CHANGE

‘Climate change’ came to mind on reading this piece:

. . the attitude taken by Caliph Omar when he gave permission for the rebuilding of Kufa in stone after the houses of reed had been gutted by fire. He imposed a limit of no more than three houses per [extended?] family, and also a limit of height which he defined as ‘what does not lead you to wastefulness, does not take you away from purposeful moderation.’ (Ibn Khaldun, Muqadimia, II, 231)

in R.A. Jairizbhoy, An Outline of Islamic Architecture, Oxford, UK, 2003, p.4.

There is an irony in the much used term ‘climate change’ as though this was an odd or unusual phenomenon. Climate changes every minute of every day, and we all know about earlier ice ages and the dramatic changes to our planet from similar impacts. So expressing some alarm at change seems strange. It is, of course, mere shorthand for ‘man-induced’ climate change – or change that has been critically accelerated by man's impact on the planet. But even this does not help a lot, as man will always have an impact on the planet. Establishing just what is what, what is acceptable, and what is the cause of what all remains a problem in this quagmire of greedy rationalism. It is this ambiguity in the origin of concern about change, its rate, and its cause, that seems to generate dissention in the ranks of those simplistically either ‘for’ or ‘against’ what has now come down to matters that relate to carbon. The core problem in all of this debate has been reduced to carbon, with the concept being: manage carbon and we will be able to mange everything else. Well, maybe.

Caliph Omar’s words might offer a better, more organic solution here. Instead of trying to argue the case using complex and frequently-challenged scientific data, why not just accept that one should always live with ‘what does not lead you to wastefulness,’ and with what ‘does not take you away from purposeful moderation.’ If this can be agreed as a principle, then the science can take a step backwards away from the screams of the limelight and quietly gauge the impacts of this more gentle and more personally-responsible strategy that seeks to overcome the black-and-white divisive approach to the analysis of the problem with our planet today. The Caliph’s words also highlight how we are not unique or especially clever in expressing concern on waste and excess today – recycling or otherwise. Indeed, his words give us an introduction into a feeling for things Islamic that might be useful for us in what we see, in our own self-centred culture, as our uniquely challenging times. We might come to realise that we can learn much from an understanding of things Islamic.

The publisher, Oxford, promotes the book by R.A. Jairizbhoy, An Outline of Islamic Architecture, as providing ‘core texts for colleges,’ but it is more than this. It offers a good introduction for all to Islamic architecture. Jairizbhoy ‘s ‘Outline’ seems to allude to our lack of understanding of his subject by playing with Pevsner’s title, almost as a sarcastic tease - Nikolaus Pevsner An Outline of European Architecture, Penguin, London, 1943. It stresses the great gap in architectural history as written by western civilization for itself. This void seems to reinforce the idea that history is written in the cliché self-interested manner. Take Bannister Fletcher’s A History of Architecture: even when updated, this publication treats the architecture of eastern cultures almost with a dismissive disdain. The page count of this monster classic tells the story, making one wonder if his book should not have been titled as Pevsner’s, with the addition of ‘and its origins.’

Putting this previous failure in the recording of things past aside, R.A. Jairizbhoy’s An Outline of Islamic Architecture is an excellent reference to begin filling in the gaps and expanding our understanding of things eastern – well, Islamic. The book has many illustrations, plans and sections, is well researched and is thoroughly referenced. The blurb on the rear cover says that at Harvard, (the publisher seems to need to use this name for its prestige), this book ‘was the single obligatory textbook for the course.’ One assumes that the course was architecture and hopes that the so-called ‘obligatory textbook’ list might have been larger; but the point is worthwhile exaggerating. This book needs to be read by all – just as a beginning to allow a branching out into other more detailed Islamic studies. Ogling at today’s growing number of coffee-table publications on Islamic architecture is likely to only reinforce our prejudices based on appearances. We need to know more in more detail: in context – and we need to make the change today. We should know more about Islamic architecture – and Islamic culture: in depth if only to be aware of another’s experience. Ananda Coomarswamy wrote in his paper Why exhibit works of art? about the importance of knowing about the culture and times that produced the art. He highlighted the danger of looking at other culture’s works through our eyes and with our expectations. Architecture is no different. This book will start to help us understand this culture – and to respect it. There is far too much hype in our media that places an unfavourable preconception on this world. We need to change.

CROSS WORDS

“Bewdy.”

“Beauty? What’s ‘beauty’?”

“Just, ‘bewdy’; what else do you want? An essay? A eulogy? Hell, you might get one if you are not careful. I was just pleased with it, that’s all.”

“With what?”

“Geez, do you always carry on like this? I was doing this crossword and suddenly saw the answer. You know how it is. With cryptic crosswords you struggle with options until suddenly meanings and letters just fall into place and everything makes perfect sense in different ways – so, bewdy: got it.”

“Yes, I suppose there is a sense of beauty in that - the fit and feel of completion - wholeness; the experience of satisfaction – almost elation.”

“You do like to complicate things, don’t you? I just finished it, nothing more.”

“No, I often think about beauty and its characteristics. Your exclamation reminded me of this and put an interesting proposition before me. It suggested something I had never considered previously.”

“What’s that?”

“That the experience of completing a crossword can be similar to that of beauty. That’s interesting. Beauty has a subtle sense that touches everyone differently, with everyone apparently having a different understanding of what it is – or might be. Yet it is one - one word referring to something that is comprehended by all. So it is tricky. It is difficult to talk about. You know . . . it gets messed up in aesthetics, and then anything is likely. People start moving away and avoiding things once this starts: it gets too, well, snobbish . . . pretentious.”

“Gosh, if it varies between crosswords and art, there is little wonder that people can’t agree or refuse to talk about it.”

“It is more than art - and crosswords: or cross words. People need to pay more attention to beauty: to consider its qualities. It is always more than a pretty or attractive painting or sculpture – or a clever work of architecture; or just feeling good or fulfilled about something: or even intricate dancing.”

“What is it then?”

“Gosh, philosophers struggle with this one. It’s not self-expression. Some say that it is a quiet feeling of amazement and wonder - almost religious - while others say that it is this and more: that a thing must be functional and/or comply with certain prescribed relationships before it can be beautiful. Buddhists have proportions for their religious sculptures that are essential if they are to be considered beautiful. Ruskin said that something needs to work - to function - well before it could be seen as being beautiful; that it has to be convenient. He saw it as a moral circumstance - truth was more important than beauty and the pleasure derived from beauty. When morals declined, he said that beauty became the most important quality, above truth. I guess that this is where today’s fashions come in.”

“Gosh . . . really?”

“Beauty is so significant an experience that even Mohammad (PBUH) forbade an effigy of the Virgin and Child to be effaced from a pre-Islamic Kaaba because, so it is reported, ‘He was touched by its appealing beauty.’ Beauty is so subtle, yet so powerful: it is personal, yet impersonal. It transforms and transfigures – quietly: silently. In Mohammad’s case, it let him accept an image of man – well, woman – when there was a general prohibition on the use of any image of a person in religious art.”

“Truly? What’s this ‘PBUH’ stuff?”
 

“’Peace be upon him.’ It’s a phrase that practising Muslims often say after saying (or hearing) the name of a prophet of Islam. I added it out of respect for this practice. It has its own touching beauty too, somewhat like the astonishing mystic wonder - the silence - in the beauty of Islamic calligraphy.”

 “Mmmmm. Well, you used it the first time you mentioned his name anyhow.”

“Mohammad (PBUH) would have liked the Rayonnant rose window in Notre-Dame de Paris too. Light was considered as the most beautiful revelation of God for Christians, and was manifested marvellously in Gothic architecture. Have a look at it. It’s an example of beauty that is visual – it tells about things much better than words.”

“It looks . . . wonderful - I’d say spectacular.”

“Yes. It involves a rich complexity of experience that we struggle to define in any appropriate way. Words can rarely express the depths of feelings involved. They can flatten feeling with their harsh logic and turn beauty into something described as surface-sweet: at best, suggesting a set of alluring, attractive appearances experienced as bland words. Take for example the Wikipedia listing – an accessible and popular explanation of our subject. I’ll read it to you without referring to or highlighting any of the numerous links:

Beauty is a characteristic of a person, animal, place, object, or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure, meaning, or satisfaction. Beauty is studied as part of aesthetics, sociology, social psychology, and culture. An "ideal beauty" is an entity which is admired, or possesses features widely attributed to beauty in a particular culture, for perfection.

This listing goes on to talk about the experience of beauty:

The experience of "beauty" often involves the interpretation of some entity as being in balance and harmony with nature, which may lead to feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. Because this is a subjective experience, it is often said that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." In its most profound sense, beauty may engender a salient experience of positive reflection about the meaning of one's own existence. A subject of beauty is anything that resonates with personal meaning.

Then there is more about its Greek origin.”

“Gosh. Sounds impressive.”

“It might seem so, but just look at what is there. It starts by telling us what beauty is – a good-feeling characteristic – and then says something about its categorisation in academia. So far, there is not much there. Then we get the amazing statement that ‘perfect’ beauty is what is considered beautiful.”

“That is hardly worthwhile saying.”

“I agree. This is what a rational, analytical approach does to real feelings. The poetic aspects are eliminated. Yet words can carry feelings too – as in poetry itself: if only . . . ”

“Is the ‘experience’ part any better?”

“Well, a little, but it is nearly as vague and fatuous. It uses words like ‘in balance and harmony with nature’ that only encourage an idyllic, green approach in the belief that this – whatever it means – will give beauty. In one way beauty is subjective, but it is not a one-way process to be achieved by any strategy. Then there is something odd about it being ‘in the eye of the beholder’ when, in the first section, it is spoken of as being ‘admired,’ or possessing ‘features widely attributed to beauty in a particular culture.’ There is a big difference between a personal ‘eye’ and a whole ‘culture.’”

“It does get complicated, doesn’t it?”

“Well, what is being said is probably correct within its own, very narrow, quantifiable limits. Beauty can engender what could be called positive and meaningful experiences, but this really says nothing about the experiences. It only tries to name them.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The danger is that the naming will be the full extent of any understanding of things beautiful rather than the experience and all that resonates and reverberates in this encounter.”

“I don’t know. We’re getting a bit deep aren’t we?”

“Beauty is deep - and elusive.”

“So . . . how do we talk about it?”

“We can talk about it only if we realise that words are not enough, and seek to understand what the words are trying to point to – that the words aren’t beauty or its experience: that we can’t know it as fact. The Buddhist saying about the finger pointing to the moon being seen only as the finger is a good reference to what I am trying to say.”

“Yeah. I see – I think, but I am . . . unsure.”

“Then there is the other Buddhist saying that is useful for understanding here too: If you find the Buddha on your way, kill him.”

“Why would you want to kill him? I thought Buddhism was a religion of peace and harmony. Why not have a chat and get to know him?”

“Well, the saying is merely pointing out that the search for meaning is never-ending; that if you have found the answer, then it is a false answer: move on: kill it. The search must go on - like the search for beauty. We can’t just teach it or pretend it has to do with pretty, or interesting, or different things.”

“So you reckon that’s it?”

“Well, in one small way. There will always be more – much more than any name or description can suggest or allude to. We need to be very sensitive when dealing with this so-called ‘characteristic’.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“Just be careful. It is so easy to kill the thing that is so much loved: Wilde . . . Oscar.”

“No, I’m not angry or disturbed – just quietly relaxed about it now that you’ve explained it to me . . . . . and my name’s not Oscar.”

“Bewdy.”

COLOUR

We deal with colour as with sound – so far ruling the power of the light, as we rule the power of the air, producing beauty not necessarily imitative, but sufficient in itself, so that, wherever colour is introduced, ornamentation may cease to represent natural objects, and may consist in mere spots, or bands, or flamings, or any other condition of arrangement favourable to the colour.

John Ruskin,  Lectures on Architecture and Painting, Routledge, London, 1854: p.p. 102-103.

ETHICAL PURCHASING

We may think that our era is uniquely responsible with its call for ethical investment and purchasing, but this is Ruskin in 1854:

The object that we ourselves covet may, indeed, be desirable and harmless, so far as we are concerned, but the providing us with it may, perhaps, be a very prejudicial occupation to someone else. And then it becomes instantly a moral question, whether we are to indulge ourselves or not. Whatever we wish to buy, we ought first to consider not only if the thing is fit for us, but if the manufacture of it be a wholesome and happy one; and if, on the whole, the sum we are going to spend will do as much good spent in this way as it would if spent in any other way. It may be said that we have not time to consider all this before we make a purchase. But no time could be spent in a more important duty;

John Ruskin,  Lectures on Architecture and Painting, Routledge, London, 1854: p.p. 68-69.

DESIGN AS INTERFACE

between body and information

What is the information that shapes design? Our information age has changed how we think about the world and interact with it, but has it also changed how we think about design - how we approach design and perceive it? Our sophisticated portable gadgets - phones, pods and pads - have created a world that has information at our fingertips - literally. These electronic wonders make the 1950 ‘Dick Tracy’-vision of a phone-watch look crude and limited - truly comic - although it is very likely that this guessed gadget has been the inspiration for much of what is so familiar today. Just as many a truth is said in jest, so our comics have frequently framed futures and scenarios yet to be.

It is the fact of futures that they are unknown. Even with the promise of the cliché ‘ten-year’ scientific solution, nothing is certain – well, nothing other than ‘death and taxes’ as the cynic says. While our future remains in much the same visionary vein today as it always has, and remains open to speculation, our present is more certain as ‘today’ – or ‘Now.’ The observation is becoming commonplace: today folk walk down streets paying more attention to their phones, pods and pads than they give to the environment or to others. The image is surreal: man connected to others, (or otherwise: it could just be a game or an image being toyed with), via digital electronics that supercede personal intimacy and all other concerns - indeed, taking over in importance from any physical encounter or recognition. The ‘I and Thou’ relationship that Martin Buber wrote so beautifully about is merely an insignificant aside - perhaps an angry glance - if it is enacted at all by a distracted eye movement.

The situation reminds one of David Green’s prediction of the electronic world becoming the central hearth, a message illustrated in The Electric Aborigine, 1971; and of Coop Himmelbrau’s envisaged White Suit, 1969, where the electronic world is shown as another skin carried on the body, albeit it rather crude by today’s equipment that does have such additions available, e.g. 3D glasses, night vision goggles, and WiFi gadgets. These forty-year-old images can be seen as metaphors predicting our circumstance today. Even with their rough rawness, the intent of the message is clear: (see Architecture as the Everyday, p.p. 199 and 204). Are visions the splash in the water that inevitably sets up ripples that grow with time, expanding inexorably into other eras that are inevitably changed by the stimulus of these distant disturbances? Ivan Illich spoke of change in this manner. Do we create and define our futures today with a subtlety we know little about? The self-conscious efforts to show future possibilities in our time as more than metaphor, e.g. as boldly seen in Disney’s 1950’s House of the Future and in numerous ‘cars of the future,’ all carry a certain irony in their being possible in the present. The completion of the ‘future’ concept in the period ‘Now,’ only fixes this idea and outcome in time, thus ensuring that it has no future other than in stimulating further developments and changes in other directions. If ‘our future can be now’ - a promotional theme sometimes seen on advertisements sponsoring things with so-called ‘futuristic’ identities or even credit cards - then, quite simply, it is not our future, but it may influence it in one way or another, either positively or negatively.

Our world is being intercepted by clever information-seeking tools that are constantly being ‘upgraded’ almost on a monthly basis. Information may take on a variety of shades. All the data is ‘information,’ but it may be for learning, for entertainment, for simple amusement, or just a diversion – or more; or otherwise. Digital accessibility has no definition for the management of its bits and pieces: its bytes and pixels. They, like the themes that the comic books explore, can be used for good or evil. In spite of this, our world has the need for these electronic objects to be ‘designed.’ Here the only brief for the embodiment of the clever or ‘smart’ information-seeking circuits, is that something has to contain it. It may not even have to be a good fit in relation to the size of the electronics. The story about the beautiful hi-tech black box being nearly empty has been repeated frequently. Empty space is irrelevant. This singular and most critical necessity is enclosure and its presentation. This demands that attention be given to a complex set of ephemeral needs involving conceptions, perceptions and expectations. There are other requirements for our portable electronic things too, but these have to do with their relationship to the physical body rather than the mind and emotions. The object has to be capable of being held, manipulated, read by the body, and stored on the body, but these seem to be secondary to the look and feel of the phone/pod/pad.

Industrial design has shaped and moulded many items in our brave new world that have had no precedent, including lights, microwaves, vacuum cleaners, computers, sewing machines, and telephones - and much, much more. It is interesting to note that the Bauhaus was involved in designing objects that had precedents - chairs, tables, rugs, lights.  Its challenge was primarily the use of new materials and new production techniques. The telephone involved both. The classic telephone ‘Model 302’ designed by Henry Dreyfuss in 1937 was shaped in bakelite for the hold of the hand, the ease of the ear, and the fit of the face. It was thought of as something that could be - and had to be - carried and touched, both as parts and in its entirety. The wholeness of the design related to a set of functions involving a primary physical quality that integrated and involved various parts of the body. Interaction with the object entertained a multiplicity of body parts and gestures in space and on varying scales. Yet there is an unusual divergence in our time.

Our p, p, p’s are different. Various materials are used for these new objects that are designed primarily for the hand and the eye – for fine movements. The ergonomics relate to the more delicate scale of fingers, touch and sight, and such insubstantial issues as daylight and brightness, rather than any grand gesture or movement of the whole body in space. Design today takes on the role of an interface between the fine body parts and the information systems it encases. The analogy that sees these things as ‘thinking’ suggests a lack of physical bodily involvement beyond the brain – a certain static immobility as seen modelled in Rodin’s classic sculpture. Design makes the digital world accessible by containing it in a shroud that concerns itself primarily with appearance: size, scale, image and style. It seeks to make the container appeal as a tool that can carry all the innuendo of the future in promises described as better, smaller, faster, with evermore-extreme superlatives being used for the primary cause, which appears to be the creation of a need and a preference - by design.

Taking Amazon’s Kindle as an example, one can see the remarkable development from the first model to the second – a dramatic change from a crude, visually heavy, slate-like platter, (I am thinking of the Grade 1/2 slates that had a substantial wooden frame around the grey stone engraved with lines on the reverse side), to what is more akin to a sheet of paper than anything else. It has a small, knife-edged, light, fine thinness that is almost unbelievable in its presence. It entrances. The eye and the hand are engaged in the pondering of this wonder, as if it was the impossible made present:  the future now. The sheet-of-paper analogy seems to seek a reference to the page of a book that it is trying to replace, suggesting a subtle sense of familiarity in a new object – perhaps an attempt at making it more acceptable to booklovers. While the differences in the appearances of these models are stark, the functions and performances of both are similar. Much the same variations are seen in models of other gadgets, but these are more acute in phones that have been produced over a longer period.

I use an old mobile phone - about ten-years old – that still works as I want it to, but it has none of the slick appearances or performances of the latest versions. I still use my fingers and eyes to manipulate the functions this tool gives me access to in much the same way as I would with a new object, even though the new mobile phone would be much more than a machine for talking. The point is that in both of these examples, the design has attended to matters that have little to do with the functional necessity of the operations involved. The ‘design’ styles these objects in much the same manner as cars are fashioned. Here trends and vogues become involved in forming a shroud for function. Sullivan’s much-abused catchphrase changes into ‘form follows fashion’ as the spruiked requirements of ‘the latest’ – it’s always the latest - technology make demands on outcomes as well as on social expectations that are prompted and propped by the those making and selling these objects. The prospects for the future are determined by those seeking to profit from the product in the same circular manner as a desire for an item is established by advertisements that give results that are then used to prove that the product is a desired or preferred object, thus self-fulfilling its own prophecy. Necessity in the digital world involves the ephemeral visionary possibilities of the electronics and the encompassing style. Functions for the body and its eyes and fingers just have to be somehow incorporated into this forming of a favourable identity – the primary aim. So it is that we see in some units, buttons that are so small that they become a challenge even for the smallest of digits. This is a secondary issue to the image and has been addressed by the development of special tools to allow the unit to be operated.

With Kindle, to continue with the use of this electronic-book gadget as an example, the controls are all slickly enveloped flush in the finely formed frame, made almost invisible by its styling that aims to promote its core qualities: thin, small, slick (read hi-tech), light and readable, all with a ‘book-like’ feel. The design becomes the framework that shapes access to information. The irony here is that what one is given access to - in Kindle - reminds one of books published in the Victorian era. These were black and white and were illustrated with inked etchings and engravings that gave what now looks like a rather schematic, scratchy identity to the images that frequently had much the same character. Kindle is a strange experience where the new invokes the old. Perhaps all early developments have to struggle through similar crude times until they are engulfed by sophistication? Compared to the reading of a book, the experience is Spartan, but who knows what the future may hold? This is science’s great promise for this beautiful thing.

I am reminded here of my attempts to use a rather nicely designed - well, it looked good - coffee machine. To use this minimalist coffee maker one had only to pop a small container into a recess made by moving the lever, pull a lever and press a button: the rest was managed by the machine that was a sleek black form with one outlet; one lever; and one button. Its brevity was astonishing. Other machines have such a diverse arrangement of controls that guidance and training are needed for their operation. This unit sat on a granite bench and displayed a certainty and clarity in its simplicity that suggested the possibilities of a simple and intuitive operation: but I could not get it to work. I checked the cable, the plug, the main switch – but nothing happened. I was unable to discover any other on/off switch on the unit so, in hopeful desperation, I tried everything possible – jiggling the plug; operating the lever slowly; reinserting the insert; pulling the lever with a more determined approach - faster - as if willing the machine to do something; but it still didn’t go. Was there another switch somewhere? Finally I ran my fingers over every surface available until I found the switch tucked away in a shadowed recess at the rear of the base of the unit, all nicely detailed in black to remain out of sight and flush, so as, it seemed, to be able to maintain the uncluttered identity of this appliance. It was apparent that no thought had been given to any new operator unfamiliar with the diagram on the instruction leaflet.

Is this new design approach becoming our model for design in general? These amazing gadgets are becoming such an intimate and central part of ourselves and our lives, they may begin to establish a new paradigm for the way in which we consider design. Are we merely stylists, providing a wrapper for a predetermined set of functions, responding to the calls of futures, fashion and sales? Is our task merely becoming perceived as that of providing a wrapper? The Japanese have always held the idea of the wrapper being just as important as the object being enclosed, arguing that the container had an integral requirement to maintain and promote the contained object’s qualities, even if the concept was just to show that one had cared for these – recognised and respected them. Our wrapping has little to promote or consider other than the guessed futures of electronics that claim to be getting ever faster, smaller, better, clearer and cheaper. Fuller’s ‘ephemeralisation’ seems to be coming into being as more and more digital functions are fully integrated into our objects - disappearing into them - leaving only an assumed style to promote their presence. Was Fuller’s vision the splash that we are still being shaken by? Are today’s splashes themselves becoming more ephemeral so that we can no longer recognise them as significant ideas?

Most of what has been spoken about in this text involves what we call industrial design. The question is: is design in architecture being changed by this digital world and its approach to things? Is design perceived only as an interface between function and body – as a stylistic possibility: one of the ad hoc set of many possible imagined forms? Pick-and-choose? Instead of being seen as a machine for living (for example), has the house become a stylish presentation for performances to be seen by others – to impress? Does it have to be? One sees many houses in the movies, on televisions and in the real estate advertisements that could make one believe that this is so. It is more obvious in commercial buildings that are blatant about their self-promotion. Is this where design is going?

There is a sink available now that is made from a new composite, granite-like material. It is designed by Porsche, and is so marked. It is a Franke product, a European design, created, not by the carmaker, but by F.A. Porsche, the first son of the sportscar company founder, Ferry Porsche. The object has all of the requirements necessary to promote it as a fashionable, unique object with its singular branded style and prestige: to impress. Its cost only adds to its significance in this context. It looks elitist - different. There are certainly many cheaper sinks available in our ‘Crazy Plus’ world of third-world imports that seem to be valued for their low prices alone. In spite of all of these pseudo- impressionable qualities, the Porsche sink is a beautiful thing, not only to look at, but also to use. Its design makes a commitment to understanding and accommodating the ordinary functions of the kitchen in a compact and multifunctional manner. It is a joy to use. The subtlest of simple tasks that arise in the kitchen over the sink have been considered here and attended to, allowing them to be accommodated without effort or display. This modesty belies its branding, and enriches and surprises one as the most simple and complex of tasks are enacted. The sink facilitates body movements and desired outcomes. It has not been ‘styled’ for its own importance, although it has, in one way, been made a beautiful object. Sullivan’s ‘form follows function’ can be seen to be embodied in the experience of its use. The words ‘f f f’ remain as a cliché today, but they do need to be reinvigorated before our entire efforts in design become merely the seeking of stylistic solutions. The ‘f’ words need to have their meanings revived.

Like many quoted phrases, Sullivan’s is always taken out of its context. The words are catchy, carry a phonetic rhythm, and have been popularised beyond meaning and comprehension just as E=mC² has. They support only preconceptions when left stranded alone in another place as a solitary set of words whose support is often sought for the most alien of outcomes; or, at other times, just to make the spruiker sound important. Sullivan spoke of form following function, and of function following form in a poetic sense far removed from our easy, simplistic and singular understanding today. He spoke, by way of example, of the form of the rose as being the function of the rose; and vice versa. Think about this circumstance - this integral presence of beauty, wonder and necessity that was the inspirational vision of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Leber Meister who used things floral for his wonderful decoration in a manner now alien to our times. Indeed, his decoration finally became alien to his own time and rudely left Sullivan to die a pauper. We must not forget what Sullivan was telling us: that body and feeling are involved in a way that is rich, subtle and vital - that is always more than an adaptation of pure functional aspirations.

Feelings are a part of the whole, but ‘feeling smart’ is alien to this circumstance. We must maintain a constant vigilance in our times to ensure that the hype of what is popularly seen as progress does not pervert our perceptions of what design can be and should be. The attractive dominance of phones, pods, pads, along with an ever-growing number of playthings could very easily highlight only the limited aspect of their shaping – their style and fashion; their easy prestige and self-promotional importance; their greedy ambition for laziness, and change our approach to design: for these things are very attractive and alluring. We should remember that design is not self-centred slickness or a concentration on appearances. It is not puffed up. What Wright called the poet of ancient times spoke of this in another context:

Charity suffereth long, [and] is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,  I Corinthians 13:4

Love is involved but our era forbids this debate, even though it might learn from it. It is merely unfashionable, so it is ignored, sneered at. Yet an envious, vaunting, puffed-up quality seems to touch on things digital and the individual’s public performance with the bold, look-at-me, listen-to-me strides struck down the street while considering no one else or recognising anything otherwise, or to be otherwise. Does the promoted p, p, p design approach and its outocmes promote such a response? Is it inherent in it?

Design has the quality of an interface - of the between - but it is inclusive: it is not just a skin, or skin deep, or merely fashionable. It is not a container or wrapper. It does not decorate to distract, entertain or surprise – or to look pretty or acceptable. It does more than exist as a style between fragile, fancy functions and the body. There is a more necessary - a more essential - quality in design. There is depth and resonance here, and wholeness: integral interrelationships. Design is the object, not just its appearance; design is the body, not just its extension. It holds both between. Design is not just a tool to make things attractive. If roses are too quaint to understand - too sweet and flowery in an exuberantly Victorian manner - consider the leaf: its form and function; its function and form. The science of photosynthesis makes the leaf more accessible to our minds than any understanding of roses as we have been made so logical and rational by our era. It can also open our eyes to its astonishing beauty too.

We should try to ensure that these times do not change expectations of our shaping and making of things – that we do not lose sight of why we need to do more than style and re-style. Then we might be able to retrieve, expose and relate to some of the poetry that our world and ourselves so richly embody – and allow this to change our thinking and acting. Design is not just making something attractive or beautiful, or to benefit sales. It is not something to promote self-importance. It is a core part of our existence that can and should enhance its poetic possibilities. It shows how we can be responsible to and for each other rather than continue to use and abuse anyone for personal gain. Design shares the wonder of ourselves and our world, allowing us to remember our remembrance of things past in the present that always is Now. This is the interface that needs to drive our actions. This is the ‘information’ – the being informed - that we need to attend to. Our gadgets will be of little help here: it is personal, not digital: intimate flesh and blood, not the flash and bleat of remote electronic circuits or their promoters.

ON SEEING RED

“Well, look at that!”

“Yes, it’s a fine red.”
”What do you mean by ‘fine’?”

“I mean that the red is rich; eye-catching; brilliant; rosy; exuberant; that it makes me feel glowing – something like that.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t know. I just used ‘fine’ as a conversational summary of these things I suppose. It was merely an attempt to suggest some quality that was special in my experience.”
“‘Fine’ is hardly a useful word. It has more to do with the weather or slenderness in general conversation than being exuberant or rosy.”

“Yes, perhaps whether something is nicely different or not: that’s all I was alluding to. That’s how I was using it. It’s just that it is difficult to express the complexity of feelings involved in an experience.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You just can’t create a new meaning for a word and hope that it will make some sense.”

“I wasn’t being smart. Just chatting, that’s all. I liked it – its rediness.”

“Is that a new word too? I go to the doctor and tell him that I feel sick, for example, or that I feel some pain, and he attends to me. It’s not rocket science. You don’t have to be a Nobel laureate to communicate an experience. It’s just commonsense.”

“When I went to the doctor with a pain I was asked to say more about it.”

“What?”
”Well, the nurse wanted me to give it a number.”
”Did you give her a number?”
”Well, yes. She asked me to rate the pain from one to ten, with ten being the worst pain I have ever experienced.”

“That seems one way to define it. Quite systematic as a concept – clever.”

“But I couldn’t do it.”

“What do you mean, ‘couldn’t’ – wouldn’t?”

“I found it a very difficult task - impossible. When I reflected on my previous experiences of pain, I discovered that they involved a lot more than some simple understanding of a degree of being hurt or sore.”

“Surely pain is pain, with one hurting more than another, obviously at different times. You should be able to remember the worst of these; to recall and categorise such extreme experiences.”

“No. I started to think about my past: when I cut my finger; when I had a pain in the stomach; when I had an infected fingernail; when I had toothache. These were some of the worst experiences of pain that I could quickly recall while standing there being glared at by the nurse who wanted to complete her form. How was I going to say something that might be useful for a diagnosis as a number?”

“Yes. It sounds that things like that might be some of the worst pains to experience. Even been burnt? So what was the problem?”
”Each pain had different locations in the body; different experiences were involved; different feelings, different contexts and different ages. They were all sensed differently and remembered distinctively too. All of these variations swelled up into my mind when I tried to recall the degree of pain involved, and I was confused. How could numbers relate to these events? How were the ten increments going to be interpreted? And how did I know that I was not more concerned with, say, a head pain than a more intensive stomach pain when I rated something? Experience is never singular.”

“Gosh, I reckon I’d know which was the worst. It’s a pretty easy thing to do with your colleagues. Some are real, well let’s say ‘struggles.’”

“It is really not that easy. The cut involved a warm, instant, ‘sharp’ sliver of a pain that made blood flow. It was strange: I felt it some time after the incident that was further traumatised by the appearance of the blood. The stomach pain was experienced as a broad, slowly-penetrating ache in the body that reverberated through the solar plexus with little variation, just being there constantly. The infected finger was a persistent, heavy and ponderous throbbing pain that seemed to be in synch with the heartbeat. I could expect the next surge and prepare myself for it. The toothache ripped through one side of my face, to end with an ache in my eye and ear with a slow rhythmic pulse that peaked with an ever-higher pitch of pain each time. Each pain had its own unique characteristics. So I was confused.”

“They were all pains. Were you just being difficult? What did you do?”

“They are all pains, yes, but this categorisation is just about as useful to me as my ‘fine’ was for you. I did not even consider the pain of a broken heart. Finally I said ‘five’ to average everything out - to give no commitment either to good or bad; worse or better. That filled the box in and the nurse was happy. She was getting cross with me. She thought I was wasting her time, being belligerent.”

“She never asked for more information about your predicament?”
”Only more numbers – time, ‘GPS’ place, age, and the like. Her health management interests saw ‘five’ was the solution for intensity. The world seems to be happy just to have things quantified, and boxes ticked, no matter how emotionally complex matters are. It just needs numbers, even though you might be very ill. Feelings are meaningless. Explaining these emotions is worse than useless. I’d give the concept of this numerical rating a zero for effectiveness.”

“Get with it, it’s a digital world! You’ve just used it in your assessment.”

“It really makes me see red.”

“That’s fine for you.”

“No.”

“Well, let’s drink to that – just to cheer you up.”

“Cheers, ready – one, two, three . . . . steady,  . . .”

‘You get cranky about numbers.”

“Yes. Numbers are gaining in significance for architects in a silly way too. Just look at what ‘green’ studies are doing. Everyone is getting starry-eyed about them - about adding up allotted numbers to prove a ‘green’ outcome. It’s like environmental colouring by numbers.”

“Pain is an odd interest for an architect?”

“Experience has a lot to do with things architectural. Pain is useful to highlight the rich complexity of experience that is common to us all. Talking about ‘aesthetic experience’ turns too many heads away - too elitist. Body pain is known to everyone. The body is involved in architecture as more than an object moving in space – to be accommodated in place. Feelings and many subtle matters come into it, but these are difficult to talk about; difficult to quantify and to analyse, like pain itself. Emotions are even rejected by the profession as an ad hoc, personal indulgence: by ‘dull gents’ one might add.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t need an architect to build my house. Just commonsense.”

“That probably explains everything.”

“What?”

“Never mind. A top up? . . . I’ll just keep seeing red.”

“What do you mean by ‘red’?”

. . . . . .

SHAM.POO SETS

What do designers think about when preparing product packaging and labelling? The cynics say that the only thing that is of interest to a manufacturer - and therefore, perhaps, the designer - is the right image of the package that will sell more and more of the particular goods being promoted. Issues like how the container looks on the shelf as a collection of ‘products’ standing in the context of the oppositions’ merchandise become important, as well as the more intimate details: the shape of the container; the feel; the colour; the graphics on it; and more. The aim, it seems, is to stand out – to catch attention - and then to reinforce agreeable feelings for the product in the customer perusing the choices available. The messages can be subliminal; some are more obvious.

What caught my eye on the bathroom shelf was an ‘ENE’ product label on the set of shampoo and conditioner packages. The supermarket choice had been made by another, so only at the detail of this brand was being perused. The containers matched, defining this pair as twins. They had a pale cream attractiveness - like vanilla ice cream - with a translucent collar that dipped to expose the edge of a black lid that could be conveniently flipped up by a thumb to reveal the opening from which the shampoo/conditioner could be extruded. It all looked so conveniently possible, even with soapy hands. The translucence of the neck was interesting. Was it to reveal the state, colour and location of the fluids inside? Did it helpfully confirm that something was there and that it was soon to be out? No. This was truly a hollow gesture. The translucence revealed merely its own void as the icing on the cake: the froth on a cappuccino – a visual attraction alone. Yes, the containers looked good and felt good. They were comfortable in the hand with their swelling shaping that fitted the contours of the palm and fingers well. The eye-catching graphics were pleasant too. These continued the swirl theme of the containers’ shape - almost like a swirl of ice cream - in brown hues that complemented the cream and suggested a drip form - soft serve? - wrapping around text that clearly proclaimed the ‘ENE’ brand, its ‘more moisture’ qualities and other properties of these products with diminishing legibility.

The containers appeared identical in form, profile and graphics apart from a couple slight differences. Each was separately labelled in a similar short stripe with rounded ends framing the words ‘SHAMPOO’ or ‘CONDITIONER’ (as appropriate) in letters about four millimetres high. These labels were not a dominant presence in the whole array of images; ‘ene’ declared its pride of place. The background of one stripe was shaded in the complementary brown making the fine pale cream, silhouetted letters difficult to perceive. The other container had the text printed in the same brown on the cream background, making it almost as difficult to read. The only other difference was the labelling of the contents. This took the form of black letters about two millimetres high that formed a fine line below the main graphic. The readability of these tiny shapes was not critical as they formed the names of unknown chemicals that looked difficult, if not impossible to pronounce. The reverse side of both containers had black masses of tinier text – where’s the magnifying glass? - that apparently gave all of the required legal labelling and some explanatory and promotional material using an anonymous graphic style - the compact, almost unreadable layout of  blurb. These are the details that manufacturers never want customers to read. It could be called the ‘reluctant’ text that is usually shaped to look nice as a set of dark blocks.

The differences between these two containers were so subtle that a quick glimpse would not differentiate between the two. It was now that one realised how the designers had been so thoughtfully clever. While the shampoo container stood vertically on a base with the dark lid at the top, the container for the conditioner stood upside down, on its black lid. One thought this was a self-conscious strategy by the way that both graphics were printed to read correctly - and to align perfectly - in this reversed orientation, but this could have been a chancy misprint. The attempt to right the conditioner container, to make it stand upright in the same manner as the shampoo plastic bottle, showed that the designers had intentionally detailed the conditioner bottle to stand on its head. The conditioner container had no base shaped to support it in the upright shampoo fashion. It just fell over with all attempts to match the shampoo’s stature.

It was now that a closer look at the form of this container revealed a very slender remodelling of the shampoo shape. This conditioner container was ever so slightly broader towards the base (now top), and marginally thinner so as to mould the curves of the body into this different rounded bottom-top. So it appeared that the designers have been thinking about the user. To differentiate between the shampoo and the conditioner containers that appeared almost identical, the designers had cleverly inverted the container holding the least viscous fluid, thus indicating the difference between the two and making the conditioner always available for the user – on demand. The frustration with thick fluids, like that experienced with some sauces, is that the container needs to be shaken and thumped repeatedly in order to extract any of the substance, and when it arrives, it usually does so in uncontrolled excess. It is a classic comic scene frequently used in slapstick sketches. It looked as though our designers were doing more than merely promoting a product for sale. They seemed to be thinking of the users.

Well, this was until the product was being used in the shower. Both containers were standing on the floor in their mirror-reversed stances when they were accidentally knocked. With soap and water in the eyes, the challenge became not only to retrieve these containers, but also to identify which was which. Trying to read the text was useless; and this was no time to reflect on the relationship of image to the container. Trying to stand each up to discover the identity was tricky. How could one be sure that the shampoo was not on its head, or that it had fallen yet again just as the conditioner was designed to do, because of any inner-liquid disturbance of its balance, if only temporarily? It became obvious that the designers had not overcome the problem that most of these sets of products have, even with their clever idea of inverting the conditioner. One needed a clear and explicit naming of these packages. Private codes used to solve a problem were simply inadequate.

The graphics, while attractive, proved to be of little use when one looked at them for information through the dripping water and the suds. The clever making of a near-matching set now seemed to benefit only the manufacturer, with customers possibly preferring the prettiness of the twin identity rather than any mismatch in ad hoc brands, therefore purchasing one of each. The thinking that went into the translucent collar seemed to pervade the whole outcome. One was left floundering, cursing the illegible texts and the near-identical twins of these products. Why could these containers not have been simply marked clearly, e.g., with a large  ‘S’ and a large ‘C’? It all looked like an ill-considered design that no one had ever tested or thought through beyond the shelf appearance.

One might note and appreciate that here the designers at least seemed to have tried to make the difference clear; but with the failure of their strategy, the containers were left in the limbo that most of these paired products suffer. Some manufacturers have tried to use different coloured tops, but remembering which is which in the minute of need can lead to the same frustration as that experienced with the inversion. What is required on all of these packages is a bold text or letter that clearly, quickly and unambiguously communicates the message of identity, rather than using a random code that has no particular rigour or role other than highlighting cleverness. Using subtle and smart ideas to indicate the different fluids in very similar containers is not going to be enough. The designers will just have to agree to allow a little more difference in their aesthetic assessments - to show more consideration for the consumer. It is not a difficult thing to resolve. It only means that the preference for the symmetry of identical twins has to go so that the frustration of the experience of using these products in the shower or elsewhere can become a thing of the past. Even if one forgets about the inverted twins falling over, just imagine trying to choose a particular container from the depths of a bathroom bag where stance has no standing.

Design, no matter of what or of what scale or type, must give thought to outcomes - and to unintended outcomes too - if it is not to become a sham. The preconception of prettiness needs to be thrown away in favour of a clear message that is not just ‘buy me.’ Designs can all look good and are able to hold very different, and sometimes contrasting ambitions in these appearances. Beauty is not just in the eye of the beholder – it is confirmed in the hands of the user too, for beauty is tainted by any confusion in or problem with the outcome where function is involved. This is the challenge of all design, and of architecture in particular. It is in the most simple of circumstances that the significance of issues can be highlighted - I carry water; I wash my hair:

‘. . . while in architecture you are continually called upon to do what may be unnecessary for the sake of beauty, you are never called upon to do what is inconvenient for the sake of beauty.’

John Ruskin, Lectures on Architecture and Painting, Routledge, London, 1854, p.23: (italics in original).