst and between

things, it is possible to define ‘architecture” as a wide array of design operations

and practices that construct and/or describe particular relationships. In teaching,

we focus on relationships between changes in various scales, media, material, and

disciplines from the detail to the room to the building to the site, not necessarily in

that linear order (and ultimately to those lateral and downstream implications).
Working within this structure, the beginning design student is fully involved in

the design process in a direct and immediate way. The work in front of them is

not a surrogate, apparition, and/or representation of something absent: it is the

thing itself. By repositioning architecture in this way, students have an

opportunity to be close to it, and to quickly develop the ability to critically engage

their own work and the work of their peers. This is an important part of our studio

learning process at the University of Florida School of Architecture.

This approach builds on Popper’s “evolutionary epistemology” as a new theory of

knowledge based on learning from our mistakes. According to Popper, “the

learner is active, not passive; a creator, not a receptor, of knowledge; a seeker of

order, not needing motivation or control in order to learn. The learner learns from

making mistakes” (Perkinson 1984, 40-41).

This iterative learning process involves a direct, immediate engagement with

architecture, as it lives on the drawing board, in models, and in full-scale material

studies. The materials at students’ fingertips provide direct multi-sensory

feedback, allowing students to work through mistakes quickly.

The haptic experience of materials and making informs a bodily understanding of

mass and matter. As fallible creators, “we should look on ourselves (and all

organisms) as problem-solving rather than end-pursuing. For, since our

conjectures will always be limited, inadequate, mistaken, or false, then it follows

that our conjectures will always generate new problems. So we are continuously

and continually engaged in problem solving” (Perkinson 1984, 38). Having an

intimate and sensual knowledge of materiality early in the design process allows

students to have a more acute understanding of its possibilities and the potential

of materials to impact formal decision-making. It gives shape to a constantly-

searching, problem-solving, design process.

It is a messy and at times perilous process, fraught with failed attempts. But these

are necessary attributes of a learning process that brings the body in such close

contact with matter and foments the creation of deep knowledge. It is a process

that becomes meaningful precisely through engagement with the body, and one

that becomes more perfect through each subsequent iteration.

REFERENCE LIST
Alciato, Andrea. Emblematum libellus. Venice: Aldus, 1546. Translations and

digital version prepared by Alciato at Glasgow. Glasgow, Scotland:

University of Glasgow Library Special Collections.

http://www.emblems.arts.gla.ac.uk/alciato/emblem.php?showrel=y&id=A46a

052.

Grieve, Maud. “Pennyroyal.” A Modern Herbal. 2017.

http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/p/pennyr23.html.

Gundersen, Martin and Nina Hofer. Constructions: Studio Work from the

Department of Architecture. Gainesville, FL: Department of Architecture,

University of Florida, 1993.

Hopper, David. “John Henderson, University of California Davis – Your Brain on

Reading.” The Academic Minute. 11 July 2016.

http://academicminute.org/2016/07/john-henderson-university-of-california-

davis-your-brain-on-reading/.

Konnikova, Maria. “What's Lost as Handwriting Fades.” The New York Times, 2

June 2014. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/06/03/science/whats-lost-as-

handwriting-fades.html.

Pallasmaa, Juhani. The Thinking Hand: Existential and Embodied Wisdom in

Architecture. Chichester, West Sussex, U.K.: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 2009.

Perkinson, Henry J. Learning from our Mistakes: A Reinterpretation of Twentieth-

Century Educational Theory. Westport, Conn: Greenwood Press, 1984.

 Popper, Karl. Unended Quest: An Intellectual Autobiography. La Salle, Illinois:

Open Court Publishing Company, 1976.

Robinson, Ken. “Do Schools Kill Creativity?” TED. 2006.

https://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.

Sennett, Richard. The Craftsman. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008.

Walters, Bradley and Lisa Huang. “Speculative Making: Engaging Mass and

Matter.” In End of in the Beginning / Realizing the Sustainable Imagination:

Proceedings of the 28th National Conference of the Beginning Design

Student, edited by Jodi La Coe, 403-408. State College, PA: The Pennsylvania

State University, 2012.

Wilson, Frank R. The Hand: How Its Use Shapes the Brain, Language, and

Human Culture. New York: Pantheon Books, 1998.

Zambonini, Giuseppe. “Notes for a Theory of Making in a Time of Necessity.”

Perspecta 24 (1988): 3-23.

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