We all, in some form, can describe a specific place – old, new, recent or past, the memory of a place can be conjured up with relative ease.  This speaks to the phenomenon that when we speak of place we are in fact recalling memory.

Author Yi-Fu Tuan describes place as such: “…if we think of space as that which allows movement, then place is pause; each pause in  movement makes it possible for location to be transformed into place.” *

In its various stages of temporality, memory does not, as place does, stay put.  We move about the world with our memories in tow.  The memories of place are always with us, ready to recall them when we once again emerge in the physical presence of those memories.  Transforming that space into place, into the place of memory.

Consequently; memory, it would then seem, holds great power in our creation of place(s) within our world.

Familiarity also plays a role in the recollection of the space of place.  However, contrary to previous posts, habitual reactions to place do not necessarily allow for, and often times hinder, the creation of new memories.   They do however allow one to recall memory and give us direction on the creation of new memories.

As Tuan again writes:  “When a person who has learned a maze is asked to walk the same pattern on the open floor, the track he leaves bears only a slight resemblance to the original maze pattern.  Elements of the track clearly resemble the correct course, but departures are conspicuous.” *

For this reason, one’s family cabin may be able to be physically navigated inside and out with almost blind reaction – but it is the hearth, the covered porch, the dinner table or the dock that holds special meaning to us and creates the “place” of the cabin.  The recalled actions merely construct the physical space of the cabin.

Place then becomes place when we define it as such in our minds.  It is a twofold response: to recall a memory that evokes a specific point in time and place, and in reverse, the place now opens up its world to the space around it.  As Martin Heidegger writes in his somewhat famous description of the bridge “It does not just connect banks that are already there.  The banks emerge as banks only as the bridge crosses the stream. The bridge designedly causes them to lie across from each other. One side set off against the other by the bridge…The bridge gathers the earth as landscape around the stream.” **

In this essence, the place becomes a place because we’ve given it a reason to exist beyond the physical nature of its being.  We put something there, whether architecture or memory that gives us a point of reference for place.  And so what then defines place?   The memory of the reason, the “something” we have put there, to give it place-ness.  We know the intricacies of the stream, as in Heidegger’s example, because we remember the bridge as it crosses, or we remember the car, the vacation we were one when we ourselves crossed.

As designers, we strive to make architectural spaces that allow for the creation of these lasting memories.  So that place can become part of the architectural vocabulary.  The more space allows for the ability to create memory, the more apt one is to define it as place.  One could then define place as the location of a density of memory.

Each memory a blip on the radar screen, the size and frequency of blips determines our need to give that location a definition – to give it its place-ness.

In our desire to make place, we must craft space so that it allows for the activation, and creation of memory.  Defining in our minds, whether changing or static, a memorable point in the space and time of our world that we can return, physically or ethereally to as “place”.

*Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and Place, The Perspective of Experience. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 2011.

** Heidegger, Martin. Poetry, Language, Thought. Harper Collins, New York, 1975.

Written by Kevin Sietmann, Project Manager.

Source: http://blogweltraum.wordpress.com/2013/01/01/what-is-place/

In our quest for complete transparency between interior to exterior spaces it is often assumed that, in most cases, it is best to have the largest expanses of glass as possible.  This philosophy makes good on our desires to transcend the visual boundaries of interior and exterior space.  But it is not always the appropriate solution for every “window”.  Fundamentally there is a philosophical dialogue that needs to be addressed at design between the desire for connection and the desire for view.

Threshold, frame, aperture, window – whatever your chosen semantics – is where the dissolution of enclosure becomes evident with the line of definition between solid and void.   Often working in tandem, windows are used to bring light in, and provide view out.  Two independent strategies of design that are most unfortunately combined for ease of construction and economy – or perhaps lack of understanding.  But these can, and in many cases should be, used for their exclusivity and in corroboration with the desired spatial effect.

Windows can work as well with concealing view (call its antagonist, framing view) as it does to reveal.  The desire to highlight the landscape comes with an inherent need to withhold view when necessary.  By not exposing the whole landscape image at first impression, it engages our human nature, questions the space itself. The search then holds a more dominant outcome when the view is finally received through the frame of the window.  The power of the image through a specified opening is enhanced by its natural byproduct of spatial reservation.  In the act, revealing not only a specific view but also the power and specificity of the place.

When we separate the characteristics of view through a window and light from a window, we can begin to use both aspects of the “aperture” to craft space to its desired outcomes.  Clerestory windows, side light, chiaroscuro are all methods employed to bring light into space while concealing (or specializing) view.

This involves a sensory reaction, a tendency to want to move into and around space as view is exposed or diminished; creating an enriched experience, if we move around space as opposed to understanding the extents upon first impression.  To state it another way; immersion into space rather than impression upon entering space.  Author Juhani Pallasmaa explains this phenomenon further when he writes “There is an inherent suggestion of action in images of architecture, the moment of active encounter… A real architectural experience is not simply a series of retinal images; a building is encountered – it is approached, confronted, encountered, related to one’s body, moved about..” *

Inversely, the act of specificity can also be used to explain more fully the environment and landscape in which we build.  To be blunt, in explanation of Pallasmaa’s text, transparent rooms lack mystery.  This is not to say they are not warranted and extremely effective when applicable.  The key is to understand when this phenomenon is enhanced by spatial transparency and when it is best explained through specificity.

An argument for fuller appreciation of the independent attributes light and view – both elements expressed through the window.  And a realization that both/and provide connection, while either/or gives definition, intrigue and spatial complexity.

Written by Kevin Sietmann, Project Manager.

Source: http://blogweltraum.wordpress.com/2012/12/18/aperture-an-appreciation-for-the-window/

* Pallasmaa, Juhani. Architecture of the Seven Senses, Essay from Questions of Perception. William Stout Publishers, San Francisco, 2006.

“What if it should hit exactly – ahh, no – for a split second you’d have to feel the very point, with the terrible mass above, strike the top of the skull…” *

Although somewhat morbid, Thomas Pynchon’s description of the V-2 rocket hitting its target makes a lucid observation on our perceptions of unfolding events and our often lasting memory of the aftermath.  Ensuing tragedy aside; a bomb in this case, leads to great destruction, but we, as the character in the book reflects on, rarely think of the minute second when all is initiated.

There is, as Pynchon shows, an indication of a greater inquiry.  To create the lasting memory, no matter the massiveness of the undertaking, there must be a point, even if microscopic in scale or duration, of engagement to the whole.

It’s no surprise that some of my most personally admired works are ones that were, or may never be built.  The absence of reality (although not denying the result as possible fault of the architect) leaves something to be desired.    Our true memory is based on phenomenological experiences of space, something that does not have to be defined in the built world.

That being said, it’s easy to create something that has no restrictions.  It’s easy to disregard economy, construction and reality.  However, it also houses within that lack of definition, a certain sense of wonder.  A door, just slightly ajar, that shows us the depths of what [could] be.

In architecture, forming opinions means engaging space – and engaging space means we must have reason – a point, if we are to make the rocket analogy stick – to access all that is withheld in its body:

An open-endedness.

How do we then translate this phenomenon into built architecture?  Into a medium that essentially requires closure.  This is not to argue the point of holistic design.  The complete built package is often necessary for proper integrity and lasting comfort.  I speak about this indeed as phenomenon, not physical product: one of theory, symbolism and experience that can be divulged in any semblance of space – complete or not.

Design tools such as duality, duration, material, change (as noted in earlier posts), site conditions, all contain an element of unpredictability that allows us to open the rest of the composition to our minds.  To “complete” the design with our impressions and memories.

One of the fondest examples I can conjure up was my visit to the Chapel of St. Ignatius in Seattle, WA design by Steven Holl.  A relatively simple structure on first impression unfolds into a tangible depth of light from unknown sources, olfactory responses to the modulation of space, uncommon uses of materiality and texture, reverberation of sound beyond the visual limits of your present position.  Engaging all the senses yet not catering to your immediate understanding of such phenomenon.

A space that nearly forces you to continue through its limits.  Holl does an uncanny job at providing an access point for our mind/body to uncover and formulate our own story of his sacred space.

Building on Holl’s example: the point of engagement is undefined.  Or rather, defined by phenomenon – by experience – a real aspect of architecture.  Something we designers bring to bear through conceptual development and theoretical  research.  This lack of definition defines in us a unique experience among users as well as an excitement of discovery to the potentials of the unknown.

Written by Kevin Sietmann, Project Manager.

Source: http://blogweltraum.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/open-ended-design-and-the-point-of-engagement/

*Pynchon, Thomas. Gravity’s Rainbow. Penguin Classics, New York, 2006. Reprint.

Occasionally there comes a time when desire and lack of means leads to pure fiction.  There seems to be, in every architect/designers sketch book, those thoughts completely devoid of circumstance.

I don’t know the intent and I don’t know their conditions of genesis.  Not to be built, but to be reflected on.

In a desire to “make them real” I hope to begin publishing some of these thoughts as they are created.  The most recent, is as follows:

It begins with dissension through the landscape into the earth,

Beyond a hypothetical pine forest, probably from my northern youth, and across a planted courtyard.

Underneath triangular external roof supports, one ascends [back] into the essential darkness.

Concrete enclosure contrasts wood cross members supporting the inverted formwork of the roof.

The gap between roof and wall creates soft light at the edges to escalate ones thoughts and the sense of space upward.

Eventually lost in the open apex at the sky.

At the center a single piece of hewn granite, smooth on four sides, rough on the last.

Perhaps sacrificial, more acutely contemplative.

Around the perimeter are unfinished cedar benches for those visitors interested in the latter.

The movement of the light through the roof is your only reference of time or place.

Written by Kevin Sietmann, Project Manager.

Source: http://blogweltraum.wordpress.com/2012/11/30/chapel/

“The architect when he draws has to be aware that the paper he draws on becomes a site, a landscape, and that the pencil he is using can either cut lines into the landscape or build up graphite, depending on how hard or how soft the pencil’s lead is.” *

Inevitably, there will always be a debate over computers versus hand drawing. As long as the computer keeps progressing, it appears we will always be in awe of its possibilities. However, this is one instance where I can say I firmly believe in the power of hand drawing.

The above quote begins to shed light on a deeper perspective of the flight of pencil over paper. The power of the graphite line, whether pressured, relaxed, 6B or 4H can determine so much more than merely orthographic delineation.

With all the advancements in computer technology and the milieu of drafting and rendering engines available, architectural representation has become more accessible and even more impactful. I believe inherent in this medium, there is an unfortunate loss of emotion, a loss of the presence of the true craft of design.

This idea of craft cannot be done with honesty through computers. I understand that there is and will continue to be a multitude of programs, and passion about those programs, out there that allow one to manipulate the line nearly to infinity. Incidentally there are certain things a computer can do that the hand will never be able to accomplish as efficiently. The downfall is that no matter the extent of the line’s evolution, it still lies within the depth of the computer screen.

Whereas technology has opened a world that only lives within its presentation method, the hand-mind-body relationship of drawing lies in the depth of one’s imagination. Beyond the minute space of the line, there is an ephemeral essence of spatial creation. The “line”, when drawn in graphite translates vector into a space of interaction; outside to inside, public to private, security vs. freedom. More than its act of delineation it becomes something in and of itself.

Alvar Aalto Sketch for Vuoksenniska Church

The line becomes simultaneously separator and object. Depth, strength and materiality start to expose their properties in the line itself when one’s desires are translated through the pencil. Wall materializes within the depth of the line rather than the space between two. A barrier, an obstacle that can either be respected or transgressed and our imaginations allow us to make that decision.

Quite simply put: the more I use computers, the easier my life becomes and unfortunately as such, the less enjoyment, and one could interpret that as the less meaning, I seem to receive.

Written by Kevin Sietmann, Project Manager.

Source: http://blogweltraum.wordpress.com/2012/11/16/drawing-and-the-space-of-the-line/

*Bridgette, Groihofer. Editor. Raimund Abraham Unbuilt. Springer Wien, Second Edition 2003. Print.