In his new book, Woodcut, artist Bryan Nash Gill displays wood stump prints that read as personal histories. In the book’s introduction, Verlyn Klinkenborg, who writes op-eds for The New York Times, describes how “Gill’s art – his ability to capture the individuality of these trees – is a reminder that there is something generic or platonic in the mere working out of the life force in each organism. What separates each organism and gives it its distinctive, living shape is experience.” In other words, the form of the tree results from its history, with each experience registered in its interior rings. Through a process of cutting, sanding, and burning, Gill makes this history legible; each print reveals lifetime of interactions with human and non-human forces.
In Spruce, 2008, we see that this tree was 97 years old when it died. It had a branch cut at age twenty, and a metal spike was driven into it when it was thirty. The white lines are tunnel holes from insect invasions, typical of soft-wood species such as Norway spruce. The pruned branch and metal spike reveal interactions with humans, and the insect scars reveal interactions with nature. All of these factors result in the form of the tree. However, the print itself is just as much a product of Gill’s creative process as it is the tree itself.
The progression from wood to wood block to print represents a series of creative decisions. Gill salvages wood from anywhere he can find it including his own property and local farms. He chooses his wood based on the qualities he’s interested in investigating. Once he has found an appropriate piece of wood, he will cut it up with a chainsaw, paying particular attention to areas within the wood that he finds interesting. This process transforms the wood into a wood block. He continues cutting until he is satisfied.
In preparation for print, the block undergoes a treatment of sanding and burning as well as additional manipulation with a variety of tools. The exact method of preparation depends on the species of tree and the quality of the wood. Next, the wood block is inked. This is not a simple matter of applying ink but instead a subjective decision based on Gill’s aesthetic judgment. Gill writes, “the print is not a fingerprint of the wood; it’s not a stamp. It’s the feel of the wood that I’m after.” Similarly, the choices of paper and printing process are artistic choices. Therefore, the resulting print is not simply documentation of the life of a tree but an aesthetic object in its own right. In the print below, Southport Oak, we see a series of cracks that resulted from the block air drying in Gill’s studio.
Abstracted from their source, the tree rings form beautiful printed patterns. Gill’s process heightens the contrast of the rings, allowing his prints to achieve a level of intricacy and detail that does not exist on a typical piece of cut wood. Still, Gill never allows his work to become completely abstracted from its origin: each print indicates the species and age of the original tree.
This relationship between nature and art is central to landscape architecture. Landscapes are continually shaped by human and non-human processes. It’s through intentional design that a landscape becomes an aesthetic object. While at first glance Gill’s prints are unbiased reproductions of natural objects, they are actually highly designed art pieces, just as much about Gill’s own artistic impulses as they are about the trees. In the same way, while a park may appear to be natural, it’s actually the aesthetic result of an intentional design.
In addition to bridging the gap between art and nature, Gill’s work is a reminder that people and nature are interconnected, often in invisible ways. Interactions with human and non-human forces influence the forms of trees, and these histories are permanently registered in their rings. Sometimes the relationship between people and nature can become convoluted. In the case of Cedar Pole, Gill’s print reveals a mundane telephone pole to be built from a 200+ year old cedar tree.
Just as trees are influenced by a variety of human and non-human forces, we are subject not only to dealings with other people but the ecology of our surrounding environment. While we do not create rings to register our experiences, our lives are still influenced by a variety of daily interactions with a host of cultural and ecological processes. The design of our landscapes facilitates these interactions.
Street art can be elegant, enigmatic, or just plain goofy. In a new addition to our series of posts on how the built environment can be transformed through new forms of “rebel” or street sports, games, and art work, here are a few new “memes” worth mulling over. Perhaps the urban form of flash-in-the pan Internet memes, which last often just long enough to catch on and then disappear, these new temporary works are often in place long enough just to make you smile or reconsider a space before they are consumed by an ever-shifting urban environment. Some are created by groups of random people working towards the same end while others are the work of professional artists who inspire others to create their own memes. We are already most likely behind on these wild urban happenings, but here are a few unique ones that caught our eye:
Eye-bombing: As the Web site home of this funny trend explains, googly eyes “humanize the world.” Cheap and easy to apply, they also also come off fast, unlike graffiti, which can be a nightmare to remove. Core 77, a design blog, writes that Kim Nielsen and Peter Dam coined the term: “Eye-bombing is the act of setting googly eyes on inanimate things in the public space. Ultimately the goal is to humanize the streets, and bring sunshine to people passing by.” Traditional graffitti and vandalism are viewed as “egocentric behavior to [get respect],” while eye-bombing is “only about the message itself:” humor.
Core 77 has more interesting thoughts about the difference between craftier forms of “bombing” the built environment, like Yarn Bombing, and eye-bombing. “Where Yarn Bombing, a similarly absurd variant of street art, is characterized by tactility and a sort of Oldenburgian scale that ultimately comes across as rather abstract, Eyebombing is altogether Tweet-like in brevity (suffice it to say that Tumblr is the proper venue for the movement). The fact that it’s frivolous and disposable is precisely the point…” We just think these eyes make even the ugliest infrastructure cuddly.
Geodes: This is Colossal, a design blog, tells us about A Common Name, an anonymous graphic designer and artist, who started a beautiful public art project in Los Angeles, adding man-made geodesic forms to the most unlikely spots in typical urban scenes.
She explains: “Rather than using traditional paint or wheat paste methods in a 2D platform, I’ve been using paper in 3D. These sculptures come in all sizes and fit in the holes of buildings and pipes found while walking around. The finished shapes represent geodes, crystal, quartz, or any mineral formation that you would normally find in nature, now in our planned out cities.”
The artist sees these are small “treasures,” in part because they are randomly stumbled upon. “I enjoy the fact that many people will not notice these, but some astute people will; that these will not last forever and the weather will affect them as naturally as it might in nature.”
Moss Graffiti: Inspired by the work of artist Anna Garforth, who uses living plants to make art and has been creating temporary installation in London side-streets, design site Apartment Therapy has pushed the idea of simply doing it yourself, in an effort to spread the use of “moss grafitti.”
While Garforth inserts her work in abandoned spaces in Grow, Apartment Therapy wants these everywhere and public, a meme if you will: “All you need is moss, sugar, buttermilk, water, a container, a paint brush, a blender, a great idea and you’re off. Pick your favorite word, quote or create a fabulous stencil or drawing and get painting.” (We’re not sure it’s all that easy).
Following the success of Easy Rider, an installation by land artist Patrick Dougherty, Dumbarton Oaks, which used to be a somewhat stuffy D.C. institution, seems to have really let loose with Cloud Terrace, a new temporary installation by landscape artists Cao | Perrot. In an effort to create “fresh, unexpected experiences” in Dumbarton Oaks’ gardens, Andy Cao and Xavier Perrot roped in a bunch of volunteers to create hand-meshed clouds that dangle some 10,000 Swarovski crystals (on loan), creating the effect of raining clouds. While some argue that messing with these gardens is like “adding a moustache to the Mona Lisa,” said John Beardsley, director of the landscape studies program, the new Dumbarton Oaks team is for “breathing new life into these landscapes,” which are “living works” no matter how historic.
In describing his firm’s work, Cao, who was born in Vietnam but raised in the U.S., says he’s into creating temporary places. However, the real theme seemed to be recreating the beauty and power of key moments in nature, like “Cherry blossoms blooming,” but using non-conventional materials to create these effects. At first glance, their installation can seem otherworldly.
Cao and Perrot discussed some of their earlier works. Lareau Garden, one of the duo’s earliest installations, includes thousands of glass pebbles, which seem to create a river through the site. The project took two years to create but looks like it just happened.
The Lullaby Garden project was created using rolled earthen forms, while carpets of biodegradable nylon material were sewn and laid on top, also creating a sense of rolling waves. This project, like others, has an ephemeral feel and uses organic and recycled materials designed to disintegrate, destroying the landscape art work in the process. Cao said: “the colors were designed to slowly fade and the forms will disappear over time.”
An eye-opening project, Mimosa, in the Luxembourg Garden’s Medici Foundation, used fresh mimosa flowers suspended on fishing lines to bring a bit of New Delhi to France.
An earlier cloud project, which is in the same family of projects as the Dumbarton Oaks installation, brings clouds to a backyard in Los Angeles, while the unbelievable Willow Tree is made up of 80,000 mother-of-pearl leaves crafted by a village in China.
This project, like so many others by this team, is clearly inspired by nature and creates similarly powerful effects, yet is somehow not natural. Perrot tried to explain: these projects are for a “specific time – they are about the moment. They are not just a landscape, but a total environment.”
The duo is not just stopping at the small, temporary scale but are delving into large-scale works of landscape architecture, too. One park in the works in China will be more than 600 acres and will promise a sequence of outdoor “rooms” with different experiences, all set using their “intuition” throughout.
Barry Underwood, an artist and professor of photograpy at the Cleveland Art Institute, is doing wild things with lights and landscapes. Temporarily installing his lights in American forests, hills, meadows, and riverbanks, Underwood explores the “potential of the ordinary.”
He says with lighting the landscapes can become as dramatic as a stage or movie set. “By reading the landscape and altering the vista through lights and photographic effects, I transform everyday scenes into unique images.”
Light and color, he adds, also change our perception of the spaces, transforming nature scenes into something very different. “Space collapses, while the lights that I install appear as intrusions and interventions. This combination renders the forms in the landscape abstract.”
Underwood hopes that his photographs are both “surreal and familiar.” The meaning of it all? “Elusive and mystifying.”
The paintings and drawings of Roberto Burle Marx, Hon. ASLA, one of the most influential landscape architects of the 20th century, are the subject of a new show by Rooster Gallery in downtown Manhattan. Tablecloth/Toalha features a number of his later works, which were created during his stay at a close friend’s house in Constância, Portugal. According to Lauro Cavalcanti, curator of the retrospective Roberto Burle Marx 100 anos: A permanência do Instável, Burle Marx “‘…painted every day in the morning and in the afternoon he did his gardens’ and did not enjoy the fact that his paintings were relegated to a secondary position.” Indeed, Burle Marx was an equally successful painter, with his works representing Brazil in the Venice Biennale in the 1940s.
In addition to the tablecloth he created to fit his friend’s table, the exhibition includes 12 india-ink works on paper that are evocative of his landscapes. “While dispensing color – something inherently his due to his activity as a landscape architect – Burle Marx still follows the same provocative abstract morphology that characterized South-American art during the second half of the 20th century, providing the viewer some hints on issues like urbanism and landscape.”
On his art and landscape architecture, Rooster Gallery wonders which side of his work influenced which more. “In the end, one might question whether it is the architectural grammar that is present on Burle Marx’s paintings or the pictorial language that is present in his landscape projects.”
Burle Marx, who died in 1994, had a lifelong partnership with great Modern architect and fellow Brazilian Oscar Niemeyer. However, he is often seen as simply “complimentary” to him, writes André Escarameia in an essay for the gallery. Increasingly, though, Burle Marx’s own genius in creating lush yet also very Modern landscapes is being viewed independently of any collaborations.
According to Escarameia, when Marx died at age 84, he had completed more than 2,000 works of landscape architecture. Just a few of his famous landscape works include Flamengo Park (Rio de Janeiro, 1965), the Copacabana promenade (Rio de Janeiro, 1970), and Inhotim Park (Brumadinho, 1984).
Escarameia quotes Coelho Frota, who writes: “He was a draftsman, painter, great connoisseur of botany, set designer, musician, sculptor, and landscape architect. To appreciate any one aspect of Burle Marx’s multifaceted personality, one must bear in mind that we are dealing with an anthropological phenomenon, a cultural complex, a whole Burle Marx tribal group in which each individual was autonomous and, at the same time, relative.”
Landscape architects, architects, and artists have long tried to evoke emotional reactions through their creations, using landscape and building forms to create atmospheres that influence our moods. Now, some artists and architects are toying with our perceptions, designing optical illusions that create a sense of confusion, amazement, and perhaps even awe at their technical chops.
Since 2004, architecture and landscape photographer and artist Zander Olsen has been working on Tree, Line, a series of “constructed” photographs that play with our notion of foreground and background in a forest (see image above).
Olsen writes: “These works, carried out in Surrey, Hampshire and Wales, involve site-specific interventions in the landscape, ‘wrapping’ trees with white material to construct a visual relationship between tree, not-tree, and the line of horizon according to the camera’s viewpoint.”
In Deformscape, architect Thomas Faulders, turned a conventional backyard in San Francisco into an outdoor sculpture garden vortex.
Faulders writes: “Situated in a tightly packed urban neighborhood, this limited space outdoor sculpture garden inherits a large tree and uses this sole arboreal presence to establish a gravitational pattern of grooves that are focused towards the tree’s centroid.”
A “3-dimensional bulge” formed around the base of the tree connects with a distored “wire-grid projected onto a 2-dimensional surface,” creating a sense that the courtyard is plunging in around the tree. Try carrying a tray of cocktails out there on a summer evening.
Lastly, French artist Francois Abelanet, created Whom to Believe? in front of Paris’ Hotel de Ville for its “jardin éphémère” last summer. An anamorphosis, which is a “distorted projection” that can only be reconstituted by viewing from a certain angle or using a mirror or glasses, this 1,500 square-meter landscape installation created the illusion of depth, a floating orb landscape.
The official Web site of Paris writes: “Monumental, it measured 100 feet long and required 1,200 square meters of lawn, 300 square meters of sedum, and 650 meter-cubed of sand and straw. Nearly 90 gardeners and technicians were mobilized continuously for five days for the completion of this ephemeral work of art.”
Abelanet told the city he wanted to get visitors to think critically about nature in the built world: “We live in a world where we hear the debate of environmentalists, scientists, industrialists. I wanted to just [explore] the problem of the tree and invite people to consider the place of the tree, nature, and the environment.” In changing the focus, he asks them to think differently.
In 2008, you wrote in BBC News that “landscape architects lag behind architects in the conversation around sustainability” and are relegated to dealing with green roofs. Almost four years later, do you still think this is true?
Definitely not as true. There has been a real ascendancy of the profession. We are now being recognized as able to lead urban-scale design and planning efforts, to define the issues, generate strategies for what needs to be done in the structuring and enabling of the project, set the environmental agenda, and then create the structure for community engagement. Of course, we are also able to bring this more strategic level of thinking into a physical design. We are often brought in advance of the architects since our agenda does not necessarily include building buildings. Clients feel more secure knowing that it is not a forgone conclusion that complex urban issues do not always resolve in buildings. We now able to organize larger teams to tackle these complicated issues that cities have.
Right now, people are not that interested in building iconic buildings. They’re trying to figure out how to fix, expand, shrink or build their city. We are the profession most able to synthesize the many different systems that make a city work. As informed generalists, we can handle a huge amount of information across many topics and still come to a conclusion about what needs to happen.
The process is more open-ended and more collective. A site has a finite environmental holding capacity. Based on what those constraints are that are generated by the environment, the next series of “systems” that must be considered is what I call the “soft” systems – the social, cultural, and economically-based systems. All of these forces are played out upon the urban landscape. Cities are growing and so are now becoming a major environmental issue. We can build them so they are a positive effect on our global environment or we can build them so they are a detriment. So the topic of the urban landscape is becoming very urgent and important.
In the same article you call for a focus on the “softer side of sustainability,” which involves developing more sustainable communities where there’s a “sense of place, identity, and belonging.” One way to do this is “careful and inspired design which can make all the difference between a place that is viewed as no real significance to anyone and a place that attracts people creates vitality and is cherished by its inhabitants.” Do you think more communities have been getting the message?
I know that a few larger American cities are, but in general, I don’t think the U.S. has really gotten to this point. America has had an uneasy relationship with cities. The Europeans have lived in dense cities historically and therefore have been aware of the value of making their cities attractive for a long time. But even cities in developing countries understand that to attract people they need to make their cities attractive. Yes, insight is playing out around the world.
But for most Americans, the idea that sustainability is linked to the way our environment looks is a stretch. However, there is much scientific evidence now that proves that the quality of our physical environment has psychological and emotional impacts upon us. We are working on a hospital in Vienna where the landscape is incorporated into the financial pro-forma of the operation of the hospital. They know that if they build landscapes that the patients enjoy then they can move the patients out more quickly. In the U.S., physical design is viewed as “non-functional” and seen as just a cherry on top of the cake. It is a mystery to me why this close relationship between what something looks like and its value is not more fully appreciated by Americans. It is understandable when it comes to electronics, cars or fashion, but when this is applied to cities people generally go blank.
The “softer side of sustainability” is just my way of saying that the urban landscape is not only about technical or science-based systems. The urban landscape is greatly shaped and organized and enables what people think, feel, and do. To design in the city, there must be a recognition of ALL the systems, the natural and the people systems that must be accounted for. A project designed without an understanding of these domains will not be able to resolve a landscape that is balanced, nor will it last long. One definition of sustainability is that something will have longevity. Longevity in the urban environment can only be achieved if people value it. If people value something, they will tend to invest in it and keep it. It becomes important to them and therefore sustains. But things and places that are not valued or attractive to people in some way, become degraded, and will eventually fail.
What design can do is create streets, spaces, and neighbourhoods that attract people. Everybody knows you pay more money to be in nice places and that almost everybody wants to be in beautiful environments. Beautiful environments and cities create desirability. This desirability creates value. People invest both economically and emotionally. The DESIGN and functionality of a city cannot and should not be seen as separate factors. Design does function on many levels. Without it, one cannot really create a liveable city and cannot compete in a globalized world.
In one session at the annual meeting, you said, “Green roofs are nice, but what about sustainable cities?” At Harvard, where you teach in the School of Design, you founded the Working Group for Sustainable Cities, an interdisciplinary group of professors who are focused on urban sustainability. Bringing in lots of different academic fields must be interesting. How does that change the conversation? What are the toughest issues limiting sustainable urban development according to this group?
We are still in the business of formulating exactly how we’re going to apply our collective knowledge and expertise. We hosted a series of lunches for local mayors around Boston that we ran as a fact-finding mission. We learned about the many dire issues cities are facing today.
Although many of the cities differed in specifics, in general, all the cities are hampered by money. Yet they still have to take care of the basics, while trying to plan for their future. They need to upgrade themselves so that they keep their people, their tax base, and attract businesses.
These “Mayors Luncheons,” hosted by the Institute of Politics at the Kennedy School of Government have been very valuable. Not only are we learning what we can do as a group, but we’re also learning what we need to be teaching our students so they can learn how to approach sustainability at a city scale. There is a great deal of information and expertise to be shared.
For teaching landscape architects we can learn to discover what the issues really are, such as how do cities operate, how do politics affect and shape environmental and economic issues? Landscape architects are being taught how to think about, define, and solve urban issues and still design them to be wonderful and valued parts of the city.
In another lecture, you seem very pessimistic about the ability of Americans to connect with “real” nature, particularly in cities, arguing that “nature today is a commodity that is inserted in bits and pieces into an environment that is itself a constructed product of our will. It does what we want and sadly all we want is to enjoy the view without being inconvenienced.” Are you still pessimistic? Do you think that values are shifting towards protecting and reinvesting in nature with the younger generation?
I think that’s a wrong read. I’m not pessimistic, I am realistic. People are eager to connect with nature. Our issue is that we do not see with honesty HOW we are building the landscape in our cities. IF it is not natural, then it goes un-regarded. We Americans love nature and our national parks. We love nature, but what we don’t love is all the built landscape that we live and work in. We don’t plan our cities so nature can play a role in it. We don’t invest our money in urban landscapes because they cost a lot of money and must be planned well in advance. We don’t vote for taxes to maintain our landscapes. But the reality is that we build our landscapes and build them cheaply and without much ambition for them. Look at the landscape environment of our strips — all that in-between landscape between the gas station, the big-box developments. It is why most American cities are unattractive. We Americans have used up a great deal of our nature indiscriminately as it is viewed as a unlimited resource while still loving it at the same time.
We carry a nature myth within us as Americans. We love nature as wilderness but we don’t love any built, constructed environment as it falls outside our idealized picture of nature. There’s a great divide between what people consider to be landscapes of value and landscapes that are not valued. Once a landscape has been manipulated, it has no value. So we don’t bring our resources to it. Codes that might demand a higher quality for its planning, design, and execution have resulted in a tremendous, almost wall-to-wall visual degradation of our environment. Through demonstration, we have built our environment through an ethos that says, “If it’s not nature, we don’t care about it.” That’s what really pains me. Our abundance of nature has provided us too much of a good thing and we have used it indiscriminately. Our ability to sprawl and use our landscape in a wasteful and neglectful way will ultimately has already greatly diminished what was a very beautiful country. Our landscape is a natural resource that is limited and has value. It must be viewed in that way.
My frustration is that people don’t understand or accept the notion that we build and therefore shape our environment. We build our landscape like we build our buildings so that we could live in it. It’s a built artifact and, as such, we should be thinking more critically about how we design it. Our landscapes are our streets, sidewalks, median strips, train corridors, highway right-of-ways, parking lots, on and off ramps, the back alleyways– all that leftover space has been chopped up by roads and highways. We’ve built most of our constructed landscapes very carelessly and without real investment. Now most of us have to pass through miles and miles of degraded, ugly, and dispirited open spaces, which comprise our urban and suburban landscapes.
In recent years, you’ve been creating large-scale master and landscape plans in United Arab Emirates and Qatar. For Qatar Petroleum, you proposed a “verdant green oasis landscape” in the desert. What are the long-term sustainability issues involved in creating water-intensive developments in desert ecosystems?
In most countries, outside the United States, you can’t build landscapes that are not carefully calculated to be able to survive on the water systems that are being produced within nearby buildings. We would never actually build anything that required more water than what we actually generate on-site. So if readers are viewing this as an unsustainable landscape, it’s a misunderstanding of that plan.
We used planting in areas that both were shaded by the buildings, where there would be less transpiration, and in areas where most people would be. Where there would be little use by people, it feathered out into an absolutely arid landscape. We used the same principles in our design for the Abu Dhabi Corniche where we designed to the strict regulations required for Estidama, the UAE’s tight standards for sustainability in the landscape.
One of your projects for the late ’90s, the Geraldton Mine Project, is a bold example of how to turn a degraded landscape into an economic and cultural asset. Beyond simply creating a beautiful land form, you also restored soils, re-vegetated, and created trails in an effort to lure tourists to a small town in Ontario. Does this site serve as a model for restoration for the thousands of mining sites throughout the world? What have been the challenges to scaling up this kind of approach? Why hasn’t it happened more?
That’s a very good question. We have worked on three mining sites, all of which have created a regeneration of those sites and their surroundings. It’s an incredibly robust model for how to re-use a degraded landscape so it can be productive again. The issue with Geraldton, a very small post-mining town, is that it had run out of its economy. Post-mining, what remained was a devastated landscape and an environmentally toxic landscape. The only way the town could figure out how to survive was to try to capture the people travelling on the Trans-Canadian Highway and get them to stop. But, of course, as you were passing through this area, you would just put the pedal-to-the-metal to get out of there as quickly as possible.
The idea was to take the huge pile of mining tailings and reshape them into something that was not the natural landscape so that it contrasted with the natural landscape, which is very flat and monotonous. The concept was to take the tailings and sculpt them to create land art. As a result, people did stop. They wondered, “What is this?” or “What’s happening here?” People would slow down to explore and come into the town. As a result of capturing some of their economy, they continued to develop the other parts of the site into a golf course that generated more economy and so it started to generate a new economy.
There aren’t that many who understand that the landscape, the earth, trees could be seen as an artistic medium, like a box of paints. You have beautiful, living and inanimate materials, and one can create something that has cultural resonance. The narrative or idea can be about anything. All great art is, essentially, a very personal statement or inquiry. A built landscape is not required to look or mimic nature. If we are creating it, like any other cultural art form, it can be what we wish it to be. There’s no law that says it has to look like nature. What if all the books or movies or plays were about one subject matter or were dictated by the government? It would be stopping the evolution of culture. Without realizing it, people have very clear notions of what a landscape should be, while we’re much more open about what a building can be because we know it’s a cultural artifact. But to most in the U.S., a landscape must represent nature or the process of nature. I strongly disagree with this didactic view of how our landscape must be designed. It is a narrow view. Because in our cities, in the places we make for ourselves to live, the landscape could and should have cultural resonance and meaning. This is actually a necessity to making spaces that people will love and cherish and, ultimately, be sustained.
Also, do you know that the Sphinx is a mining site? That’s where they mined the stone for the pyramids. They just decided they didn’t want an ugly hole. They actually sculpted it and created art. It’s a wonderful example of what one can do with a quarry.
We worked in Winslow, New Jersey, on a clay quarry that had been a dump for 30 cars. It was a degraded and socially dangerous site. With the client, and an ecologist, we regenerated it so now it’s an informal nature conservancy. Now, people want to know if they can buy the land to develop it into housing (no). But the point is, that now, there is a whole new set of possibilities for the site and the town. We also worked in northern England in a small post-mining village so to help in the regeneration of the town. We provided a master plan for about 100 acres and then designed a village green on top of the filled-in mining shaft.
Wow. That’s a great compliment coming from John. Of course, I have my own narrative. I’m happy to tell you about it but it’s not important except for creating a way of directing the design concept as we developed it. What’s important is that there is enough visual content so that people can bring their own interpretation to a public space. There has to be a visual coherence that people “get” that there is a narrative of some sort; it needs to be able to be described and memorable. But is must also be open-ended so it is not prescribed or didactic. A space doesn’t work if you feel that the viewer must think and feel the same way you do or to “get” the story. I am not interested in those types of spaces and, frankly, I don’t think most people find them particularly interesting either. People like a mystery or riddle. And in order to make these spaces relevant to individuals, they need to be understood and appreciated in very personal terms. Allowing people to bring their own narratives to a space is a much richer source of narratives.
Our narrative was based upon knitting the city together after a bomb blast has made a hole in the city fabric. We spatially knitted the old cathedral district together with the more modernized shopping district. The yellow Yorkstone represented the historic district as this area was built upon a great geological outcropping of Yorkstone. The upper shopping district sat on a granite and glass plaza. They were stitched together along a “seam” of gentle ramps and linear benches.
Lastly, earlier in your career, you were known for your iconic, playful pop-art landscapes. My personal favorite is the Rio shopping center, using more than 350 golden frogs. But even your playful elements are often geometrical, with an underlying logic. Can you talk about how you use humor to create compelling landscapes, and maybe geometry, too?
My humor is a personal thing. I come from a pretty funny family. It’s just the way I grew up. When I’m with my family, it’s hilarious. They’re really funny people, highly goofy. But humor can also be a very powerful weapon and means of conveying ideas that are uncomfortable to face head-on. If you listen carefully, most of the greatest comedians like Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Dave Chappelle and Richard Pryor, are the angriest people ever. But what they say is very serious. The idea comedy or humor is not serious is really simple-minded. Behind their jokes are issues that are extremely serious and difficult to digest. But through their artistry they’re able to speak about these difficult issues and allow people to face them in a way that is much more acceptable. A fire-and-brimstone lecture ends to turn people off. Humor is a way of making medicine go down in a delightful way. It can deliver contentious and critical information in a stealth way. I use humour to disguise a difficult message. There is something there for everyone — for those who “see” it as well as those who don’t. They are at the same time funny and critical.
We did this one installation in Bavaria. It was the garden of Baron Von Munchausen (the real person). We were free to do what we wanted however we weren’t allowed to alter the garden in a permanent way. The concept we had was to create an outdoor gallery exhibit from garden ornaments that people put in their gardens. Half of the 50 ornaments were from a U.S. garden shop and the other 25 ornaments from a German garden shop. I set them up on large white plinths, like you would see in a museum, which were arranged in a point grid. We cut the grass over the course of two months, which created a mown grid of grass about 5 meters wide. The objects on plinths were set at the intersections of the grass grid in the midst of very loosey-goosey, overgrown garden. There was the tire with the geraniums, American flags, the jockey holding a lamp, the wishing well, and the deck chair. It had all this stuff that underpins a billion-dollar industry. Gardening is the second-biggest hobby in American economy, worth billions of dollars. It reflects that values and aesthetics of our culture. We put these objects it in our gardens as a way of expressing what we wish others to see. The show was a cultural snapshot of the American and German cultures.
The contrast between all this junk we place in our gardens and the loveliness of this overgrown and lush garden was brutal. The curator from the Bielefeld Art Museum, who funded it, came up to me and said, “You’re really an angry person, aren’t you?” and I said, “Well, I’m glad somebody got it.”
Lonely Planet, producer of travel guides, has just put out a new book on the 1,000 Ultimate Sights. One can spend hours just looking through the different lists of “ultimate” natural sights around the world, including sections on the “greatest wildlife spectacles,” “most iconic trees,” and “most impressive waterfalls.” There are also segments that explore extraordinary forms of human interaction with the natural world, such as “most stunning gardens,” “most interesting bridges,” and “greatest roman sites.” Our favorite was a list of viewing platforms, often designed by landscape architects and architects to create closer connections with nature:
Pulpit Rock, Norway
Lonely Planet writes that viewing platforms created by nature may be the most impressive. “Preikestolen – Pulpit Rock – looms 604m above Lysefjord, one of myriad incisions along Norway’s west coast. There are mountains aplenty hereabouts, but this summit seems built for purpose: its almost perfectly flat top juts out over the water (no safety barriers here), commanding uninterrupted if vertiginous views.” If you are intrigued by Pulpit Rock, also check out this session at the National Building Museum on how Norway’s landscape architects and architects have designed a subtle yet beautiful set of platforms along the national tourist route.
Sky Tower, Auckland, New Zealand
Auckland’s 328-meter-tall Sky Tower enables visitors to interact with the views and heights in different ways: “A handful of high adrenalin options are available, 192m up: gaze out from the enclosed glass rotunda; don a harness to walk a dizzying lap outside; or plunge (with safety wire) at 85km/h to the plaza below – less lookout than leap-off.”
Illawarra Fly Treetop Walk, Australia
If you want to learn more about how birds live close-up, the Illawarra Fly Treetop Walk sets you within the forest canopy of Australia’s Southern Highlands. “Hovering 25m above the ground, between stands of eucalyptus, sassafras, blackwood and mulberry, this 500m-long platform gives the wingless a glimpse of the avian lifestyle. And the bird’s-eye views are spectacular, from close-ups of tree-dwelling flora to sweeping panoramas of the surrounding escarpment.”
Grand Canyon Skywalk , Arizona, USA
At one of the most-visited sights in the U.S., there’s the Grand Canyon Skywalk, which was created in 2007. The 20 meter-wide glass and concrete “horseshoe” with a see-through floor jutting out over a “side canyon” of Arizona’s gorge has been controversial. Some would rather leave nature’s work alone. However, Lonely Planet says that the Hualapai Indian tribe, which manage the site, approved the project. Visitors are charged $30 per use.
Knife-Edge Point, Victoria Falls, Zambia
Victoria Falls, one of the world’s greatest falls at 100 meters high, has a spectacular viewing bridge at Knife-Edge Point. “Walk over the footbridge to this sturdy buttress where – if the mist is being blown in the opposite direction – you can gaze at the falls and the churning abyss below.”
Waterfall Trail, Iguaçu Falls, Brazil
Instead of a viewing station, the Iguaçu Falls in Brazil actually has a viewing trail that takes visitors through the cascade. “This South American cascade – a 3kmwide, 80m-high tumble of 275 separate falls, dripping in tiers through the jungle – is shared between Brazil and Argentina. And it’s on the Brazilian side that the Waterfall Trail leads out to the viewpoint below the Garganta do Diabo (Devil’s Throat) – Iguaçu at its most thunderous and spectacular.”
Il Binocolo, Merano, Italy
In Italy’s South Tyrol, Architect Matteo Thun created a look-out “suspended over the trees” as an addition to Trauttmansdorff Castle. “It gives a fine focus to those who dare step out onto its transparent gantry: over the vineyards, orchards, rooftops and mountainsides around the sophisticated town of Merano. It’s a grand garden to gaze over, too. Arranged around the neo-Gothic palace are swaths of rhododendrons, terraced water gardens, exotic palms, a house of bees and the world’s oldest vine.”
Dachstein Sky Walk, Austria
Dachstein Sky Walk peers out over this 2,700 meter mountain in Austria, offering panoramic views across state lines and international borders. “If you can bear to look, that is – it’s a dizzying prospect. And the wind and snow frequently flurry, making this an exposed, if exhilarating promontory. The journey up is even more hair-raising: the cablecar from the Türlwandhütte rises nearly 1000m to the Hunerkogel station, skimming the limestone cliff face (you can see every crack and crevice) by what feels like mere inches.”
Aiguill e du Midi, Chamonix, France
The viewing platform of the Aiguille du Midi gives awesome views of Mont Blanc. The Aiguille itself is quite a mountain at 3,842 meters. “But it’s a democratic peak: a two-part cablecar ride from the town of Chamonix below zips from valley bottom to the top – a 2,800m altitude gain – in just 20 breathtaking minutes. This enables anyone with a head for heights to get intimate with the legendary massif – a perspective usually reserved for expert mountaineers.”
Petronas Towers, Sky bridge, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
For a few years at least, Kuala Lumpur’s Petronas Towers were the world’s tallest buildings. That record was recently beaten by the World Financial Center built in Shanghai, and now the just-opened built Burj Khalifa in Dubai. A Sky Bridge at the 41st and 42nd floors is an “engineering marvel; with its huge supporting ʻlegs’ it looks like the bolt holding the twin 452m-high skyscrapers together. At night it’s even more impressive, when the entire complex glitters brighter than a Christmas tree.” At 170 meters up, the views from the Sky Bridge, which are accessible via a “super-fast lift” are worth seeing.
In a recent TED talk about taking imagination seriously, Janet Echelman, creator of billowing, voluptuous fabric installations the size of buildings, described the unexpected trajectory of her fascinating career. Echelman’s work has evolved from large-scale fishnet sculptures created from traditional craft methods to engineered installations designed with software and made from high-tech materials. This is an unlikely occupation for Echelman who did not train as an engineer, architect, or sculptor.
Fourteen years ago, Echelman was a painter traveling in India on a Fulbright. At that time, she had been pursuing painting independently after applying to and receiving rejections from seven art schools. She planned to exhibit a series of paintings in India but her paints never arrived. She tried to switch to bronze casting instead but found the process too expensive and the results too heavy. Unsure of how to proceed, Echelman took what became a fortuitous walk along the beach that took her career in a new direction.
While walking on the beach, Echelman noticed the local fisherman bundling their nets into mounds on the sand. Though she had passed by the same scene numerous times before, she suddenly saw it with fresh eyes as a potential new approach to sculpture, “a way to make volumetric form without heavy, solid materials.” She began collaborating with the fisherman, learning their techniques and creating her own variations, fashioning the fishnets into large sculptural pieces. She hoisted her first work, a self-portrait humorously titled “Wide Hips,” on poles to be photographed and found the result “mesmerizing”: “It revealed every ripple of wind in constantly changing patterns.”
Echelman continued studying craft traditions and collaborating with artisans. She began working with lacemakers in Lithuania, appreciating the result of the fine detail in her work but also came to realize that she wanted to make larger pieces. Rather than creating an object to look at, Echelman wanted to make something more experiential, “something you could get lost in.” She returned to India where she again worked with fisherman, this time to create a net of 1.5 million hand-tied knots. The sculpture was temporary installed in Madrid where one of the thousands of people who saw it was urbanist Manual de Sola-Morales, who at the time was redesigning the waterfront in Porto, Portugal. He asked Echelman to create a permanent installation in a traffic circle in Porto. Though Echelman had doubts that she could create something durable, engineered, and permanent that would express her work’s idiosyncratic, delicate, and ephemeral qualities, she nevertheless accepted the challenge.
The Porto installation took three years to complete. Echelman spent two years searching for a fiber that could survive ultraviolet rays, salt air, and pollution, and was soft enough to move fluidly in the wind but strong enough to survive a hurricane. In an effort to give the form a precise shape that would allow for gentle movement, she sought the help of Peter Heppel, an aeronautical engineer who designed sails for the America’s Cup Racing Yachts. Since a hand-tied net would not survive a hurricane, she also worked with an industrial fishnet factory where she learned how to create lace from their machines. Lastly, in order to support the net, she had a 45,000 pound steel ring erected in the traffic circle. When the 50,000 square foot lace net was finally installed, it gave Porto a sense of place, and though it was a permanent, engineered piece, Echelman felt her aesthetic was not lost in translation. Standing under the net, she said she felt sheltered but also connected to the limitless sky, and the moment was life altering. She decided she wanted to “create an oasis of sculptures in spaces of cities around the world.”
Echelman has gone on to create installations in several other cities, including one for the Biennial of the Americas in Denver, where she determined a new soft structural method that would enable her to model and build structures at the scale of skyscrapers. The Biennial committee commissioned Echelman to create something that would “represent the 35 nations of the Western Hemisphere and their interconnectedness.” Echelman had read about the earthquake in Chile and the tsunami that rippled across the entire Pacific Ocean. She was fascinated by the fact that the event shifted the earth’s tectonic plates, sped up the planet’s rotation, and shortened the length of the day. She obtained data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and translated it into a sculpture entitled 1.26 for the number of microseconds the day was shortened. Since the sculpture’s shape was too complex to support with a steel ring, Echelman replaced the metal infrastructure with a soft, fine mesh of fiber fifteen times stronger than steel. The result was a sculpture that was entirely soft and light enough to tie in into buildings, literally becoming part of the city fabric.
As a result of this piece, Echelman has decided that she wants to “create voluptuous, billowing forms at the scale of buildings” in cities around the world, especially in places she feels need them the most. She is also exploring new methods for other installations, including one for the Historic Philadelphia City Hall where she wants to create something lighter than netting to compliment the building’s architecture. Instead of working with lace, she has been experimenting with tiny atomized particles of water to create a dry mist that could be shaped by wind and that people could interact with and move through without getting wet. Using this capability, she wants to trace the paths of subway trains above ground in real time, revealing an “X-ray” of the city’s circulatory system.
In the meantime, Echelman says her artistic horizons continue to grow. Recently a friend called to tell her that an attorney in Phoenix who had never had an interest in art and had never visited the local art museum asked everyone in the office to go outside and lie under one of Echelman’s sculptures. They all lay out there together in their business suits sharing a feeling Echelman knows well, “the rediscovery of wonder.”
In some parts of the world, urban environments are being transformed into playscapes, sites for new creative expression, exercise, or games. Some of these new forms of interaction are amusing or exciting but also risky as well. Also, in some cases, these new ways of interacting with the built environment are outright illegal or at least frowned upon by local authorities.
As an example, take parkour, perhaps the most widespread of these new urban activities (see image above). Parkour, also known as “free running,” started in France and involves non-competitive running, climbing, and jumping through the urban landscape. A “traceur,” a practitioner of parkour, runs along a set route, navigating obstacles using his or her body. Participants can vault, swing, scale walls, and roll. Despite the obvious dangers like concussions or broken arms or legs, there’s now an official “Urban Freeflow” site with more than one million users and a magazine called “Jump.” Parkour also now has a rich history in pop culture. Watch “My Playground,” an introduction to a Danish film that explores how parkour is “changing the perception of urban space and how the space is changing the traceurs and freerunners.” Also, check out other videos on YouTube.
Perhaps more a flash in the pan than parkour, planking, or the “lying down game,” recently went viral worldwide, with The Wall Street Journalstepping in to track its development. Planking involves lying down in an unusual and often heavily populated location with arms pinned to your sides. To play, a photo must be taken and posted online. According to Wikipedia, to date, more than 315,000 images of plankers have been uploaded to Facebook and other sites. Two guys from northeast England claimed to have come up with the idea in 2007. The fad took off in the UK in 2010 and spread globally this year. Before attempting, it’s important to note that one Australian man just died trying to plank.
Another urban game to have popped-up and gone viral: urban golf, which is becoming increasingly popular in the U.K. and U.S. Urban golf courses are streets and neighborhoods. Wikipedia writes: “As in normal golf, many holes include hazards, but these are natural to an urban environment and are not bunkers (or sand traps), but street furniture and drains. Often many unexpected situations can arise from the environment such as dogs not kept on leashes tend to chase balls, players dropping clubs down drains, traffic, etc.” There are different sets of rules, but one group has tried to create a set of somewhat sensible ones, including playing away from people in less populated areas. In another example, Australian urban golfing apparently involves playing to the beach or pub. The player with the lowest strokes wins. Bonus points go to those who can pop a ball around a corner or bounce one off a tree “freestyle.” Helmets required for all unless tennis balls are being used.
Lastly, the least dangerous of these new urban forms of play, but perhaps the one with the most vivid artistic impact is “yarn bombing.” The New York Times recently reported on this form of “artistic vandalism,” which involves making street art out of yarn. “Yarn bombing takes that most matronly craft (knitting) and that most maternal of gestures (wrapping something cold in a warm blanket) and transfers it to the concrete and steel wilds of the urban streetscape. Hydrants, lampposts, mailboxes, bicycles, cars — even objects as big as buses and bridges — have all been bombed in recent years, ever so softly and usually at night.” Seattle even has a “YarnCore collective,” called “Hardcore Chicks with Sharp Sticks.” Etsy gone bad. See a slideshow of “grandma graffiti,” and what this one Parisian yarn bomber did with cracks in the pavement (see image above).
Image credits: (1) Parkour / Live Journal, (2) Planking in Taiwan / Reuters, (3) Chicago Urban Golf tournament / Broken Bat. Flickr, (4) Yarn Bombing / Juliana Santacruz Herrera. Flickr.