The Cardboard Mindset
An anecdotal essay essay about my obsession with cardboard and how it helped in spatial and constructive thinking.
The Magic of Cardboard Boxes
I haven’t been able to view cardboard boxes the same after I saw the ones refrigerators come in. To a fourth grader, they were colossal — not just in size but in the boundless realm of creativity they represented. Enormous and hollow, yet in terms of surface area, they were canvases ripe for imaginative exploration. in my head, with my minds eye, I watched the box transform, floating and evolving into a multitude of smaller, yet equally fascinating objects.
It started as a car, rocket, then morphed into a microwave, a chair, a plethora of utensils. It was a journey of discovery, guided not by the box’s physical form, but by the sheer thrill of constructing something intricate and unique.
The Philosophy of Creation
This experience echoed the sentiment often expressed about artists and sculptors: within a vast slab of marble lies their masterpiece, just waiting to be uncovered. Funnily enough, the box’s hollow nature contrasted with the solid marble, posing the question — what wonders can one “uncover” within an empty space? The answer, I realized, was to fill it. Fill it with imagination.
Discovering Through Doing
But how do you “uncover” or “find it”? It’s not as straightforward as it might seem. My method was rooted in action — in the process of creation. When I first encountered this massive box, my very first thought or what i saw in my mind was a car. Letting this initial idea take form, I brought the box outside, transforming it into my very own vehicle. I imagined speeding, swerving, drifting. This play led to further development — the car needed windows, a trunk, tires. So, I added these features.
I then remember leaving the car in my backyard as I wandered around for more things I could store in my trunk. I ended up on the roof of my house, searching, and happened to catch a glimpse of the car from a higher perspective. From this new vantage point, it ceased to be a car; it had become a submarine. This shift prompted further modifications — a periscope was added. I learnt about the principles of reflection and created a range of periscopes for the submarine.
This process of viewing the box from different perspectives was key in uncovering new ideas. Each new angle, a physically different perspective, offered a fresh take, a different possibility.
Forming an Ecosystem: Connecting the Creations
Next was the dissection, I saw it in my head but was afraid I could never come back to the original larger form. it took a while to make the next move, not because I was attached to the limo or submarine but feared losing the ability to revert to the original, larger structure — it would be a permanent change.
But eventually, I overcame this hesitancy, driven by curiosity and the urge to explore how form need not dictate function. The box was transformed into a variety of items — chairs, tables, rugs, pots, pans, microwaves, suitcases, and even laptops. Surrounded by these creations, I saw a mental dotted line connecting them, forming a sort of ecosystem. This subconscious assembly of objects flowed naturally from my stream of consciousness, perhaps aided by my ADHD, allowing me to iterate without becoming too attached to any single idea.
Reinventing Conventional Objects
I gravitated towards the concept of an ecosystem and refined it, removing elements that didn’t fit. What remained were components of a space that allowed for creating food. The idea of a kitchen had too many connotations. (This is probably my present self over-analyzing, I doubt a 4th grader thought this deeply.) But there is something to seeing and creating the finer details inside a system first that allows you to forget the predefined overall system. Seeing the pots, pans, microwaves, utensils, etc in front of me made me expand beyond what has been predefined as tools to create food with. Cardboard is an interesting material, I allowed its natural properties and characteristics to take precedence while building these objects resulting in utensils looking nothing like what we all generally have at home. Pots have different handles, shapes, heights, lids, etc. Cardboard gave me space to break the norm. This deviation was liberating. I then organized these objects in a way that suited my envisioned interactions with them. The space was modular, evolving with each interaction, each entry into this imagined world. It wasn’t designed for functionality or efficiency; it was a space of play, of fun.
I took these objects and placed them in areas I wanted to have them in. This was the first step in planning a space. How do I get to utilize them and how will I be interacting with them? I created this.
Most things were modular, things had to move because my habits and interactions with the objects changed. And so, with every entry into this space, there was a new action formed, resulting in a placement shift. nothing too drastic but just that the space was evolving and changing. This space is not hyper-functional, ergonomic, or efficient, it wasn’t built to be like that. A 4th grader wouldn’t know all these terms or principles. All I did was have fun.
This childhood memory often resurfaces when I’m seeking inspiration. It reminds me that creation often starts with a simple act — making something, anything.
Who knows, perhaps this entire story is a blend of reality and imagination, pieced together over time. After all, I remember a big box, made a bunch of stuff, and then a kitchen-looking space appeared. Maybe its childhood amnesia and ADHD working together? But that’s a problem for someone else. I just knew I had fun thinking outside the box.