This is my initial slot joint design. I’ve cut the corners out of the slot joints to make them slot together more easily. The slots are 2.8 millimetres wide; the dimensions that fit together best in my initial testing.



This is my initial slot joint design. I’ve cut the corners out of the slot joints to make them slot together more easily. The slots are 2.8 millimetres wide; the dimensions that fit together best in my initial testing.



Dovetail, edge lap, slot, mortise and tenon, finger, living hinge etc.
I cut the three designs out of 3 mil corrugated cardboard using the laser cutter. As this was my first time using the laser cutter it took quite a long time to calibrate the laser cutter, get the position of the document right on the cardboard, set the printing job up etc. I learnt a lot though, and next time it will be quicker.
I made a template for the laser cutter for an initial ‘play-around’. I booked the laser cutter for an hour so my friend and I can get to grips with how everything works. The template I made is for 3 mil corrugated cardboard and contains three designs. One is a simple slot joint test to determine the best thickness for the slots; one is a curved slot joint piece based off my first Illustrator sketch; and the last is a puzzle box I found online. When I was making these designs I learnt a lot of things about how Illustrator works, including how to horizontally distribute the slot joints easily, how to change line weights etc.

This is an initial sketch of a slot-joint idea. It is made of progressively smaller semicircular pieces which slot together to form a sort of dome. I found the maths behind making each piece smaller very complicated, and it’s difficult trying to imagine how the pieces would all slot together. I drew a simple diagram of how the pieces would fit together (as seen on the bottom left) which will help me figure out how long each piece needs to be.

Earlier I was looking at examples of biomimicry that would influence the design of my objects. While biomimicry is an interesting topic, I’m also interested in the design-era deconstructivism. Deconstructivism is characterised by “unpredictability and controlled chaos and is not required to reflect specific social or universal ideas, such as speed or universality of form” (Wikipedia). Deconstructivism is seen in architecture since the late 1950s, and deconstructivist architects use concrete, jagged edges, odd shapes, metal, geometry etc. in a lot of their work.

Because for this project we’re making small hand-sized objects, I also investigated some deconstructivism-inspired objects that people have drawn/made.

I particularly like the shapes along the bottom that use black and white pieces to help show the form better. The contrast is quite eye-catching.




My name is Chris Warren. I am a fresh, enthusiastic and excited first year student at Massey College of Creative Arts (CoCA) in Wellington, where I’m completing a Bachelor of Design majoring in Industrial Design.
This category is for my Massey Digital Fabrication course. I’ll be uploading photos, ideas, development from my project.
When I’m not designing I like to play music, take photos, be outdoors and procrastinate on the internet.
In “Changing the World”, chapter 7 of How to see the World by Nicholas Mirzoeff, Mirzoeff considers how visual imagery has changed how people see the world and how they see themselves. Visual activism has been used to spark uprising and rebellions and has helped to overthrow governments. Visual means are helpful for promoting change because they are accessible to large audiences. For example, Egyptian artist Ganzeer’s Tank Versus Biker (Fig 1) was one of the first pieces of graffiti painted after the Egyptian government was overthrown in 2011, and its comment on how the army was “opposed to free life” was disseminated throughout the public and was seen by people who might not see newspapers or have social media (Mirzoeff, 265).

One issue that some artists, and perhaps more suitably some designers, are drawing attention to is planned obsolescence. Planned obsolescence is a strategy designers employ whereby they intentionally shorten the life of their products to encourage sales and produce more money (Boradkar, 180). They do this by frequently changing designs, ending the production of spare parts, and using non-durable materials. Consumers keep planned obsolescence alive and thriving by buying into it. Cooper says that to “keep an economy going we are required, almost obliged, to consume and throw away more and more stuff” (xv).
Planned obsolescence began in the 1920s with the strict control of lightbulb production by the Phoebus cartel, made up of major electronics manufacturers including Osram, Philips, and General Electric (The Lightbulb Conspiracy). In 1932, Russian–American real estate broker Bernard London proposed to end the Great Depression by making planned obsolescence compulsory in all products (Boradkar, 181). His idea was to assign all goods a specific lifespan, and when these goods became ‘dead’, they would be returned to the government, thus generating the need for factories to continuously produce new products, and for consumers to continuously buy them (Boradkar, 181).
However, planned obsolescence causes major environmental problems. The broken and short-lived products are shipped to 3rd world countries as ‘second hand goods’ where they are deposited in dumps, causing major pollution, and ruining ecosystems and waterways (The Lightbulb Conspiracy). Seattle artist Chris Jordan has a project called Camel Gastrolith (Fig 2). He has taken the contents of a camel’s stomach, the majority of it being human-produced plastic waste, and placed it on a rotating pedestal. Jordan says “I care about the bigger phenomenon of desert plastic pollution, and what it mirrors back to us about the insanity of our disposable culture” (Jordan).
I was interested in the way consumers respond to the ‘death’ of a piece of technology, for example a model of phone, and how they continue to buy new products when the ‘old’ ones work fine. Consumers replace products that “still function… in order that their owners can obtain a pristine new item in the latest style or with the most advanced function” (Cooper, 4).
The 17th century Dutch vanitas, a genre of still-life painting, uses skulls, clocks, hourglasses, decaying fruit and flowers and snuffed out candles as symbols of death and change, to remind the viewer of their inevitability. Vanitas (Fig 3) is an example of how these symbols can be arranged to generate quite a powerful message.

The concept of planned obsolescence fits nicely into this genre. Modern technology has gone from being something humankind uses to something they use up (Calkins qtd. in Boradkar, 179). The ‘death’ of a particular device is inevitable, just like the death of the flower or the candle. By situating modern technology with these symbols of death and change, the viewer is asked to consider their relationship with technology, and if they consume technology like they consume fruit or candles, and whether that consumption is healthy and necessary.

Works cited:
Boradkar, Prasad. Designing Things: A Critical Introduction to the Culture of Objects. English ed. New York: Berg, 2010. Print.
Jordan, Chris. “Camel Gastrolith: (2016)”. Chis Jordan: Photographic Arts. Feb. 2016. Web. 5 June 2016.
The Lightbulb Conspiracy. Cosima Dannoritzer. Yleisradio (YLE), 2010. Documentary.
In “Changing the World”, chapter 7 of How to see the World by Nicholas Mirzoeff, Mirzoeff considers how visual imagery has changed how people see the world and how they see themselves. Visual activism has been used to spark uprising and rebellions and has helped to overthrow governments. Visual means are helpful for promoting change because they are accessible to large audiences. For example, Egyptian artist Ganzeer’s Tank Versus Biker (Fig 1) was one of the first pieces of graffiti painted after the Egyptian government was overthrown in 2011, and its comment on how the army was “opposed to free life” was disseminated throughout the public and was seen by people who might not see newspapers or have social media (Mirzoeff, 265).

One issue that some artists, and perhaps more suitably some designers, are drawing attention to is planned obsolescence. Planned obsolescence is a strategy designers employ whereby they intentionally shorten the life of their products to encourage sales and produce more money (Boradkar, 180). They do this by frequently changing designs, ending the production of spare parts, and using non-durable materials. Consumers keep planned obsolescence alive and thriving by buying into it. Cooper says that to “keep an economy going we are required, almost obliged, to consume and throw away more and more stuff” (xv).
Planned obsolescence began in the 1920s with the strict control of lightbulb production by the Phoebus cartel, made up of major electronics manufacturers including Osram, Philips, and General Electric (The Lightbulb Conspiracy). In 1932, Russian–American real estate broker Bernard London proposed to end the Great Depression by making planned obsolescence compulsory in all products (Boradkar, 181). His idea was to assign all goods a specific lifespan, and when these goods became ‘dead’, they would be returned to the government, thus generating the need for factories to continuously produce new products, and for consumers to continuously buy them (Boradkar, 181).
However, planned obsolescence causes major environmental problems. The broken and short-lived products are shipped to 3rd world countries as ‘second hand goods’ where they are deposited in dumps, causing major pollution, and ruining ecosystems and waterways (The Lightbulb Conspiracy). Seattle artist Chris Jordan has a project called Camel Gastrolith (Fig 2). He has taken the contents of a camel’s stomach, the majority of it being human-produced plastic waste, and placed it on a rotating pedestal. Jordan says “I care about the bigger phenomenon of desert plastic pollution, and what it mirrors back to us about the insanity of our disposable culture” (Jordan).
I was interested in the way consumers respond to the ‘death’ of a piece of technology, for example a model of phone, and how they continue to buy new products when the ‘old’ ones work fine. Consumers replace products that “still function… in order that their owners can obtain a pristine new item in the latest style or with the most advanced function” (Cooper, 4).
The 17th century Dutch vanitas, a genre of still-life painting, uses skulls, clocks, hourglasses, decaying fruit and flowers and snuffed out candles as symbols of death and change, to remind the viewer of their inevitability. Vanitas (Fig 3) is an example of how these symbols can be arranged to generate quite a powerful message.

The concept of planned obsolescence fits nicely into this genre. Modern technology has gone from being something humankind uses to something they use up (Calkins qtd. in Boradkar, 179). The ‘death’ of a particular device is inevitable, just like the death of the flower or the candle. By situating modern technology with these symbols of death and change, the viewer is asked to consider their relationship with technology, and if they consume technology like they consume fruit or candles, and whether that consumption is healthy and necessary.

Works cited:
Boradkar, Prasad. Designing Things: A Critical Introduction to the Culture of Objects. English ed. New York: Berg, 2010. Print.
Jordan, Chris. “Camel Gastrolith: (2016)”. Chis Jordan: Photographic Arts. Feb. 2016. Web. 5 June 2016.
The Lightbulb Conspiracy. Cosima Dannoritzer. Yleisradio (YLE), 2010. Documentary.