Wednesday, 27 April 2022

WILD AND NEW WITH A JOLT


These buildings are promoted as being everything one can expect of architecture: wild and new with a jolt. It sounds something like the latest in brain shock therapy: see - https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2022-04-26/3-wild-new-buildings-give-boston-an-architectural-jolt

But what do we see?


Is the Boston's Brutalist Town Hall the base reference for the greatest 'jolt'?

Why is the world so enthralled with things like this? Are we really so bored with life and ourselves that we need to seek out things ‘wild and new with a jolt,’ as one might talk about the latest drug to hit the streets? Are we so addicted to things that they have to become more and more extreme for them to have an impact, like drugs themselves? We need to ask more about this situation because we may all have to be rehabilitated so that we can extract ourselves from this demanding hype to allow ourselves to settle back into a more caring, a more subtle, responsible world that does not make such demands.


Is the 'jolt' perhaps that it is not too 'wild'?


There is a flip side to this where even things that are really not that wild or jolting are promoted as being so, or photographed in such a unique manner as to make one believe that they are. The demand for excitement makes it essential that things should be so noticeable, or be nothing. So it is that our architecture becomes like Hadid’s work, and Gehry’s too, extreme in any and every way possible so that it can be seen to be the very wildest, new, with the greatest jolt: the very best!



'Wild' and 'with a jolt'?

We have to rediscover an architecture that can amaze us quietly, generate a contentment rather than give us the buzz that we expect from electroconvulsive therapies or street drugs. Has the social circumstance of hyping the body for treatment or enjoyment been taken up as an aim, an ambition for architectural experience, rather than developing an understanding of how place and bodies can interact to enrich both? We have to be careful here, for drugs are addictive; and seek out more exotic extremes. We might find ourselves in such an uncontrollable circumstance in architecture if we are not careful, working harder and harder to be wilder and more jolty.



The problem with such over expectant hype is that reports like this become mocked for their false exaggeration, even if they expose our condition. We need far better analysis than the suggestive proposition that buildings can be like addictive stimulants, even if we want them to be like this.

Monday, 25 April 2022

“FUTURISTIC”


The word is used almost as a cliché. It rolls off the tongue into text without any apparent irony, as it describes something before us now as ‘futuristic,’ suggesting that it is something to look forward to in another time yet to come, beyond tomorrow – but we can see the thing complete in the ‘here-and-now’! Just what is going on?





Does one have to allow for production lines to be tooled up, or for sales distribution systems to be arranged for something to proliferate before it can be said to not be ‘futuristic’? Or is the term merely something of a style, describing only an image that appears different, expectant of things tomorrow, “that can be yours today” as the adverts love to boast?





Can we sensibly live in a ‘future’ that is now? Theologians argue for the importance of the ‘now’ as the ‘eternal present’: if one chooses to become somewhat intellectual or philosophical about these things, could this mean that things ‘futuristic’ could be ‘now’ - indeed, perhaps they should be: but this rationalisation misses the point as it really plays no role in the texts that use the term ‘futuristic.’ So what exactly is ‘futuristic’?




One might guess that the term refers to some prediction, but we have the strange situation where aeroplanes that were designed in the 60’s and are now obsolete, have been described as ‘futuristic’ even today – ‘before their time’ is the other phrase used to explain the situation. The Blackbird spy plane is just one example. This amazing aeroplane, capable of Mach 3.2, looks from some angles like a manta ray; why is this ‘futuristic’ when it has no future? One could say that if it was to be built today, visually it would be as exciting a development as it was back in the 60s – that, like all good design, its qualities last: it could be something that is not ‘outdated’ if built tomorrow. Is this what ‘futuristic’ means?





Time is involved in this notion, as well as style. Things ‘futuristic’ seem to have to be starkly different to what we have today, and how we might use and understand things too. Are we taught how to interpret or expect the future in comics and sci-fi? Dick Tracy had a wrist-watch telephone. Now these are almost commonplace – perhaps made irrelevant by other inventions; outdated? Do we build our future on the basis of notions of such ‘futuristic’ things? Are all future outcomes grounded in predetermined relationships with a predictive past? One might assume that the first aerodynamic car was ‘futuristic’ in suggesting that the future would see this strategy applied generally to all cars, everywhere, as a theme and an idea. Is this ‘futuristic’?




Has the term to do with number, proposing that the one that you see now will become the many in the future? Look at Tesla’s ‘futuristic’ Cybertruck. It has been built today, but will come into production perhaps in 2023 or 2024 – who knows with Tesla? The point is that it is very ‘futuristic,’ perhaps because it looks so very different and has different functions and performances to current vehicles; but it is very similar to the 1950s Aston Martin and other vehicles of this era. So why do we declare the truck ‘futuristic’ rather than ‘retro’ when it is really reproducing a past – at best, inspired by it?



Cybertruck





Dare one suggest that ‘futuristic’ has become a sales slogan, a marketing word that tries to make things appear what they are really not? One could easily believe so, because of the nonsense of the future being ‘before your eyes now!’ Is it merely a ‘feel good’ word – ‘WOW!’? Is it perhaps a slogan used to hype up appearances? The word ‘futuristic’ seems to have some ambivalence about it; something allows it to be suggestive only, holding a sense of maybe/maybe not. It is the ‘istic’ that seems to modify the boldness of the prediction – the future. The exclamatory sense of the word seems to merely suggest a possibility, rather than make a claim or statement of an understood fact. This uncertainty seems to touch more on flimsy style, fashion, than real prediction.




The word can be seen to be somewhat trivialised by itself, its meaning, that predicts another time yet to be that is now, making one consider that it relates only to appearances, to style that is always reaching forward for something new to bleat about, irrespective of provenance. Look how things retro become the new fashion – tomorrow’s wonder: and tomorrow is the future. So are we all just being conned with the claim? One can suppose so when we see how the word is used. It generates hope in hype, promising that one can have tomorrow now, and become the envy of everyone in some elitist dream. One recalls the large roadside advertisement that declared that “You can have this wonder now!” - the inference being that this delight can be purchased on credit, or one could get a loan: “Why wait?”




‘Futuristic’ is a term we need to drop; it has no future other than in false, misleading exaggeration seeking to encourage sales or to guide perceptions. It has more to do with fashion than anything else – next week’s desires that drive emotions seeking to be singularly outstanding in a bespoke, ‘futuristic’ way – getting there before anyone else; ready for everyone to follow as one moves on to the next ‘futuristic’ wonder ready to amaze yet again. This is really ‘Dick Tracy’ stuff; but we have seen time and time again how such predictive fantasies establish the ambitions that set the goals for everything yet to come, as if the past was directing the future that seems to place an emphasis on achieving the visions.




Are we seeking a perpetual ‘WOW!’ in the present so that we can retail anything to the masses for grand profit? These strange desires that find their expression in comics and sci-fi, do establish feelings, ambitions for their functional reality. Is research and development based on this predictive thought?




There are people who make a living out of predicting the future. Their world seems to be much the same as the comic book illustrator and sci-fi writer, grabbing at dreams based on whimsical guesses and building some potential reality around them so that the vision can be formalised as something ‘futuristic’ and flogged to the world. How many of these reports are useful? Here one recalls the advisers who tell fashion designers the colours that will be fashionable this year – yes, it happens; and the manufacturers follow the 'rules.'




We might all really be in need of ‘futuristic’ visions, even now, as this could be the field upon which hope is based. The theologian speaks of faith, hope, and love, quoting St. Paul, and arguing that this trilogy forms the foundations of moral and general well-being. Faith has something to do with the future, as it bridges the past, just as hope bridges into the future, leaving love. It will be too trite to say that we just love things ‘futuristic,’ but we do. Is this because of how the notion manages faith and hope, even in things mundane?





Maybe we need to reach out of this basic world and try to understand matters more subtle and rich, beyond things stylishly ‘futuristic,’ into matters to do with life itself, rather than its games. It seems that we like to play around just too much, chasing unrequited desires with contentment eluding us. ‘Futuristic’ seems only to drive this hunt rather than encourage any simple reflection. Things ‘WOW!’ appear to be gaining traction rather than the understanding of a quieter richness in our mental well-being. ‘Futuristic’ is the ‘WOW!’ now – we need to be aware of its false promises; its crude, misleading hype. Architecture seems to suffer just too much from this notion, chasing things bespoke as ‘original’ while forgetting about its real origins as it grasps for ‘futuristic’ images to publish; and where things might be less than ordinary, photography is always there to offer the required ‘futuristic’ distortions – the ‘WOW!’ factor: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2022/04/more-jigging-sawing.html and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2022/04/architectural-jigsaws.html






It is interesting to see Mon Oncle and its ‘futuristic’ situations. One soon discovers with much embarrassment just how crudely mundane these apparent exotic wonders become in another context – the future itself; how they repeatedly get transformed with time into things equally differently new, but destined for the same, sad future that sees both hope and hype fade into things humdrum and outmoded – loveless, as we stride out yet again, searching for things ‘futuristic.’ We are seeking an eternal future rather than an eternal present as we constantly anticipate times ahead, leaving our present ignored in an unrequited shambles of uncertain ‘likes.’


Saturday, 23 April 2022

DREAMING OF ‘HOME’


It was a real estate advertisement, but it highlighted the Colonial mind:

https://www.bosshunting.com.au/lifestyle/real-estate/6256-scone-road-merriwa/


The headline said it all:

On The Market: This $15 Million Estate Is A Taste Of English Countryside In NSW

The challenge was to make Australia just like ‘home.’

The images hold a surreal identity - a 'surreal-estate' identity - suspended in an alien space, as a place that is almost unbelievable, looking somewhat dreamlike, as ideal renderings in a feigned light, just like that at 'home.'





The images show how serious the strategy of reproducing memories of 'home' was, even though they highlight a degree of stubborn effort, a simplistic, naive, crudity intertwined in the realisation of the clichés.






One can see how, what is known as Australian Colonial Architecture, has its roots in this desire to be at 'home' - to be just like 'the old country' - as best as one could be given the rigours of place and period and their limitations.





 


What is interesting is the shearing shed. Here one can see a true Australian building that looks like a prototype for the marvellous Deeargee shed that has been attributed to Horbury Hunt: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2014/02/deeargee-gostwyck-shed-and-chapel.html: the nodal end linked to the linear stem of a building establishes the pattern, with growth occurring as an extension of the stem - all timber and corrugated iron.




Deeargee shed


Deeargee shed


Deeargee shed

The contrast between the raw necessity of the shearing shed and the ambitions for dwelling could not be more clear. The shed held the beginnings of an Australian architecture, while the dwelling sought to reproduce every familiarity known from 'home' that represented comfort, identity, and authority.

It took a long time for the shed to overcome the ambitions of desire; perhaps we are still grappling with this basic issue? Murcutt's work uses the same materials, but plays with Modernism rather than toiling with the real roots and spirit of place, in spite of the descriptive language that boasts of light touches on land, suggestively referencing country in text only. We have yet to find it in our architecture. We need to listen to Bill Neidjie, and truly understand his words, then there might be hope.


The dream

The reality: country.



 “Our story is in the land… it is written in those sacred places, that’s the law. Dreaming place… you can’t change it, no matter who you are.”

“I feel with my body. Feeling all these trees, all this country. When this blow you can feel it. Same for country… you feel it, you can look, but feeling… that make you.”
(Bill Neidjie, Gagudju Elder)