Browsing category: Philosophy

  • March 31, 2021

    Searching for Slowness – A Future Paced Ethos

    In the fall semester of 2020, Caroline Amstutz and David Pankhurst, a couple of MIT Architecture grad students, researched the theme of Slow Architecture and interviewed several firms around the world, including Todd Williams Billie Tsien Architects, RMA Architects, Studio Mumbai, Aamodt / Plumb, and MASS Design Group. They did a fantastic final project and we wanted to share their work with our audience. Below you’ll find an essay by Amstutz and Pankhurst and images of the beautiful final booklet they made. Here is a link to the Aamodt / Plumb interview.

    _____________________________________________

    PROJECT DESCRIPTION BY AMSTUTZ AND PANKHURST

    “Searching for Slowness” is a new architectural manifesto, taking form in a kit, which asks participants to contribute to a common understanding of Slow Architecture. The kit invites readers to fold and assemble a series of conversations into booklet format. Then, readers interact with the recounted conversations by categorizing portions of the text into the “tenets” which we uncovered in our search for slowness. Finally, readers deconstruct, refold, and reassemble the booklet into the second reading of the manifesto – the tenets, a thematic synthesis of principles and values of Slow Architecture.

    <iframe width=”560″ height=”315″ src=”https://www.youtube.com/embed/yVfZYWTVLn8″ title=”YouTube video player” frameborder=”0″ allow=”accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture” allowfullscreen></iframe>

    Linked below are the two different “readings” of the booklet, and above is the time-lapse video of this assembly, disassembly, and reassembly process.

    Searching for Slowness Tenet Booklet [Click to download]

    searching for slowness booklet 1

    Searching for Slowness Conversations Booklet [Click to download]

    searching for slowness booklet 2

    Booklet Folding Instructions

    searching for slowness folding instructions

    _____________________

    ESSAY: Searching for Slowness – A Future-Paced Ethos 

    By Caroline Amstutz + David Pankhurst, MIT Architecture Department, December 17, 2020

    Speed is a hallmark trait of the 21st. century; from fast food to fast fashion, our digital and global moment demands a pace previously unimaginable. But with speed comes compromise at the cost of our environment, health, and culture. An antidote to our fast-paced, technologically driven lives resides in carving out space for deliberateness; for slowness – and nowhere is this more relevant than in the design of the spaces which encircle our lives. If our behavior, well-being, and sense of belonging are tied to how we dwell, how can the practice of architecture allow us to slow down and re-pace our future? 

    Fleeting a single definition, slowness shifts meanings as it impacts individuals,  communities, and environments. Searching for Slowness attempts to quantify and qualify the ephemeral idea of slowness, asking the question: what does it mean to create Slow Architecture?  While our understanding of slowness meandered as our research gained more perspectives and nuance, Slow Architecture, like Slow Food[1], can ultimately be defined by three principles: Clean  – sustainable for the environment; Fair – equitable for individuals and communities; and Good,  which is harder to evaluate, but could be defined as high quality – both materially and experientially. 

    Initially, our perception of Slow Architecture was characterized as a highly material  practice centered on human experience; a literal slowness embraced in the temporal drag inherent to physical mediums as part of the design process. Paradoxically, the deliberate slowness imbued in this process could translate into an ethos which posits a solution to the most pressing issues troubling architecture: sustainability and equity. Slow Architects, we believed, could be identified by several key traits. Firstly, a slowness induced by method through electing to design using haptically transferrable mediums and resisting quick impulse technologies. And secondly,  an unconventional practice structure, such as craft and artisan informed ateliers, design-builds,  and non-profit firms which encourage higher levels of engagement with constructive processes and communities. Equipped with criteria to identify Slow Architecture, we sought to understand how these models resist the industry trends which distance architecture from material and labor and dissociate the architect from the long-term implications of their design decisions. 

    Acknowledging these foundational assumptions, we interviewed firms (from here onward called conversations) which fit our definition of Slow Architecture, hoping through conversation to uncover how they understand their work within the context of slowness, how their practice reinforces slowness, and where their definitions of slowness diverge from our own. As we probed our understanding, we compiled these recounted conversations in Searching for Slowness – a new architectural manifesto inviting readers to dwell, reflect upon, and contribute their own ideas about Slow Architecture. Our conception of Slow Architecture evolved as we gained new  perspectives from our conversations; our manifesto acknowledges that there is no single or “correct”  definition of slowness, but rather Slow Architecture is defined by a series of principles, presented as malleable tenets, which were found resting under the surface of our discussions. 

    As we molded our understanding of Slow Architecture through conversations, we crystalized our conviction of the need for a Slow Architecture through reading and revisiting texts addressing issues of environment and equity. Research beyond our conversations helped to contextualize Slow Architecture within a larger disciplinary discourse. Parallel “Slow  Movements”, such as Slow Food [2], or Citta Slow [3] (Slow City) , grounded our critique of Fast Architecture’s unqualified embrace of globalization and homogenization. Borrowing the Slow  Food movement’s “Good, Clean, and Fair,” provided productive friction as we expanded their verbiage to fit an architectural scale and positioned the concepts relative to current disciplinary conversations. 

    “Clean” and “fair” are existential and immediate, often directly intertwined in addressing the challenges of coexistence. Godofredo Pereira’s “Towards an Environmental Architecture”  illustrates the interdependence of issues of sustainability and labor. [4] Pereira communicates the  imperative “to re-assess the legal, ethical and political limits of architecture’s responsibilities” in  order to move “from the position of providing services to that of critically supporting ongoing  processes of social transformation.” [5] The social is entangled with the environmental, and Pereira  suggests that the “environment” should be reframed as “relations of coexistence.” [6]  

    Addressing “fair,” Mabel Wilson’s “Who Builds Your Architecture?” highlights the “risk  adversity and class divisions that [characterize] the prevailing mentality of the construction and  design industries.” [7] Wilson’s text prompted our interest in engaging with alternate models of practice; those with a propensity to take more ownership of the entire production of architecture,  from pre-design through post-occupancy. Wilson identifies a disciplinary disconnect wherein  “those most intimately knowledgeable about the design and engineering of projects […] likely  never set foot on a construction site or interact with the workers for whom they produce  instructions about how to build their designs.” [8] Slow Architecture has the potential to bridge this gap. Wilson attributes this disciplinary cocoon to two key factors: an imperative to avert risk and diminish liability, and an increasing focus on “algorithmically created form making […] that  concentrate[s] creative energies on articulating the surface of architecture rather than its material  impact.” [9] These two concerns are central to Slow Architecture as they expand the principles of  “Clean” and Fair” in relationship to the more nebulous “Good.” 

    Our Conversations reinforced the ideas introduced by Wilson: this segregation of services does not eliminate risk, rather it is aggregated and spread, scattering the responsibility to deploy environmentally sustainable and fair labor practices. The shift of designer priorities from material impact to surface articulation further illustrates how priorities can be encapsulated in the processes and medium of production. Or, as John May articulates in his entry to Log 40,  “Technics contain specific models of time, which resonate with lived life […] the structural pace with which any given technical system allows us to record our thoughts and actions is inseparable from the ways of life it makes possible or impossible.” [10] With exception, there is a tendency toward technological dependency to degenerate into solipsistic, parametric “form-making” that  displaces the concern for the human experience and material realities. Our conversations engaged with firms whose design begins with a profound concern with materiality and human experience – practices who rely on tactile translations of design through models, material investigations, and true orthographic drawings. While Slow Architecture can transcend media and method, there is a speed ascribed to the techne of production. 

    In conversation, however, we found these concerns of particular mediums of design to be  largely circumstantial; some favored orthographic iteration, others relied on material mockups, and others still conceded that the international nature of their organization necessitated a purely digital design process. This speed-of-medium to speed-of-production relationship which initially framed our understanding of slowness proves to be just one of many critical exchanges, while larger attitudes of “empathy,” “empowerment,” and “ownership” more readily reveal a practice of Slow Architecture.  

    Not overlooking material or method, our conversations revealed that more important is the appropriateness of its application; using the right tools to interrogate or communicate design decisions. This idea of appropriateness underscores our own process of searching for slowness as we move between definitions and perceptions of what it means to practice Slow  Architecture. Without hard rules or boundaries, appropriateness encompasses our principles of  “flexibility,” “locality,” and “interdisciplinarity.” Our Conversations outlined appropriateness as a means to derive design from context and root architecture in culture, environment, and time.  

    The recurring themes of the conversations we had, and will continue to have, shape our perspective of a future-paced ethos of architecture. We will perhaps never be able to pin down the fleeting experience of slowness, but in starting to evaluate what constitutes Slow Architecture,  we stride towards a more sustainable and equitable future.

     

     

    1 “Good, Clean and Fair: the Slow Food Manifesto for Quality.” (Slow Food International, 2016) 2.

    2 Good, Clean and Fair: the Slow Food Manifesto for Quality.” (Slow Food International, 2016) 2. 

    3 Citta Slow: International Network of Cities Where Living is Easy.” (Cittaslow International, 2019)

    4 Pereira, Godofredo Enes. “Towards an Environmental Architecture.” (e-flux: architecture, 2010) 

    5 Ibid.  

    6 Ibid.  

    7 Wilson, Mabel, Jordan Carver, and Kadambari Baxi. “Who Builds Your Architecture?—An Advocacy Project.” The Gulf: High Culture/Hard  Labor . (OR Books, 2015) 100. 

    8 Ibid, 110.

    9 Wilson, Mabel, Jordan Carver, and Kadambari Baxi. “Who Builds Your Architecture?—An Advocacy Project.” The Gulf: High Culture/Hard  Labor . (OR Books, 2015) 110. 

    10 May, John. “Everything Is Already an Image.” Log 40. (Anyone Corporation, 2017) 10.

     

    Bibliography 

    1. “Citta Slow: International Network of Cities Where Living is Easy.” (Cittaslow International,  2019) 
    2. “Good, Clean and Fair: the Slow Food Manifesto for Quality.” (Slow Food International, 2016)  www.slowfood.com/about-us/our-philosophy/
    3. May, John. “Everything Is Already an Image.” Log 40. (Anyone Corporation, 2017) 
    4. Pereira, Godofredo Enes. “Towards an Environmental Architecture.” (e-flux: architecture,  2010) https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/positions/205375/towards-an environmental-architecture/
    5. Wilson, Mabel, Jordan Carver, and Kadambari Baxi. “Who Builds Your Architecture?—An  Advocacy Project.” The Gulf: High Culture/Hard Labor . (OR Books, 2015)
  • October 4, 2019

    Slow Photography, an Interview with Photographer Cynthia Katz

    Not too long ago, I caught up with my high school photography teacher, Cynthia Katz, and was excited to learn about her pursuit of Slow Photography with cyanotypes, a photographic printing process that produces a cyan-blue print. She explained to me that the advent of digital photography changed the way she engaged with the medium and she discovered that the Slow Movement echoed her desire to live more deliberately and purposely. And so she turned to cyanotypes, one of photography’s earliest forms. She writes:

    Artist’s Statement, Cynthia Katz

    “Time has played a pivotal role in photography since its inception in 1839. Exposures, the decisive moment, the notion of history, all conjure time in photography. The advent of digital photography has changed the way I engage with the medium after many decades. Gardening has also framed my life since I was young, and it too has time at its core. Gardening forces us to contend with a process-oriented approach that requires patience and a respect for the elements of nature. Contemporary “slow” movements echo my desire to live at a more deliberate pace, resisting the ‘faster, bigger, more’ aspect of today’s dominant culture, and thus I’ve returned to cyanotypes, one of photography’s earliest forms. Drawn to their tactility and the serendipity of the outcome, I mix my favorite chemical recipe and collect objects around my home and garden in anticipation of imaging. Cyanotyping, like gardening, is slow and timely, ethereal, spiritual and ultimately ephemeral. Happy surprises, and the promise held by chance keep me at it, while failures propel me toward new possibilities. I mark time with cyanotypes along with the garden season.

    These pieces reference rituals and cycles though intersect with current politics, which I’m unable to dismiss. The very nature of process is central to this work, and the fragility of the forms, of alignment, of cross over, of containment, of reaching to connect across boundaries, are all at play. Drinking tea, marking time, making work, recording a present moment into a fixed tone or image, grounds this work on paper. Each cup of tea, each seed, makes something possible.”

    slow photography

    Photo by Cynthia Katz

     How did you become interested in Slow Photography?

    CK: I guess it happened well before “Slow” was a movement. For me, photography has always been about process, careful observation, and tactility. My dad was a photographer, so I have early memories of being in his darkroom with him, making photograms, watching the image come up in the developer. Later I would watch the precision with which he’d frame his images. In my own practice the quiet, contemplative search for images, attention to details of light, frame, juxtapositions of elements, or with my cyanotype work, conceptualizing and putting things together during a printing session, and after the images are made making further decisions, is pivotal. Moving to medium and large formats in grad school as well as doing my first non-silver process workshop were all with the same motivation and love of slowing down, and absorbing the experience and the process. Since digital photography has taken hold, it’s a great antidote. And it’s great to see the resurgence of 19th century processes.

     How do you convey this interest in time to your students through your teaching?

    CK: Time and the (decisive) moment is at the heart of photography and how I teach it, so it’s something that comes up early in my Photo 1 classes. Looking carefully, and deeply at pictures, and getting kids to self assess and talk about photographs is also at the heart of my work with students. When I show slides, or talk about work with students, they get it that I love (good) photography, and the power it has to move us.

    What is it about cyanotypes that you find most compelling?

    CK: Umm, everything. Again, process takes center stage. From weighing and mixing the chemicals, to measuring and tearing the paper, to thinking about what I want to work with (objects), and to conceiving ideas I want to work with, I love the process. I have to think about the weather, because I don’t use a light box (yes, a conscious choice). Just like I have to hang laundry out on sunny days. A day of making cyanotypes starts days before, considering sizes, tearing paper, thinking about what I want to accomplish, and then coating paper starts early in the morning. I find myself printing after the sun has left my “easy” spots, so I’m chasing the sun. A good productive day is immensely satisfying and even bad ones, oh well, gotta chalk it up to process.

    Anything else you want to share?

    CK: Like getting good at anything, it takes practice and consistency, but you also have to do it because you love it. Otherwise, find something else to put your attention to, and dig deeply into.

    Photograph Magazine

    Also, do you have a reference for that article you have tacked up on your studio wall?

    CK: The magazine is called Photograph, probably 4 or 5 years ago at this point.

    “Technology has taught us to consume media of all types at a breathtaking pace … No wonder some photographers (the blog istillshootfilm.org is but one example) have re-embraced analog formats – they have realized that instant gratification isn’t always so satisfying.”

    About The Slow Movement and Slow Art

    Since the 1970s, the principles of the Slow Movement have expanded to touch all areas of our lives; from its original tenet of taking the time to enjoy our food to how our cities impact our moods. As the pace of our lives quickens with ever more sophisticated technology, it makes sense that more and more people are embracing the Slow Movement.

    To clarify, the Slow Movement does not mean that we go back in time or that we literally move more slowly. Rather, we savor life in a conscious and deliberate manner. As Carl Honoré, author of In Praise of Slowness, describes it, Slow is “calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity. It is making real and meaningful connections – with people, culture, work, food, everything.”

    More recently, the Slow Movement has touched upon the Art world. Museums noticed that their visitors spent an average of just 17 seconds looking at a piece of art. So they created Slow Art Day, held annually in early April, to encourage their visitors to linger and contemplate a piece that speaks to them. This is to encourage a more profound level of engagement and connection.

  • March 24, 2018

    Slow Space in Cities Increases Wellbeing

    In honor of International Day Of Happiness, NewCities published a series from 10 experts from across the globe on urban wellbeing and happiness, including Mette Aamodt. An excerpt of her article, “Slow Space, Slow Cities” is reprinted below.

    NewCities is an international nonprofit organization dedicated to making cities more inclusive, connected, healthy and vibrant.

    We had been trying to live a slow life for a long time before realizing that there was such a thing as the Slow Movement. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis the same time my partner Andrew Plumb and I were finishing architecture school and starting our careers. The fast-paced, 80-hour weeks at “starchitecture” firms wasn’t going to work for me. We had just moved to New York and simply getting back and forth to work from our Brooklyn apartment was exhausting. As our classmates were making a big splash with their experimental architecture, we consoled ourselves with the story of the tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race, we said.

    When we learned of the Slow Movement it gave us a name for what we had been doing in both life and design – valuing experience over objects, fewer things done better, the sensual pleasures of life and an appreciation of nature. We call our design philosophy at Aamodt / Plumb “slow space” where we explore the conditions necessary to slow one’s experience of time.

    In this fast-moving world of the 21st century, particularly in cities, we need slow space, a place where we can pause, slow down, be present and truly connect. There is a theory, first developed by British geographer Jay Appleton in 1975, that humans have evolved to crave both prospect (opportunity) and refuge (safety). In landscape theory, this is represented by the safety of the cave and the opportunity of the savannah with its unexplored territory and wildlife. I think this is equally true in the city. When we are “out and about” or “pounding the pavement” in a city we are prospecting. We are looking for opportunities, looking for what is new and interesting. Cities are full of opportunities, that is why people go there, but what refuge do they offer? The slow spaces are the spaces of refuge, both physical and mental, that we retreat to when we are overwhelmed, in need of comfort, or just tired at the end of the day.

    I have lived in cities all over the world and have been a student of each while there: an urban studies major and architect in New York, an urban planning student in Paris, an urban design fellow in Fukuoka, an urban planner in Oslo. Each of these places has taught me lessons about slow space that can be applied to all cities.

    Read more from “Slow Space, Slow Cities”

  • December 19, 2017

    The Case For Beauty In Architecture

    For a building to be good, it must be beautiful. Why? Because beauty in architecture brings us joy and happiness. Merriam-Webster defines beauty as “qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit.” Or more to the point, Stendhal, the 19th century French writer, wrote, “Beauty is the promise of happiness.” And happiness is one of our fundamental human needs.

    Beauty is the promise of happiness.

    alhambra beauty in architecture

    The Alhambra — a magnificent example of beauty in architecture, Credit: Mark Horn, Getty Images

    I was delighted when I found the contemporary French philosopher Alain de Botton and his book “The Architecture of Happiness,” about the philosophical and psychological relationship between architecture and our identities.

    De Botton writes: “The buildings we admire are ultimately those which, in a variety of ways, extol the values we think worthwhile — which refer, that is, whether through materials, shapes or colours, to such legendary positive qualities as friendliness, kindness, subtlety, strength and intelligence. Our sense of beauty and our understanding of the nature of a good life are intertwined.” (De Botton, Alain, The Architecture of Happiness)

    beauty in architecture

    Stahl House by Pierre Koenig

    Beauty in architecture

    Beauty is one of the most enduring themes of Western philosophy, going all the way back to Vitruvius’ three laws of architecture: firmitas, utilitas, venustas (solidity, utility, beauty). But when I was in architecture school, no one talked about beauty in architecture because it was considered too subjective. What was important back then was the concept and the idea of the building, not what it looked like.

    beauty in architecture

    Lebbeus Woods Model by John Hill

    Actually, some architects were more interested in the ugly, in an architecture of dissonance or discomfort, like this model that looks like it will attack you. This hasn’t been good for the profession’s PR.

    De Botton points to a study of German psychologist Rudolf Arnheim, where he asked students to draw a good and a bad marriage using only line drawings. “In one example, smooth curves mirror the peaceable and flowing course of a loving union, while violently gyrating spikes serve as a visual shorthand for sarcastic putdowns and slammed doors.”

    beauty in architecture

    Boston City Hall by Daniel Schwen – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0

    In the renaissance, architects were considered the arbiters of beauty. But today, the public often questions architects and designers’ notions of beauty. When I google “ugly building,” the #3 listing is the Wikipedia entry for Boston City Hall. Either Google’s algorithm has a personal beef or there is a general consensus on that one. Either way, that is not the keyword term I would like to rank for. In the article “Ugly Architecture: 15 of the World’s Most Hideous Buildings,” the author wrote, “Some buildings are so ugly, the only thing that could possibly improve them is a wrecking ball.” On the list are many famous architects and well-known firms like Gehry, MVRDV and Perkins + Will. The one that really made me chuckle was the observation tower by artist Anish Kapoor and engineer Cecil Balmond that “looks like a tangle of junk you pulled out of a drawer in your garage.”

    But when, on my quest to expound beauty in architecture, I ask Google about “beautiful buildings,” there is far less agreement. Back in Plato’s day, beauty was considered objective and there were rules and orders that governed it. Even Le Corbusier spoke of a somewhat classical notion of beauty.

    “The Architect, by his arrangements of forms, realizes an order which is a pure creation of his spirit; through forms and shapes, he affects our senses to an acute degree and provokes plastic emotions; by the relationships which he creates he creates profound echoes in us, he gives us the measure of an order which we feel to be in accordance with that of our world, he determines the various movements of our heart and of our understanding; it is then we experience the sense of beauty.” (Le Corbusier quoted in The Architecture of Happiness)

    But now we tend to believe that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” De Botton quotes Stendahl: “There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness.”

    Is beauty universal?

    Certainly, different cultures have different notions of beauty. Indeed, wabi-sabi offers quite a different notion of beauty from Arabic geometric patterns.

    beauty in architecture

    Ryoan-ji Garden in Kyoto, Japan – Stephane D’Alu’s photo, CC BY-SA 3.0

    Our tastes and definitions of beauty change in response to other cultural influences, but they also change over time in response to shifts in our own society. According to de Botton, German art historian Wilhelm Worringer suggested that over the span of human history societies have oscillated between a preference for abstract and realistic art, and that those preferences have changed based on what the societies themselves were lacking.

    “Abstract art, infused as it was with harmony, stillness and rhythm, would appeal chiefly to societies yearning for calm — societies in which law and order were fraying, ideologies were shifting and a sense of physical danger was compounded by moral and spiritual confusion. Against such a turbulent background (the sort of atmosphere to be found in many of the metropolises of twentieth-century America …), inhabitants would experience what Worringer termed ‘an immense need for tranquility,’ and so would turn to the abstract, to patterned baskets or the minimalist galleries of Lower Manhattan.”

    In the twenty-first century, in the age of instant communication, political turmoil and climate catastrophes, this need for tranquility, and what we would term slowness, feels to me to be even more important.

  • November 14, 2017

    Designing the Experience of Space

    In this installment on our series about the three tenets of good architecture, we illuminate the experience of space and architecture. By focusing on the experience of the space rather than the form or function of the building, we as architects can impact people in profound and meaningful ways. Juhani Pallasmaa writes:

    “When designing physical spaces, we are also designing, or implicitly specifying distinct experiences, emotions and mental states. In fact, as architects we are operating in the human brain and nervous system as much as in the world of matter and physical construction. I dare to make this statement as science has established that environments change our brains, and those changes in turn alter our behavior.” (Pallasmaa, Juhani. “Empathic and Embodied Imagination: Intuiting Experience and Life in Architecture” in Architecture and Empathy.)

    … Environments change our brains, and those changes in turn alter our behavior.

    experience of space

    Rigid and in order: A quintessentially Swiss experience designed by Peter Zumthor. Photo by Jonathan Ducrest

    Phenomenology in architecture

    However, too much of architecture has focused on form-making and too little on the experience of space. In fact, form-making has been the dominant theme of modernism, postmodernism and contemporary theories. This is a very rational, static and abstract notion of architecture that dates back to the renaissance, euclidean geometry and René Descartes’ philosophy of “cogito, ergo sum,” “I think, therefore I am.” Vittorio Gallese says, based on his theory of embodied simulation, that philosophy is incorrect. “More relevant than ‘cogito’ — and here phenomenology got it exactly right — than ‘I think’ is ‘I can.’ The physical object, the outcome of symbolic expression, becomes the mediator of an intersubjective relationship between creator and beholder.” (Gallese, Vittorio. “Architectural Space from Within: The Body, Space and the Brain” in Architecture and Empathy.)

    Gallese references the phenomenologists — both philosophers and architects — that have been studying human consciousness and built space through the context of experience and phenomena since the early 20th century, in direct opposition to Descartes’ philosophy that views the world as sets of objects. Architect and Professor Botond Bognar summarizes phenomenology in architecture as follows:

    “As opposed to traditional Western understanding based on a sharp distinction between person and the world, phenomenology — highly critical of Cartesian dualism in any form — regards subjects and objects in their unity. Phenomenology understands a world wherein people and their environment mutually include and define each other. It focuses upon nature and reality not as an absolutum existing only outside us, but as subject to human scrutiny, interaction, and creative participation.” (Bognar, Botond. “A phenomenological approach to architecture and its teaching in the design studio” in Dwelling, Place and Environment.)

    Slow Space is founded in phenomenology, as is our work at Aamodt / Plumb Architects. We ask ourselves how the spaces we create might make people feel. We ask our clients how they want to feel in their home, their school, their library or their hospital. Let us be aware of how spaces make us feel and teach our clients how to feel space as well. It’s no different than cultivating your taste for wine or fine food. One of the Slow Food Movement’s early objectives was to cultivate an appreciation for the taste of good food. I think we should do the same with great spaces. We should cultivate an appreciation for good buildings. It’s not enough just to look at a beautiful picture. Here is a picture of a beautiful dish from Bon Appetit. It looks delicious. But so does this picture of a Whopper, even though we know it is junk food.

    Let us be aware of how spaces make us feel and teach our clients how to feel space as well.

    How about wine? A photo doesn’t do much for it. It’s all in the taste, in the experience. And wine’s popularity is soaring. Millennials are spending more on wine and restaurants and experiences than consumer goods.

    Zumthor’s thermal baths as paradigm for designing the experience of space

    Peter Zumthor’s thermal baths in Vals, Switzerland, serve as an example for designing the experience of space. We spoke with Swiss-born photographer Jonathan Ducrest, who explored the world-famous building with his camera. See his photography and read the story in the article, “Architecture as Experience: Peter Zumthor’s Thermal Baths“.

     

     

  • October 17, 2017

    Designing With Empathy

    The Slow Space Movement stands for buildings that are good, clean and fair, but what exactly do we mean by that? This is our inaugural piece in a series of articles exploring this thematic trifecta of what we understand slow space to be, beginning with “good.”

    In our practice at Aamodt / Plumb, we define a good building as a building that holds meaning for the users, brings them joy and connects them to the world, to others or to themselves in some way. A good building does not just satisfy our basic needs but helps us to understand ourselves and our place in the world. It mediates between our being and our environment, providing a filter through which we can see ourselves and the world. It is not a benign shelter, but a lense that we create for experiencing the world and ourselves within it.

    As architects, designing a good building is a hard, if not impossible, task, but one that we choose to strive for every day. One of the ways we can pursue good building is through empathy.

    Feeling what they feel
    architecture design empathy

    Architecture and Empathy, 2015. Published by The Tapio Wirkkala-Rut Bryk Foundation.

    Empathy is putting yourself in someone else’s shoes and feeling the emotions they feel. According to Juhani Pallasmaa, empathy in architecture is when “The designer places him/herself in the role of the future dweller and tests the validity of the ideas through this imaginative exchange of roles and personalities.” (Pallasmaa, Juhani. “Empathic and Embodied Imagination: Intuiting Experience and Life in Architecture” in Architecture and Empathy.)

    Empathy is one of our basic human traits and one that differentiates us from other species. It evolved to nurture babies outside of the womb, as our upright position forced babies to be born before full gestation. Babies continue to develop through skin to skin contact with their mothers. Without this babies fail to thrive and suffer irreparable physical and psychological damage, and sometimes death. Architect and philosopher Sarah Robinson has argued that the skin is the most fundamental medium of contact with our world.

    architecture design empathy

    “Boundaries of skin: John Dewey, Didier Anzieu and Architectural Possibility” in Architecture and Empathy

    “Empathy allows us to connect to the world through our own bodies and in turn, the world opens itself up to us as we feel our way into it. As the mutuality of the mother-baby relationship exemplifies, we dwell in a reciprocating circuit. We are built to be received into a world to which we must connect, into a world that fits us. Empathy is the deep reflexivity at the heart of life.” (Robinson, Sarah. “Boundaries of Skin: John Dewey, Didier Anzieu and Architectural Possibility” in Architecture and Empathy.)

    The leather-clad door handles at the Villa Mairea by Alvar Aalto are an example of how sensitive the architect was in designing the physical point of connection between the user and the building. Instead of leaving the cold metal bare to draw heat away from the body, he wrapped them in leather so the contact would be skin to skin.

    Embodied simulation

    Recent discoveries in neuroscience have identified exactly how empathy works within our bodies. Mirror neurons in the brain create a mechanism, called embodied simulation, that maps the actions, emotions and sensations of other people onto our brains as if we were experiencing them ourselves. Embodied simulation is not just limited to empathizing with people, it extends to objects and space. MD PhD Vittorio Gallese, who along with his team discovered these mirror neurons, says that “Embodied simulation not only connects us to others, it connects us to our world — a world inhabited by natural and manmade objects … as well as other individuals.” (Gallese, Vittorio. “Architectural Space from Within: The Body, Space and the Brain” in Architecture and Empathy)

    “The notion of empathy recently explored by cognitive neuroscience can reframe the problem of how works of art and architecture are experienced, revitalizing and eventually empirically validating old intuitions about the relationship between body, empathy and aesthetic experience.” (Ibid.)

    Human-centered design

    Empathy is a cornerstone of human-centered design, a buzzword that has been nicely packaged and branded by IDEO, the interdisciplinary design consulting firm.

    “Human-centered design is a creative approach to problem solving and the backbone of our work at IDEO.org. It’s a process that starts with the people you’re designing for and ends with new solutions that are tailor made to suit their needs. Human-centered design is all about building a deep empathy with the people you’re designing for; generating tons of ideas; building a bunch of prototypes; sharing what you’ve made with the people you’re designing for; and eventually putting your innovative new solution out in the world.” (IDEO Design Kit)

    This description is how I always understood architecture, but I am grateful to IDEO for spreading these ideas to the mass market. But why does human-centered design seem so out of fashion inside our industry? What is it in contrast to? It is in contrast to market-driven design, like developers who are often just concerned with maximizing square footage and reducing costs. We are all pretty familiar with these examples.

    Technology-driven design

    Then there is technology-driven design that I will call “tech for tech’s sake.” Quoting a recent opinion piece in The Guardian, “If there’s one thing the technology community loves, it’s an over-engineered solution to a problem that isn’t really a problem. Double points if the root of that problem is: ‘I’m a young man with too much money who needs technology to do for me what my mother no longer will.’ ” (“The five most pointless tech solutions to non-problems,” The Guardian) At the top of their list of the most useless tech solutions is the Juicero, a $400, Wi-Fi-enabled machine that squeezes single-purpose pods filled with crushed fruit and vegetables into a glass. This company raised $120 million in venture capital. PS: It turns out, if you just squeeze the pod, the juice will come out ready to drink. No machine needed. (Juicero has suspending the sale of the Juicero Press and Produce Packs in September 2017.)

    design empathy

    Tech as tech can: Render of Zaha Hadid’s design for the headquarters of the Central Bank of Iraq. Photo: Zaha Hadid Architects

    Technology-driven design has dominated architecture for the past 20 years, where the cutting edge has been defined by what wild architectural form could be created by the latest software and material technology. The work of FOA, Zaha Hadid and Frank Gehry comes to mind. The green movement has also been swept up in technology-driven design, with everyone searching for the tech equivalent of the silver bullet that will solve our environmental crisis.

    “True sustainability demands more than technological solutions — it must be founded on an understanding of human nature that recognizes, affirms and supports our nascent vulnerability and interdependence.” (Robinson, Sarah. “Boundaries of Skin: John Dewey, Didier Anzieu and Architectural Possibility” in Architecture and Empathy.)

  • September 7, 2017

    Sverre Fehn: Between Earth & Sky

    I have visited Sverre Fehn’s National Museum – Architecture and Grosch Bistro in Oslo many times as a good friend is one of the curators and worked with Fehn on the renovation and addition. The place is calm, soothing, comforting and timeless. There is no wow factor for the architectural tourist other than the sheer contrast of the classical building and the modern pavilion. The cafe feels like it has always been there, and always will. A narrow door leads to the pavilion where you immediately enter the generous, bright, open and protected space. My words can’t do it justice I am afraid, nor will my pictures. Unfortunately, the day of this visit the exhibition on display in the pavilion obscured the experience of the space by putting a massive solid structure in the middle and overlaying drawings and text on the glass walls.

    I wanted to write about this Slow Space because of the wonderful experiences I have had there and the esteem I hold for the late Sverre Fehn and his work. But as I researched this article I discovered that my intuition about Fehn’s work was confirmed by his philosophies and writings that touch on meaning, authenticity, human existence, sensual experience, and the search for place. These are the fundamental principles of Slow Space and Fehn’s work is our guide.

    Existence and Authenticity

    Throughout his career the Norwegian architect Sverre Fehn (1924-2009) sought to understand human existence and define one’s place in this world. With every project he explored different ways of creating “a place to be” (Norwegian: et sted å være) defining, architecturally, “the space between” (Norwegian: mellomrom) the earth and sky.

    “A place to be” can be a philosophical or spiritual place if you are a philosopher or theologian. Fehn was influenced by the Existentialists at the time, who were primarily concerned with concrete human experience and living life authentically, in contrast to the increasing meaningless and absurd world they saw around them. But for Fehn the architect, “a place to be” was a physical space that mediates between the deep earth and the vast sky. It is a space of comfort that can be touched, felt and experienced, built with simple, true means and materials.

    The Space Between

    Working primarily in the open Norwegian landscape, Fehn defined mellomrom architecturally as the space between the roof and the ground planes. The dialectic between these two planes shows up in all of his projects, although the solutions are always different, and the vertical elements of wall and roof are de-emphasized, often to create a greater connection to the landscape. In some cases, the roof form is strong and imposing, providing true shelter from the elements, as in the Glacier Museum in Fjæreland (1991).

    But sometimes the roof acts more like the clouds above, filtering light, as in the Nordic Pavilion at the Venice Biennale (1959-1962). Fehn’s Nordic Pavilion is composed of a level ground plane cut into the hillside and a roof composed of two layers of slender concrete beams set at 90 degrees to one another. The only vertical elements are a few existing trees that pierce through the roof structure, let in rain and provide the scale of nature in an urban context. Two walls retain the hill and provide the space for hanging art and the other two are completely open with only massive sliding glass doors.

    Gennaro Postiglione describes the light and atmosphere of the Nordic Pavilion: “Penetrating the double framework of the ceiling beams, the intense light of the lagoon undergoes a magical metamorphosis and is transformed into a gentle homogenous light void of shadows, like Nordic light.” The unique quality of light, along with the deep rectangular plan, create a contemplative space inside the gardens of the Biennale, perfect for the appreciation of art and architecture.

    nordic-pavilion-sverre-fehn-ake-e:son-lindman

    Nordic Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, Photo: Åke E:son Lindman

    Nordic Pavilion for the Venice Biennale

    Nordic Pavilion for the Venice Biennale, Section Drawings by Sverre Fehn

    Introspection

    The National Museum – Architecture in Oslo (2008) is one of Fehn’s last projects. He was commissioned for the restoration of the original bank building (Christian Heinrich Grosch, 1830) as well as the new addition. The vaulted lower level of the original structure is where he placed the lobby, bookstore, Grosch Bistro and entrance to the gallery spaces. The groin vaults in limed plaster contrasted with the red brick floor instantly recall the earth and sky. Walls and ceiling blend together into one continuous soothing ceiling-scape that envelops you in a warm glow of diffused light. The brick floor is the earth underfoot, made of the rough clay and heavily textured compared with the plaster vaults. The only other elements are the oak shelves, tables and chairs that appear to grow out of the earth and provide “a place to be,” to sit and slowly enjoy a chat, a coffee or a meal.

    The pavilion at the museum is entirely new. A delicate shell-shaped concrete roof hovers over the glass wall perimeter held up by four massive pillars. Again the roof is the dominant element and the walls are barely there. But given its urban context Fehn surrounded the pavilion with a second set of concrete walls that edit out any visual noise. This results in an introverted space filled with daylight, views of the sky and momentary glimpses of the surrounding context. The concrete walls extend the space visually further dematerializing the glass walls and providing a calm backdrop for the exhibition.

    SF Oslo Cafe with People_ Mette Aamodt

    Grosch Bistro, Photo: Mette Aamodt

    SF Oslo Pavilion Perimeter_Mette Aamodt

    Pavilion at The National Museum – Architecture, Photo: Mette Aamodt

    Dialogue With Materials

    To find one’s place in the world, according to Fehn, and to be truly present, involves all of your senses in dialogue with the materials around you. Fehn writes, “You converse with material through the pores of your skin, your ears, and your eyes. The dialogue does not stop at the surface, as its scent fills the air. Through touch, you exchange heat and the material gives you an immediate response… Speak to a mountain ledge, and [it gives] sound a mirror. Listen to a snow-covered forest, and it offers the language of silence.” For his projects he used a very limited palette of materials whose properties he knew very well: wood, glass, concrete, brick, plaster and light. His work was rooted in construction and the very practical building techniques of Norway, so all of the materials are used in a very natural form, unadorned and lacking in any detail that was not necessary for construction.

    Slow Modernism

    In Sverre Fehn: Works, Projects, Writing, 1949-1996, Christian Nordberg-Shulz writes about Fehn’s trip to Morocco in 1952 and how this informed Fehn’s understanding of the relationship between space and time. Fehn went to discover new things and found many things he had seen before, things he recognized in the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier. Nordberg-Shulz said Fehn discovered the atemporality and anonymity of vernacular architecture; “He discovered that basic architectonic phenomena are timeless.”

    In Fehn’s view, this atemporality characterized the period when people thought the world was flat and ended at the horizon that they could see. When they discovered the world was round, virtually endless, they developed perspective as a means for defining space, as Fehn writes, “to distinguish scientifically between inside and outside,” with a linear and homogenous time marching along beside it.

    According to Nordberg-Shulz, the modernists, inspired by the vernacular, sought to define a new meaning for the “atemporal” in architecture, but one that was more qualitative and involved the interaction of the individual’s heart and mind with the modern world. This suggests an alternate history of the modern movement, or at least part of it, a slower, humanist approach that typically gets drowned out.

    Nordberg-Shulz writes, “It is a misunderstanding to think of the modern movement as one interested exclusively in change; its pioneers were strongly aware of the need for ‘constants,’ or ‘basic principles.’” Indeed, the modern movement has been characterized by its obsession with speed, change and novelty. But as with all histories there are always many versions. The history of Slow Modernism is certainly one worth researching and will be the subject of my upcoming book.

    About Sverre Fehn
    Sverre Fehn

    Sverre Fehn, Photo: Stina Glømmi

    Sverre Fehn (1924 – 2009) was the leading Norwegian architect of his generation.

    In 1952–1953, during travels in Morocco, he discovered some universal spatial principles which were to deeply influence his future work. Later he moved to Paris, where he worked for two years in the studio of Jean Prouvé, and where he knew Le Corbusier. On his return to Norway, in 1954, he opened a studio of his own. In the 1960s he produced two works that have remained highlights in his career: the Nordic Pavilion at the Venice Biennale (1959-62) and the Hedmark Museum in Hamar, Norway (1967–79).

    He taught in Oslo’s School of Architecture as well as at the Cranbrook Academy of Art in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. His highest international honor came in 1997, when he was awarded the Pritzker Architecture Prize.

    Bibliography
  • June 9, 2017

    Junkspace and the Death of Architecture: Slow Space Finds its Nemesis

    “Junkspace” is a rambling, brilliant lamentation on the death of architecture by one who actively participated in its demise. It was a scathing critique at the time it was first published, but now 16 years later, it can only be seen as a prophecy. A siren call fully actualized.

    The essay “Junkspace” by Rem Koolhaas first appeared in The Harvard Design School Guide to Shopping (2001). It was reissued along with an introduction and essay entitled “Running Room” by Hal Foster in 2013.

    Surprisingly little has been written about “Junkspace” and I believe that is a reflection on the discipline of architecture rather than on the importance of the essay.

    Koolhaas was far ahead of his time when he wrote this in 2001. What should have been a wake up call has merely languished. I myself was at the GSD then and had no awareness of what Koolhaas was doing or thinking. Nor can I recognize any shift in OMA’s work that might be attributed to this.

    I stumbled upon the essay last year when I was doing my own research. The title alone spoke to me and I found the concept of Junkspace to be the perfect villain and counterpoint for Slow Space. The essay by Koolhaas should be read in it entirety as it can be interpreted in many different ways. Below is a series of excerpts from the text alternated with my own comments.

     

    The End of Architecture

     

    “It was a mistake to invent modern architecture for the 20th century. Architecture disappeared in the 20th century.”

    Why? Because we lost our ability to appreciate, experience and therefore design space.

    “As if space itself is invisible, all theory for the production of space is based on an obsessive preoccupation with its opposite: substance and objects, i.e., architecture. Architects could never explain space; Junkspace is our punishment for their mystifications.”

    It is the resultant of the image-driven obsession with form.

    “Junkspace is the body double of space, a territory of impaired vision, limited expectation, reduced earnestness.”

    The junk food of architecture, Junkspace is the McMansions, the shopping malls and casinos that are bloated on fillers and chemicals.

    “Because it cannot be grasped, Junkspace cannot be remembered. It is flamboyant yet unmemorable.”

    Initially exciting but quickly leaves you feeling empty, lost and detached.

    “Junkspace is overripe and undernourishing at the same time.”

    And will ultimately make you sick.

     

    Starchitecture

     

    “Junkspace is post-existential; it makes you uncertain where you are, obscures where you go, undoes where you were.”

    We are distracted from the essential questions of life – who are you? what is the meaning of life? – by busyness, overstimulation, visual and audible noise.

    “(Note to architects: you thought that you could ignore Junkspace, visit it surreptitiously, treat it with condescending contempt or enjoy it vicariously… because you could not understand it, you’ve thrown away the keys…. But now your own architecture is infected, has become equally smooth, all-inclusive, continuous, warped, busy, atrium-ridden….) JunkSignature™ is the new architecture: the former megalomania of a profession contracted to manageable size.”

    Junkspace is the dominant paradigm and architects, without protest or criticality, have succumbed.

    “A shortage of masters has not stopped a proliferation of masterpieces. ‘Masterpiece’ has become a definitive sanction, a semantic space that saves the object from criticism, leaves its qualities unproven, its performance untested, its motives unquestioned. Masterpiece is no longer an inexplicable fluke, a roll of the dice, but a consistent typology: its mission to intimidate, most of its exterior surfaces bent, huge percentages of its square footage dysfunctional, its centrifugal components barely held together by the pull of the atrium.”

    The avant-garde and cutting edge have become so commonplace. Every day a new iconic building replaces the last in the world lexicon of #architectureporn. Novelty feeds consumption and wastes our resources.

    “Junkspace is a look-no-hands world….”

    Stunts. Gimmicks. Turning Tricks.

     

    Neoliberalism, Consumption and Entertainment

     

    “Junkspace happens spontaneously through natural corporate exuberance – the unfettered play of the market – or is generated through the combined actions of temporary ‘czars’ with long records of three-dimensional philanthropy.”

    Speculation and development provide the world with what people think they want and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

    “Junkspace is political: it depends on the central removal of the critical faculty in the name of comfort and pleasure.”

    Neoliberalism feeds Junkspace’s growth and power as it spreads across the globe.

    “The chosen theater of megalomania – the dictatorial – is no longer politics, but entertainment. Through Junkspace, entertainment organizes hermetic regimes of ultimate exclusion and concentration: concentration gambling, concentration golf, concentration convention, concentration movie, concentration culture, concentration holiday.”

    The King of Junkspace controls all of these kingdoms – casinos, golf courses, hotels and resorts – and has used entertainment as a means of wielding political force. In 2017, Koolhaas’s architectural lamentation has become a prophecy of the rise of Donald Trump.

  • May 26, 2017

    The Metaphysics of Time, Space and Architecture

    Time, space and matter can fuse together in great architecture to allow for deep human experiences. In fact, time can literally and perceptually slow down under the right spatial conditions and this may provide an antidote to our instantaneous, speed-driven contemporary lives. 

    Acceleration

     

    Society has been evolving rapidly over the last 200 years with the pace growing exponentially. In the Industrial Revolution machines were invented to help us produce food and clothing more quickly to meet the needs of a growing population. Trains were invented to haul the large quantities of raw materials. Steel was produced to build bigger buildings to house the machines. Mechanical technology helped people overcome their inherent slowness and the speed was exhilarating. Machines got faster. Cars replaced horses and planes replaced boats and trains. Production of real goods became efficient, profitable and affordable. In Architecture the Modern Movement rejected handcraft, called houses “machines for living” and encouraged the use of industrial, ready-made products.

    Mechanical technology helped people overcome their inherent slowness and the speed was exhilarating.

    The Digital Revolution of the 20th century allowed us to move information instantaneously. Faster processing allowed for faster machines. Synthetic materials filled the gap in raw materials. Production became faster and cheaper, and market-driven policies encouraged consumption. Architecture continued its love-affair with technology. Computer-aided design, manufacturing and fabrication allowed architecture to overcome its inherent slowness and the speed was exhilarating. Computers replaced hand-drafting, digital models replaced physical models, and complex geometries, new forms and photorealistic 3D images were all suddenly possible. A prolific era of image-making and rapid building created “Starchitects” whose iconic buildings were consumed worldwide in magazines and social media.

    The scarcity that exists today is time.

    But maybe we have topped out? The flow of information is instantaneous. The market is glutted with products and we have reached “peak stuff,” according to the CEO of IKEA. We are running out of natural resources. And everybody is stressed out. We have invented all of these time-saving technologies but we feel like we have less time than ever.  The scarcity that exists today in the developed world is not food, clothing or shelter, it is time.

     

    Kairos – Quality Time Helps Us Feel Human

     

    Time is necessary for those fundamentally human aspects of life – love, connection, meaning, inspiration, awe, wonder. Things like creativity, art and intimacy cannot be done faster without paying a steep price. Carl Honoré, author of In Praise of Slowness, writes, “All the things that bind us together and make life worth living – community, family, friendship – thrive on the one thing we never have enough of: time.”

    But not all time is the same. Actually the Ancient Greeks had two different conceptions of time – chronos and kairos. Chronos refers to chronological or sequential time. Kairos refers to a moment of indeterminate length in which an event of significance happens. A good analogy for this is when the ball drops in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Counting down – 10, 9, 8 –  is chronos time – it is specific and measurable. But when the ball gets to zero time switches to kairos. We cheer, toast, kiss one another and celebrate. No one is counting anymore. We are just living in the moment and enjoying the experience of being together.

    Kairos also has a spatial element. For Aristotle, kairos was the time and space context for his proof to be delivered.  The Ancient Incas regarded time and space as a single concept. The Japanese concept of “ma” also relates time and space. Gunther Nitschke defines ma 間 as “place,” in the following way, “place is the product of lived space and lived time, a reflection of our states of mind and heart.” “The dual relation of ma to space and time is not simply semantic. It reflects the fact that all experience of space is a time-structured process, and all experience of time is a space-structured process.” Furthermore Nitschke points out that the characters for time 時間 (literally: time-place) “is expressed in Japanese as “space in flow,” making time a dimension of space. Indeed, time is essential to human experience of place.”

    “All experience of space is a time-structured process, and all experience of time is a space-structured process.”

    These traditional notions of time and space contrasted with the Western definitions that were based on an assumption of universal time and three-dimensional Euclidean geometry. In this understanding space is considered a static backdrop for things happening in time. But in the early 20th century Einstein proved the Ancient Greeks, Incas and Japanese were right.

     

    Spacetime

     

    In 1905 Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity showed how measurements of space and time varied for observers in different reference frames and that time did in fact move slower under certain conditions. Special Relativity replaced the conventional notion of absolute time with the notion of a time that is dependent on reference frame and spatial position. Time is the fourth dimension of space. This continuum of time and space became known as “spacetime.” In modern physics things that happen in spacetime are called “events” with both spatial and durational qualities. This discovery was so revolutionary that the discipline of Architecture has still not figured out how to adapt this theory more than 100 years after it was proven.

    Time is the fourth dimension of space.

    Architecture has relied on Euclidean geometry and Cartesian coordinates since the beginning of its written history. It provides a fairly straightforward and static means of understanding space. It was measurable and finite. Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is anything but. Everything is relative, mutable, experiential.

    There have been some attempts. Sigfried Gideon in his book Space, Time and Architecture introduced the idea in 1941, but no one picked it up. Kinetic architecture tries to address the dimension of time in a literal way. The work of Zaha Hadid and Frank Gehry employ some of the new geometry but are physically and experientially static. More recently, Art Theory has explored slowness as a condition of contemporaneity as in Lutz Koepnick’s analysis On Slowness: Toward an Aesthetic of the Contemporary.

    Phenomenologists, like Architect and Philosopher Juhani Pallasmaa, have for some time understood the relationship between time and space and how they can fuse to create powerful architectural experiences. Phenomenology in Architecture is the philosophical study of the experience of built space, in contrast to the Cartesian method of analyzing the world as objects and sets of objects acting and reacting to one another, like Starchitecture.

    In his book, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses, first published in 1996, Juhani Pallasmaa writes,

    “The incredible acceleration of speed during the last century has collapsed time into the flat screen of the present, upon which the simultaneity of the world is projected. As time looses its duration, and its echo in the primordial past, man loses his sense of self as a historical being, and is threatened by the ‘terror of time’. Architecture emancipates us from the embrace of the present and allows us to experience the slow, healing flow of time. […] The time of architecture is a detained time; in the greatest of buildings time stands firmly still. […] Time and space are eternally locked into each other in the silent spaces […]; matter, space and time fuse into one singular elemental experience, the sense of being.”

    Slow Space – Creating the Conditions for Deep Experiences

     

    The ideal conditions for slowing down, reflecting, be present and engaging our senses is in nature. And that is why so many people find nature rejuvenating. But great examples also exist in the built environment. One example is Grand Central Station in New York. Even though it was built for busy commuters when you enter the grand hall you can’t help but slow down (and maybe that is the point.) And if it is your first visit you have probably stopped in your tracks. The scale, proportion and light are comforting and awe-inspiring. In fact you will often see people just sitting on the floor in the middle of the space just to experience it.

    Slow Space to describe a carefully crafted physical space that creates the right atmosphere and conditions for slowing time and fostering deep meaningful experiences.

    We imagine the term Slow Space to describe a carefully crafted physical space that creates the right atmosphere and conditions for slowing time and fostering deep meaningful experiences. Slow Space can foster kairos, quality time, and provide the time and space for refuge in our busy lives. The clock may or may not literally beat slower but our experience of the place will be as if it had.

    Again Pallasmaa writes,

    “In memorable experiences of architecture, space, matter and time fuse into one singular dimension, into the basic substance of being, that penetrates our consciousness. We identify ourselves with this space, this place, this moment, and these dimensions become ingredients of our very existence. Architecture is the art of reconciliation between ourselves and the world, and this mediation takes place through the senses.”

    Architects used to know how to design Slow Space, and a few still do. Builders used to be able to build Slow Space, and a few still can. Our favorite architects from the past designed Slow Space – Frank Lloyd Wright and Alvar Aalto. And today the architects designing Slow Space are Peter Zumthor, Glenn Murcutt and a few others.

    But most of what we have around us is “junkspace” – bad buildings that are ugly, poorly designed, and unpleasant to be in, composed of cheap toxic materials that make people and the planet sick, and built by unskilled workers that are exploited, enslaved and endangered on the job. Starchitect Rem Koolhaas coined the term “junkspace” in 2001 in his ranting essay against shopping malls, casinos and suburban sprawl. In our opinion even much of the Starchitecture is junkspace because it is image-driven, trendy and poorly built.

    Slow Space is an ideal that we strive for in our work. At Aamodt / Plumb Architects we have our own SLOW Principles. They are (S)pace Not Form, (L)ess But Better, (O)ffer Empathy, and (W)holistic Thinking. Space Not Form means  focusing on the design and experience of space not formal object buildings to be admired from a distance. Less But Better means focusing on quality over quantity. Offer Empathy means human-centered design and fair labor practices. Wholistic Thinking means focusing on the whole and its impact on people and the planet.

    Slow Space and these SLOW principles are something we would like to see much more of in the world and we would like to inspire others to pursue them in their own ways. We can only do so much in our small practice but I know there are many architects out there that believe in these core values as well and are working toward a more positive built environment.

     

    Slow Space Movement – Expanding Our Impact

     

    We spend 90% of our lives indoors so the impact our field can have on people’s lives is enormous. That is why we have started the Slow Space Movement. Like Slow Food for the built environment, the Slow Space Movement hopes to create positive change in design and construction to benefit all people. Slow Space combines Slow Architecture and Slow Building into one movement for the entire AEC industry.

    The Slow Space Movement has three broad pillars that define it – Good, Clean and Fair. For a building to be Good it must beautiful, human-centered, and last 100 years. For it to be Clean it must be healthy for people and the planet. To be Fair its supply chain must be fair trade and workers must have fair labor.  

    All of these pillars are severely lacking in architecture, design and construction and the opportunities for improvement are enormous. Any effort to move the needle in just one of these areas will have a profoundly positive impact on people’s lives.

    You do not have to be designing hospitals in Africa to have an ethical practice. We all know how much our work impacts people’s lives. But our reach is getting smaller and smaller and market pressures are making it almost impossible to design and build high quality buildings. The media is peddling all these sexy images (#architectureporn) making architecture a commodity. A whole generation of young architects have no idea about scale and proportion. But there is power in numbers and it has never been easier to build a virtual community. Right now that is what we are trying to do. Initiate the conversation, band together, educate the public and eventually move the needle.

    The media is just peddling #architectureporn.

    This is a long-term project. Slow Food has been very successful in changing minds and attitudes about food. The fact the Whole Foods, craft beers and artisanal cheese is everywhere is a testament to that movement. But they started in 1986 – 30 years ago. But Architecture is slow so a slow movement is fitting. We have a lot of minds to change. And we need to get started.

  • April 7, 2017

    Killing Time in Japanese Space

    Benjamin Franklin would never know how significant his little phrase “Time is money” would come to be in the American psyche. This turn-of-phrase rolls off the tongue every time we need a justification for why we are trying to hurry up. But this is not a universal truth. It turns out it is a very American idea that, according to Gunther Nitschke, is based in geography.

    In “Time is Money – Space is Money” published in 1993 Nitschke, the German architect and planner, compares how the time deficit in the US and the space deficit in Japan have affected the design logic of each country. There are numerous lessons from Japan that are applicable to urban living all over the world as well as for our investigation of Slow Space.

    Time is gained by ‘killing’ (compressing) space.

    He reasons that time is more valuable in a large country with relatively few people, like the US. “America has always had sufficient space. The result has been an appreciation of, if not an obsession with time. ‘Wasting time’ is only possible in the context of a continual goal-oriented rat race. Thus, America’s greatest contributions of human ingenuity have been in the realm of time problems – the speed of and accommodation for movement of objects, people and information.” He goes on to say “America’s ‘places’ are far from each other. Since one is compelled to ‘waste’ time moving from A to B, one tries to shorten the lapses of ’empty’ time by compressing experiential space through speed and ease of movement. Time is gained by ‘killing’ (compressing) space.”

    Space is created by ‘killing’ (slowing down) time.

    On the flip side, space is most appreciated by people in a small country with a large population. “Throughout its history Japan has had too little space. The result is a reflex to use space intensively, filling and refilling it. Accordingly, Japan’s greatest contributions of human ingenuity have been in the field of space problems – the terracing of mountains for rice paddies or dwellings, the packing of people in ‘capsule’ housing.” Therefore, “Since Japanese ‘places’ tend to be very close to each other, the tendency is to expand space by increasing experiential time through the reduction of speed and the obstruction of movement. Space is created by ‘killing’ (slowing down) time.”

    In fact, time can literally and perceptually slow down under the right spatial conditions and this may provide an antidote to our instantaneous, speed-driven contemporary lives. Read more about this in the article,” The Metaphysics of Time, Space, Spacetime and Slow Space“.

    Image: “Japanese traditional style house design” (CC BY 2.0) by TANAKA Juuyoh (田中十洋)

     

     

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