“So you’re the Cardboard Guy?”

Yup! That’s me!
Even though she seemed a bit hesitant to use the title, I am now ready to fully embrace it.

The “Ready, Set, Launch” WonderSpace event yesterday, February 1st (2025) was FANTASTIC. It was really quite different from the first week I went, all the way back in December, and I think that’s mainly because I felt official this time. I’m now an actual employee—not just a random guy trying to build stuff with kids—and that credibility makes all the difference. This time I felt like I belonged, and that I really was in a position of (some) authority, especially in regard to the Cardboard Construction Zone I was helping in. Once somebody takes ownership of an activity—as I have been given the chance to with WonderSpace’s Cardboard Creativity efforts—they are so much more invested, and more willing to assert themselves for the sake of its success. The Cardboard Construction Zone was ALIVE today, as many adults happily pointed out, and I happily observed. It was hugely rewarding to be a part of the team that inspired the participation. The adults were primarily referring to the construction of the “Church,” but I’ll get to that. First,

The “Rocket Ship”

My three spaceships at the February 1st PLAYdate before the event began.

For this event, I brought three preconstructed rocket ships, two of which were made just for this event and a third which was repurposed from the Runway Show I’ll finally be able to stop mentioning in every single blog post. I had a blast making all three, but I made them all in a studio, by myself, in consequently a completely different manner than the rocket ship I had the priveledge of helping construct at the event itself. Let’s call the boy Tom, since I never did catch his actual name.

Tom wanted to build a Rocket Ship, and I was there, ready to help. I thought I knew what the construction process would entail… since I had made three rocket ships of my own, after all. I was a pro, right? Well, it turns out he wanted something with bits similar to mine, but a LOT would be different.
What made the process so eye-opening to me was how I was able to engage him with the process opposed to prior attempts. Before, I would assume what the child wanted built, and then just build it. With Tom’s Rocket Ship, I instead let him dictate every step of the process. We had a sheet of cardboard, and instead of turning it straight into a usable box, I asked him to draw how big he wanted the window. He drew a much smaller hole than I would’ve, and made the walls much closer together than I had envisioned. So we worked off of that. I showed Tom how to use the Makedo screws, and he screwed the panels together, with just a little help tightening from me. Then came the roof. He wanted a pyramid-shaped cone on the ship, like I had on my left-most example. But we just had a sheet of cardboard. The process that followed was tedious for me (someone who knows how I made the original cone) but it was immensely engaging for Tom (which is what really matters). Instead of ever telling him how a step was done, I asked him how he thought it was done. That’s the crucial step. I never assumed what to do next, always asking him to point where I should cut, or how the triangles should be laid out to produce the desired shape. I knew the answer, but he didn’t, and it was so much better for him to work to figure it out instead of just watch me make it.
Sure, sometimes Tom would wander off to point at some part of the spaceship, and say things I neither caught nor understood, but when he came back I would hand him the screwdriver, and he would jump right back in to the project.

When I tell you that the rocket ship was ugly, I mean that I would be ashamed to show that… thing… to anybody I know. But Tom was so happy. It fit right on him, and so there are some fun pictures his guardian got of him looking out the tiny window of this wonky cardboard spaceship with the lopsided cone and the tiny wings. He was just so pleased. And my heart was so full of joy prompted by his smiling face.

and then I looked up to see something resembling a blanket fort, but made with massive sheets of cardboard:

The “Church”

I’m not sure if these kids are aware of what card towers are, but that’s roughly what they constructed. Sheet after sheet of massive cardboard was just thrown haphazardly up unto an utter lack of structural integrity. One wrong nudge and it all came down. And it did come down. Often.
Eventually I started contributing pillars: simply-made, vertical boxes that they could throw the sheets on top of. They loved the idea, but only one girl actually embraced the slow process and constructed a singular pillar with me. The others seemed to prefer shouting “We need more pillars!” and not making any actual effort to raise more. These are the same kids that sectioned off parts of the newly constructed cardboard fort and called them “offices” keeping everyone out per loud verbal demand.
At one point it was decided (by the loudest kids) that the building was to be a “church” and they started construction of a cross, their offices, and steeples. I never saw the cross—only heard of it—but I actually built the steeples. Well, they were already built. The kids just threw the rocket ships onto the already-caving-in roof and called them steeples. It was a sight to behold. Even the newly built dinky ship got launched onto the roof. Some of the larger freestanding structures were commondeered for walls and supports, and that was the only reason anything stood at all. If only the kids had been willing to put as much time into stability as they had flinging around the sheets of cardboard they could have constructed a very secure fort. But alas, it was only temporary anyways.

The “Monster Truck”

This is a project I was a part of that I’m still wrapping my mind around. Here’s how it went:

There was another boy, let’s call him Billy, that came up to me, a man in an apron, and asked “can you build me a car?” Now, I considered it for a moment—building him a car for two hours so he can sit in it once and leave—but instead of doing that, I told him there’s a lot of work that goes into building a car. At that, Billy went off to a chair to pout. I wouldn’t just spawn him a car. How dare I! Sadly, I’m not like a balloon-animal man. I don’t just make things appear on demand. But I am the cardboard guy, so I had to do something.

I found Billy sitting on his chair and asked him, “How are we gonna build this car?”at which he looked up, understanding now that I wouldn’t just build him one—he would have to help. “What kind of car will it be?” I asked. It turns out, he wanted a monster truck. Good to know. I would never have considered that when thinking of “cars,” and I still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted, so I handed him a pencil and held up a sheet of cardboard like an easel for him to draw the shape of the monster truck. I thought it’d be that simple… silly me. He waltzed right around that easel to a separate sheet of cardboard and drew some strange, oblong blob with some pointy things at the end. He gestured to two blobs and declared them wheels, which I could comprehend with some effort, until he made the drawing taller, at which I lost all concept of a vehicle. And yet I asked him, “What’s the first step for making this monster truck?”

Every time I asked about “the next step” or “what do we do” I could see the gears turning in these small children’s minds. They were working double time up there, trying to discern what to do. I suppose most of their experiences at this point are attempts to follow specific instructions to learn, rather than fully write their own curriculum of decisions. It was new, but they got there in the end, even if the decision was so far off from what I may have imagined. For the rocket ship, I knew how to guide Tom to get him something resembling a rocket ship, but with Billy the whole process involved learning exactly what his concept of a monster truck was.

The point of the project Billy seemed most pleased with (smiling, bubbly) was when I cut—per his request—a large tooth out of a nearby carboard sheet. (Because “Monster” truck?) We then had a large, tooth-shaped, hand-held object made out of cardboard, and he went to town thinking of all the things it may be. We quickly determined it was too big to be his own tooth, but thought: maybe a bill? a beak? a baseball bat? And then I was instructed to cut another. And then we cut a rectangle. and then we came to a halt at…

the “No Tape” Predicament.

For such a chaotic time as this event, there were a lot of identifiable common themes. One such theme being “we don’t have any tape or glue.” It’s true; the Cardboard Construction Zone was not currently supplied with any tape or glue, limiting fasteners to the Makedo blue plastic screws and kid-safe tools. (Hence why I brought a box cutter in my apron, to avoid the struggle and tedium of toddler-safe hand saws—I’m rarely even patient enough for regular hand saws!) and so both Tom and Billy at one point looked at the spaceships I had brought, made with tape and glue, and wanted their process to be just as simple. It was not. Instead of being upset about it though, and quitting the project, I simply continuously redirected them with: “What can we use instead?”and “How can we use what we have to get that result?” Sure, in most of the situations I would have also preferred just to run out to my van and grab the roll of packing tape I had sitting in there. It would’ve been an easier, cleaner solution. But instead, we problem solved with what we had. The monster truck became a rectangle with two large teeth screwed onto it. and then Billy drew some lines on the rectangle with a sharpie I was carrying, and that was it. That was it. THAT was the monster truck. After reaching that point, we were going to add wheels of some sort, but he got sidetracked helping with the Church, and then I think their family went home. I don’t know what became of the “Monster Truck”. But I learned that my “car” and just giving him that, would have given him nothing. The process we went through to create his own brainchild was worth far more. Especially the point where Billy came to terms with the lack of tape or glue, and worked with me to find a solution instead of sulking.

The “Missile”

There was, near the end of the event, a full construction process that I was hardly involved in at all. Yet I still learned from it! It was a father-daughter-friend project that actually followed the theme of the day: a missile. They constructed the large tube, the cone, the wings, and then stuck it on a kid to wobble around in. It was fantastic.
At one point I went over and asked the daughter if I could help. She was, after all, using the kid-safe saw for a massive circle (soon-to-be-cone) and it was taking far longer than my box cutter would take. But she declined the help, and I moved on. I didn’t try to force my help upon her, instead allowing her to struggle and reach her goal by her own means. It was made clear where my help was needed, and where it really wasn’t. Maybe all I needed to contribute to that project was the prebuilt spaceships as inspiration. The construction process was handled on their own from start to finish. Then came…

Witnessing the Destruction of my Spaceships.

I’m glad I came into the day’s event detached from my hard work, because those spaceships didn’t stand a chance. After being chucked around as steeples and walls (and yes, enjoyed as well-made photo ops by the littluns) the spaceships made it to the end: cleanup. We gave instructions for the kids who were still there to help us “destroy” what had been constructed, hoping they would help by removing the plastic screws to be reused in future events. They assumed, however, that the spaceships were included despite their lack of screws, and just straight-up picked the box off the ground and threw it at a wall as I watched. My fancier, more detailed spaceship seemed to gain more respect, but still a boy went up to it and just ripped off a detail. It was so strange to watch, and be okay with. This was the same rocket ship that won the People’s Choice Award at a runway show and was in an official gallery for the past month, and here, little boys were knocking it over again and again, crushing it, and then ripping off the detailed levers. It’s a good thing I understand impermanance, and seldom build things to last forever. Cardboard is much better in-the-moment than preserved to last. It’s a material meant to be aggresively played with until it disintegrates. My spaceships were no exception.

Spontaneity vs. Planning

A slight tangent here near the end of the post again with one of my favorite words: Spontaneous! I thought of a few ways to highlight it in juxtaposition to scheduled events regarding yesterday. First was the day as a whole: I had the first half planned, but then the second half just fell into place, fabulously. The first half was planned, the second, spontaneous. Second, the event at WonderSpace was a beautiful blend of planned and unplanned, with a prepared theme in “Ready, Set, Launch” and a number of completely irrelevant builds as a result, perhaps “inspired” by the preconstructed items. Thirdly, I expect the workshop on Monday, February 3rd to be a similar blend, with me either being overprepared or underprepared, and needing to adjust in the moment accordingly.

I am looking forward to…

so much. If I pause and think of all the exciting things coming up on my calendar, my heart starts racing and I wish time would move faster… (until I remind myself to slow down, since I’ll never get that time back). I’m trying to appreciate the process, and each moment along the path of life, but the big events still have a draw unlike the mundane.

First, is the workshop tomorrow where I will meet some of the boys (and hopefully a girl or two) who will be a part of the HUGELY EXCITING “Cardboard Club” I have the ABSOLUTE PRIVELEDGE of leading. I met one registered participant yesterday, but there are several other boys signed up who I may never have even seen in passing before. That’s the most likely scenario, actually, since I’m not from Marion and it’s a decently large city. I’m nervous if I linger on the unknown variables such as the attendees. I can only hope they are as willing to adapt as I am. (I expect to write a post about the Meeting, after the unknown variables and expectations become known.)

The second excitement is farther out—most likely a few months—being the construction of my new studio! I have a large role in its design, but house progress like electrical and roofing has been slow. We’re a ways off from flooring and painting, and then desk installation and move-in. Not to mention the following process of preparing curriculum for the art lessons I plan to teach there! That is the exciting part for me, especially after engaging with the kids how I did yesterday in an environment with extremely limited solutions. I can’t wait to expose the kids I teach to the infinite solutions for their design challenges, many of which we can try with my mass of accumulated art supplies paired with my shopping addiction. I mentioned the lessons to the parent of one kid who has a conflicting event (like dance or ju-jitzu) with the 5:30-7 time slot Cardboard Club occupies. When I mentioned the alternative opportunity to make art with me, the kid’s face lit up. My heart grew two sizes when I saw the excitement on her face, and the parent mentioned they would happily help expand my clientel with their homeschool group connections. (Which just makes so much sense as a demographic I should try to reach.)

AAAAAAAH I’m so excited. I need to look up some synonyms for excitement, else I run the risk of overusing the word in an attempt to convey it.

Because I am, to the fullest extent, excited for what’s to come.