THE CURLEW & THE OYSTER CATCHER – ON THE RIGHT FIT & DECORATION

Design can be said to be finding the right fit. Just what this means is difficult to define. Sullivan tried to identify the concept in his ‘form follows function’ slogan, but this has, unfortunately, become a tired cliché. Our era is more interested in fashions and change; and in digital processes. It shows no interest in meaning rooted in a past, no matter how valuable these understandings might be. The concept of progress, of moving forward, has gained a momentum that is unstoppable. It ploughs on into an unknown world without thought or consideration being given to any implications. Theory has become an irrelevance in the search for bespoke expression when the only interest appears to be in extreme difference.

But what is fit! Sometimes it is embodied in consumer law as ‘fitness for purpose,’ so there must be something tangible in the concept. One could explain it simply as something doing what it is supposed to do, as best as it can, but this only helps a general, broad understanding that has few implications for architecture. Vitruvius, in words later translated and reordered by Henry Wotton, spoke of design, well architecture, as involving firmitas, utilitas, and venustas - ‘commodity, firmness, and delight.’ # One assumes that ‘fit’ involves all of these matters, their ‘rightness’: the right commodity; the right firmness; the right delight. The idea has a Buddhist sense of rigour about it. Without this inherent coherence, one could envisage a misfit. We seem to now have to live with many misfits.

These sensual matters are always difficult to articulate, as they involve a variety of intimate, subtle issues that one has to assess and communicate. This is a process that frequently, as Wilde noted, destroys the very thing loved; but the experience became explicit with the little curlew jigsaw. The partially assembled pieces of a bird were discovered in a charity shop, standing on a glass shelf among an array of the usual sundry discarded pieces, parts and fragments. The eyes were instantly delighted with the discovery, but immediately the wary thought came: it has been sent here because some pieces are missing.

Yes, the part fitted the wing.

This was disappointing - one shies away from the Trump 'sad' these days, and the expression 'very' too: similarly the term 'fake' has been abused as an expression by raw intolerance and bland ignorance - but it was still an interesting thing. Maybe it was an expressive enough item to have substance even in its parts, a little like a hologram. There was a loose piece lying nearby; might this be enough to finish the bird? The shape was picked up. It looked as though it might fit behind what looked like portion of a wing. Yes! Immediately the bird took flight; but it looked as though there were other bits missing. It was somehow still incomplete, without knowing why. The beak seemed to be misshapen; the eye was missing; the tail looked truncated.

No, it was  not the tail.

Another stray part was discovered on the shelf close by, and was picked up. It was long and thin. Might it fit behind the wings to make the tail? It didn’t look like any other part. One had given up on the beak and eye being there - no more parts could be found - but an almost complete bird might still be a beguiling object. The newly discovered part was fumbled, turned, flipped, and skewed, but it fitted nowhere around the wing or tail parts. It could not be made to fit any of these profiles. Then it was twisted around once more – yes! It fitted the top recess; the forms matched. After sliding the part in with much surprised satisfaction, one could finally see the curlew that had come to life with the right fit, both beak and eye. This was no bird with the expected cliché 'pecky' beak, it was a proud curlew. The identity glowed with the installation of the final part – with the right fit.

Yes!

Good design is like this; and using good design gives the same experience too: it is one of wholeness, satisfaction, effortless accommodation. Force is not involved; and it has nothing to do with image, brands or cost. The insult with these is their blatant, preposterous brashness, where flip flops are priced at over $3000 a pair if one sees the letters HERMES on the item.

The experience was thrilling. The relationship between puzzles and design is close, and needs further discussion. Meanwhile, the little curlew sits on the mantelpiece, happy in its wholeness – and we are too. We were pleased that we had found the right fit.

There as one other object of interest that was purchased at another place and time. It had caught the eye. There was no need to think about it, or prevaricate; it was seen, picked up, and paid for. It involved another bird, an oyster catcher. The item was seen in a tourist shop, a place that one never likes to frequent, given the usual trash that tourists like to collect. The object was a small jug decorated with an oyster catcher pattern.

Here the birds had been used as a turned, flipped, mirrored mass for surface shapes and colours. It was a wonderfully joyous concept; a good idea; fun. It lacked all of the usual kitsch references that tourist paraphernalia usually attracts: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2020/02/living-with-kitsch.html  The sheer delight of decoration enthralled. How might architecture ever learn about decoration again? While we might consider the right fit of form and function, that of delight, the sheer exuberance of decoration, needs to be brought back into our lives.

The rigour of strictly functional forms may have outlived its purpose, as it now seems to be an excuse for the very mediocre work that fills our towns and cities. The world of decoration has been ignored for almost a century now. It is surely time to get back to understanding how involved it can be in stimulating our lives; in enriching our being. Who knows the relationship between right fit, decoration and mental health? It is all connected.

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In the first century BC, Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, a Roman writer, architect, and engineer, authored a book titled De architectura, later known as The Ten Books of Architecture (McEwen, 2004). Considered the forefather of systematic architecture theory, Vitruvius advocated that architecture design must satisfy three discrete requirements: firmitas (i.e. strength), utilitas (i.e. utility), and venustas (i.e. beauty) (Tractinsky, 2004). Whereas firmitas, or Firmness, refers to the construction and physical soundness of a building, utilitas, or Commodity, deals with the functional use and appropriateness of a design. The phrase "Commodity, Firmness, and Delight" is partially attributed to Henry Wotton, who translated Vitruvius' text in 1624.
https://hokanson.design.umn.edu/publications/2007HokansonHooperMiller%20vidl_FourModels.pdf