woof!

30.1.13

Out House

Florian Busch Architects has recently completed a house of interesting proportions; 72 feet deep by 15 feet wide, of which the client said they wanted the house to be "open" to the exterior, so that they could breathe in the middle of the dense city of Tokyo. The solution is an interesting play with one of the most common features of urban housing, and simultaneously offers a commentary on Japanese notions of "place".

The architects made the not unreasonable decision to open the house to the sides, which given the length of the site seems to make sense, and which helps to alleviate the tube feeling such a site might be prone to. Whats interesting is the device used to open the sides; as you can see from the image above, on the ground floor the north wall is open, on the second floor the south wall is open, and finally on the third floor the north wall is again open, this accomplished through the use of a folded cast in place concrete plate that weaves in and out. This plate appears to be non committal as to whether it's a floor or a wall, as the thickness is cleverly maintained in both conditions.

It's important to note the proximity of the neighboring buildings in the image above; though not touching, they are very close, and their height makes them appear to be closer than their actual distance apart might be. From this perspective, the folded plane might be considered a "party wall"* of sorts that has taken "both sides"; separating both the south and north buildings from each other and paradoxically creating a new "place" from this separation. As such, the house has no formal reason for being; it is a wall, an apartness that claims both sides equally, but makes no claim of its own. In this sense too, there is no unified living in this house. Each fold is it's own claim with no sharing. To move from one floor to another, one bores through the folded party wall:

The house has no place; it's a machine for borrowing, borrowing space from its unwitting neighbors. This lack of centeredness, or more accurately occupying multiple centers, is a very Japanese tendency, as noted in an earlier post (Japan Musings 6) and by Roland Barthes in his book "Empire of Signs", where he discusses the role of the train station in Japanese cities (emptying center). The "center" in this house is nothing more than the space one is currently occupying, and entirely consistent with Shinto tradition and, for that matter, the layout of Japanese cities themselves. One is out when in, in when out.

The section is the elevation.

Nice use of curtains to separate space uses.

The curtains seem to be just a step removed from traditional Shoji screens. They create a soft division of the long tubular space into the necessary uses. Their transience is latent as opposed to that implied by the translucent glazing of the "open" sides of the house.

Bedroom

Roof Deck
All Photographs © Hiroyasu Sakaguchi AtoZ

*Party wall: A fire separation between two buildings that usually extends above the roof lines of each.

1.1.13

Industrialized...knowing? 2.3

There is a sense that we, as creatures, must be different from all others because we have a sense of ourselves and, above all, a sense of our mortality, something we're quite sure isn't shared by any other creature. Our existance, apart from all others on this planet, is one that collectively gathers intelligence through time, and is therefore dependant upon a level of connectivity between our members through time not required by any other. Imagine if we all had to begin from scratch what we all have available to us upon birth, and had to invent our own crescent wrench, unicycles, pasta recipes, oil paint, cell phones on and on, we would be instead another species, one that makes due with whats available upon birth and perfectly able to do so with no penalty to its ability to survive. We must be different.

This reasoning makes it clear we're different from all other species. But aren't all species different from each other? Does our difference equal superiority? Our difference is no more than that between any of the other's, and equal in the sense that it is the means about which we go about our survival; its articulation, always on our terms, is nothing more than a distraction from the only thing life "cares" about, which is to further itself, to extend its existence. The centeredness of our selves, and all selves, means that each is less likely to reach a complete understanding of what it means to be alive with respect to other species, and for most species this is sufficient, as their primary concern is the survival of each individual member, the extension of which ensures the propagation of the whole. They kill what needs to be killed, and breed. Our wondering and ponders, our endless consideration and deliberation, unique among species, leads us to places not immediately obvious as requisite of survival, but in the end, for us, completely required of it. For it's in this consideration and pondering of options that we choose our way forward, rather than the programmed need that drives others to not look around so much, but focus on a target and measure for threats, with the immediacy of instinct.

We think we're hot shit. Steamy risings from the meadow? Perhaps. But we're definitely not hot shit. Thanks to our huge, considering brain, we claim to "know", but true knowing is precisely what we lack. Our knowing exists outside of true knowing, but gives the appearance to us of being the only "knowing" there is.

One might say there are three states, or varieties, of "knowing": A true knowing, common to all other life forms, and probably identifiable to us as instinct; what might be called "scientific knowing", based on empiricism and causality, and as written about by Kant; and finally "belief", which is knowing only to those who believe in the belief (god) at hand. Our being offers just two ways forward in terms of knowing, those being the last two identified above. Our decision making apparatus doesn't permit option 1, and so we are left with only a fork in the road as to the issues and concerns we face day to day (or more precisely, present to future), without our even thinking about how this might relate to our ability to survive. The industrial says we're fools to believe in belief, to imagine our knowing should declare us something apart from the mostly empty and cold blooded nature that is the universe. The industrial says we have no business believing for a moment that we're any different than any of the other differences out there, and that to do so is to wander down a path of delusion, a path seeking exceptionalism for this species where none exists. To "believe", to put your faith in the 3rd knowing, is to live a life of delusion that may have as a consequence the extinction of this species.

But what good is this knowledge if it doesn't make me feel good? Doesn't that invalidate it? Where is salvation? Next.

7.6.12

Industrialized.. .1.3

In Fall 1984, i believe, i took an evening wander from me nest in south Minneapolis. The nest had a bat in it, but already i'm off course. Its a bit of a blur, now that the dinosaurs have flattened and we all have internet, but i had the wonder of a great reveal that eve. i'm reminded we don't necessarily try to think of ideas; its hard to make them happen because we want one, and so it was while thinking about little that so much came into me mind, and like a rare gift, the planet all of a sudden made sense.

i was struck with an idea as to why things are the way they are. As soon as i got home i started writing this bolt down, and it has been my anchor all these years. My impulse to go to grad school was little more than an excuse to investigate this idea; explore how my interest in the narrative as a device to create architecture could express a philosophy.

While in grad school i took a seminar where we had a project that allowed me to put this idea out in front of others who were much smarter than i was and sure enough one woman became furious with the idea and started yelling at me during my presentation. i don't remember arguing with her, i think because i "knew". But the idea hasn't seen light since.

The idea is a very simple one. It essentially says that there are no special life forms; that as inhabitants of "life" we are all equals, receiving definition not through "intelligence" or lack of, appearance, ability to skateboard, or life cycle, but through the means that each life form goes about survival. It says that life is about no more than our ability to survive as a species, and that life "knows" of nothing else. As a species we assume there must be a purpose to our existence, a purpose greater than simply survival, a "knowing" that exceeds all other knowing, but if we look around at every other life form, we realize that isn't the case, there is no greater purpose, and that we can't pretend we're doing more than any other species, as much as we'd like to imagine we're exceptional. In fact, we may see that we're failing where other species have been so successful.

If a species is defined by the means that it goes about it's survival, then we need to see the products of humanity in another light. We need to understand that our nature isn't apart from nature, but that the cosmos is a singular entity we all inhabit and incapable of division. There isn't nature and humanity, there is just nature. The idea that coal mines and steel mills and chemical plants and farms are as natural as spider webs and wasp nests was what so angered the student in my seminar class. But they are our nature; the means by which we go about our survival, and as valid (and beautiful) as any other (i believe i just defined beauty).

i never named this idea. i always just called it "the industrial". More rambles coming. ..

9.5.12

Salty corner

Way back i remodeled me kitten chin, fuzzing it with cuteness, also known as bead board, and installing a dish bubbler all modern and silent, except that it called for salt to be poured into its innards. Looking online, i found some obscure product called "Somat", that was highly recommended. The stuff has been sitting in a closet for a couple of years until i finally got tired of seeing these boxes i ordered taking up valuable rag and snorkel space, so i broke out the boxes and poured in the salt, needed or not.

But first, beauty struck! A handful of nose hairs fell onto my lap not really. On the corner of the box was the instruction to "press here". The corner of the box? i've opened a few boxes in my time, and never have i been instructed to "press here" on the corner of a box. i was thinking shit, i'm going to have to struggle with this stupid gimmick cause its just not going to do what it's pretending is going to happen. But i was wrong. It opened effortlessly. What an ingenious use of the tension that naturally exists between adjacent sides of a box about its corner. Whats more, the corner of the box forms a natural spout for the ingredients to pour out when you tip the box.

Press here

Pour!

This is such an unexpected articulation of the corner / diagonal in packaging; something i might have expected the Japanese to have produced given their natural inclination toward articulation of the diagonal within an orthogonal system. But not the Germans.

1.5.12

Come and vanish

What should a train station be? A gate to welcome? Or leave? An expression of shear as the comings and goings of a city? A gathering place? An expression of motion? i'm sure it could be all of these, and has been. Last year i visited Avignon, France, and was impressed with their train station for the TGV designed by the transit authority SNCF and Jean-Marie Duthilleul with Jean-François Blassel. It made me think of travel less as the "going someplace" than the simple "going". It contained an expression of the planet as a round thing that one could go round and round; it seemed to say "why stay in this spot, when you could so easily disappear by simply moving?"

The device used to generate this effect is a gentle curve, which by itself wouldn't do enough work, so in addition the building tapers to each end of the plan curve, the effect being that as and one enters (in the middle of the curve) and looks to each direction the building creates a strong forced perspective, and does so with one just standing there, no movement, or trains, necessary.

The use of ramps to reach the platform further reinforces the building's inclination (not a pun) towards movement.

5.3.12

bound

A week ago, after ironing me bloodclots, i went out with the prettiness to taste the latest Iranian movie ("film", in Arial Narrow), which i had heard reviewed on the radio, and having seen enough Iranian movies ("films", in Andale) to know how incredible they can be, knew had to be seen. The movie, "A Separation", by director Asghar Fahadi, is up for an Oscar, but that doesn't tell you any more than the cupcake in my left sock. i'll tell you it's excellent, and the best movie i've seen in a while (though i don't get out much). It won't soon leave your mind.

In typical Iranian fashion, the story is simple on the outside, complex from within. Given its lack of helicopter crashes and alien transformers dining on state capitols, it's sure to have a small audience in the US, but its one of those movies you talk about for days afterward. The story is roughly described in the articles i've seen as one involving a woman who's asking for a divorce from her husband because he won't join her in leaving Iran because he feels a need to care for his father, who has Alzheimer's. From there things escalate, one at a time, until the circle of characters is large, involving more than the initial family, and all tied up in a dispute that has grown much larger and with much darker consequences than the initial divorce request. If you go see the movie, this is the story you'll follow, but within the story is a much larger truth about the nature of our relationships, and ourselves.

The story appears to revolve around a decision by the wife to leave her husband, but what you find as the story progresses is that it is the infirm father around which all revolves. He has Alzheimer's and so cannot communicate, can't walk, can't feed himself, can't understand what is going on around him, in effect can't "live". i was struck by the effect this disease had on all the people even remotely connected with his being. Without their knowing, in one sense, these people found themselves incapacitated in their own ways by being associated closely with someone who was literally frozen. And isn't this the nature of our bonds? If we walk around, shop, visit friends, go to work, live, in one sense we do so because our freedom is shared by those we are connected to; we can do as those we area connected to do. If we can wander, its because those we are connected to can wander. This interconnectedness is put under a magnifying glass in this movie, when one character has his freedom removed and we witness the growing paralysis of those around him, and the ways people even remotely connected to him become bound in some manner to his frozen status; satellites orbiting an empty planet.

i'm exaggerating a bit; the story has more to it, of course. And it won the Oscar.

28.9.11

Campus scape

The wild side. photo © Iwan Baan

i've long been an admirer of the work from Morphosis, even from the Rotundi days, when things were often a bit over wrought, as if trying too hard to make a statement and establish their "otherness" or bad boy (in architecture?). But those days are long gone, and in the place of those pressed efforts is the much more disciplined, coherent, and consistent work that makes up their portfolio of the last 15 years.

Their Giant Interactive Group Corporate Headquarters project in Shanghai takes familiar Morphosis themes and uses them to interesting effect, not dissimilar to the landscape theme undertaken on a much smaller scale by Aires Mateus in their Elderly Housing project posted earlier.

Here again there is a reference to a normative condition, a courtyard house, that has been opened in such a way as to release another kind of program or being, in this case a series of physical activity / recreational spaces that act as an attempt of sorts to reclaim the body from the inward, mind state of the office wing, thereby taking on the character of a monster of the Frankenstein sort, being simultaneously natural, wild, yet hyperactively human, born as they were from the more urbane, intellectual, and recognizable office and classroom wing.

The courtyard "house", where the offices, library, and meeting rooms are located, sits to one side of a road that pierces the complex, splitting it violently and initiating the release of this hyperactive man-child, as it spills out in forms both soft and shard toward the lake and canal beyond, while creating beautiful and unexpected openings and tears in the membrane that give views to the sky and other pieces of landscape and water, man-made and not.