Biophilia

As the majority of this blog is concerned with what happens in or reflects on the public space, this post may seem a little bit off-topic; but it’s Christmas, and you see, this is related to my Santa list.

The whole story originated in the realization that there are two things that once part of your personal space, it’s impossible to go back to living without them: 1: A walk-in closet; and 2: A garden or a patio. As for the past two years I have been enjoying both of these luxuries, I am of course tormented by the perspective of having to give them up.

As I know I’ll be living in a 30-storey hi-rise in Milan as of mid-January, I have already started obsessing over ways to bring in a little patch of nature with me. Coincidentally, I have also recently taken a tour of the USGBC headquarters in DC and found out about the extensions of biophilia theories in interior design.

The biophilia hypothesis, launched by Edward O. Wilson in 1984, suggests that there is an instinctive bond between human beings and other living systems. In architecture, this bond is expressed in various ways that we all heard about more or less: from Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright, or Buckminster Fuller theories, to biomimicry (biomimetics, bio-inspiration, or examining nature for solutions to our human problems), and to the bionic architecture of María R. Cervera and Javier Pioz, as well as other countless explorations.

I didn’t however know that, for example, when lighting conditions or other reasons preclude the introduction of life-enhancing plants, designers sometimes provide biophilic analogues — such as treelike forms — that are supposed to induce similar feelings for their users. The USGBC headquarters has a few of these attempts of tricking the human brain into feeling close to nature by printing huge textile panels with tree-shaped graphics.

In lack of any feng shui inclinations, biophilia got me excited. I started searching feverishly for small gardens that can accommodate a few plants in a dense urban environment.

First there is this living wall I found in a tiny backyard in Lisbon. It belonged to a gourmet café next to Convento do Carmo. We stormed into the establishment after my husband had sat on a bench covered in pigeon waste, thinking it was the natural pattern of the marble (needless to say, he has myopia). It was probably one of the few places on earth where someone can walk in covered in pigeon poop and not feel embarrassed; just very laid back and intimate…

Then there is the famous crack garden, recipient of a 2009 ASLA honor award in the residential category. It reminds me of the cracks in the Bucharest sidewalks, where old tree roots have torn the asphalt and brought out enough dirt to provide a growth medium for little weeds and insects.

Jardin de la Connaissance: 100Landschaftsarchitektur; Quebec, Canada. This one is serious, and there’s a lot of sexy philosophy behind it, but that’s not why I’m into it. I simply find the idea of having a mushroom garden charming, as well as the idea of having a book as the growth – or host – medium of a garden. It makes me think of the démodé habit of keeping pressed flowers of romantic provenience in pious religious books.

Stepping down from the realm of conceptual art, and getting serious about my anticipated hi-rise situation, I found a series of pots that are worth attention, such as Thelermont Hupton's Off the Wall Mini Plant Pot; Racine Carré’s Haute Culture Chlorophylle Mini Garden; and Tsutoma Iseya's Eggling - Crack 'n' Grow tiny ceramic shells (all at A+R Store: aplusrstore.com).

However, it is not until I came across the micro terrariums that my biophilic expectations were completely fulfilled. There are countless options, so I am only exhibiting my favorite.
The aeriums from Flora Grubb gardens (floragrubb.com) have modest prices and are delicate and whimsical.

Matteo Cibic's Domsai Terrariums (aplusrstore.com) are my favorite, as besides a tiny garden they also deliver a smile. The price tag is high though – but that’s always the case with the objects that debuted at Milan’s Design Week.

Finally, the Litill terrariums (litill.com) combine glass art with a stunning level of detail, and exert the fascination of a magic crystal ball.

Rock on

London-based designer Thomas Heatherwick has created an installation of his Spun seats that he created for the Italian manufacturer Magis. The installation was located in London’s Southbank Centre Square to celebrate the opening of London Design Week.

The Smithsonians to Become More Bubbly

And that's because of the Hirshhorn - which is going to inflate a bubblegum-like extension for two months per year, spring and fall. The seasonal bubble will host international art events and turn the museum's lobby into a classroom of the future, where visitors can learn about what's going on beyond the exhibition halls.

Yesterday, during a Livable Communities forum that took place at the museum, Hirshhorn director Richard Koshalek also mentioned moving the bookstore underground and turning it into an actual art installation.

It so happened that there was a severe storm warning for DC, so I tried to leave the forum asap - but got hunted down by an organizer and talked into staying for the party. I was the only one up there in the plaza for a long time, with all the shrimp cocktails and the booze and the band and the Hirshhorn staff, so I started chatting with some museum officers, whose name a forgot instantly, like I always do. One lady who seemed pretty Europocentric kept complaining about the bureaucracy and the cumbersome organizational structures that make it hard for art to spill into the public spaces of DC or engage visitors in less conventional manners, such as after hour parties, white nights at the museum and other manifestations that are so popular in Europe.

I had to agree with her: despite the immense cultural resources of DC and all the free admissions, DC's art scene has a pretty opaque, heavily-institutionalized feel. It gives you a monocle rather than 3D glasses. It's not very playful, although there are efforts to make it interactive: free jazz concerts, sculpture gardens, cultural festivals on the Mall, outdoor movie screens, free Opera simulcasts on baseball stadiums and all these perks urbanites in other cities would not even dream of.

Overall, these might just be too populist, too family-oriented, or too bourgeois. I don’t think taking art down a notch to make it less elitist works as well as letting it be cutting edge and shocking and outrageous. After all, the contemporary agenda is often about elevating and intriguing people, not about making them comfortable. And you know what - so little of the fresh stuff makes it here in between the New York - London circuit.

So I applaud Mr. Koshalek's bubbly initiative. I hope it will look totally weird and shocking to the decent families on the mall and make them stay up past their bed time and stare at that crazy stuff going on inside in open sight, unapologetically.

Guess who's designing it: Diller Scofidio & Renfro. The High Line success really convinced a lot of people of the charms of experimental design I think. I hope nobody bursts that bubble.

Fractal Garden: Legge Lewis Legge

I am in love with all things modular, so I have to bookmark this "fractal garden" by Legge Lewis Legge.

An incredibly simple, nomadic concept, Fractal Garden is made up of 21 planters on wheels, each of which can be moved and regrouped to form an infinite number of designs.

"The set of 21 planters consists of 7 each of 3 specific diamond shapes and ground cover plantings. Each shape is a 4-sided polygon containing 2 specific angles. All 6 angles in the set are multiples of 1/14th of 360°, making the diamonds fit together in many ways both symmetrically and asymmetrically. This division of 14ths of 360° is a function of fractal geometry, mimicking the structural patterning of natural forms." (http://www.leggelewislegge.com/fg.html#)

Bruce Munro: CD Sea

I am a big fan of all things recycled, in a prosaic or poetic way, your choice. I grew up like this. Communism did not allow for any superfluous objects, just the very basics. Anything that you could get your hands on was to be interpreted in a multifunctional way: jars, milk bottles, newspapers, cans. Plastic meant luxury; a plastic bag was to be washed and reused until it was completely torn. I did not see plastic bottles until I was 8 years of age, and ran into a group of Italian tourists - a very eccentric encountering. It was a good thing: we used cellophane instead, which is biodegradable. Recycling metal and paper was a necessity.

I could go on forever: a chicken had to yield 4 or 5 dishes, and throwing away any food or animal parts was unacceptable. Hence my cooking is always an improvisation, taking care of whatever would go bad otherwise. I know everything about scavengers and freecyclers. I make lamps out of jars and refashion my clothes to fit the new season. I like silverware turned into jewelry and glasses turned into chandeliers and so on.

When I stumbled upon Bruce Munro's installation, I exulted. The artist laid 600,000 cds in a field and turned it into a sea of light. All unwanted cds from people. Below are the images of his project:






















All images come from http://www.cdsea.co.uk/album.php?startrow=0

Hollin Hills

Last Sunday I finally got to visit Hollin Hills, a mid-century modern suburb south of Alexandria, VA. Those who know me can testify I can’t breathe outside of a hundred-dwelling-units-per-acre type of environment. Despite this, Hollin Hills got me dreaming about patriarchal Sundays spend with my fictional dog and fictional kids on the patio of a glass house in the forest, bird-watching, chopping wood for the fire place, bird-watching again, maybe hiking a little bit… What do people do in a suburb anyways? An honest question, feel free to enlighten me.

While potentially boring, Hollin Hills is truly a beautiful place. A layout of about 450 parcels no smaller than one- third of an acre is carved into a lush forest, originally owned by Bill of Rights founding father George Mason. Most trees were retained, contrary to the usual practice of the day, and some more were planted to veil sight lines. This intensifies the magic forest feel that you get throughout the neighborhood. On these generous, wooded plots, mid-century modern houses are fanned at an angle and raised on gentle slopes to elude the otherwise sweeping views allowed by their glass walls and open plans. In sharp contrast with the natural and mostly wild-looking surroundings, glimpses of the interiors reveal sophisticated urban taste translated in iconic modern design pieces and art collections.
















Yes, it is a Neutra and Schindler fantasy made affordable after World War II by architect Charles M. Goodman, constructor Robert Davenport, and landscape architect Lou Bernard Voight. Although the houses were not prefabricated, they shared some modular components, and they were modestly priced. The popularity of the homes is said to have established Goodman as a nationally acclaimed guru of modern architecture.

Even more than the architecture, the design of the land distinguished itself radically from any typical suburban American development of the time. Conceived around community parks, pedestrian paths, and school sites, the overall masterplan was a shared landscape of borrowed views and common amenities, a subtle critique of the American focus on property and individualism. The roads were modeled along natural contours, originally unpaved, and without sidewalks or curbs until today. Few plots had driveways even. This, together with keeping the existing trees (an avant-garde practice for the time) secured minimal disturbance of the site. Later on, Dan Kiley joined the developer’s team and designed gardens for about one hundred of the residences in Hollin Hills, most of which were not installed by the owners.

But Hollin Hills was special in other ways too. People who live there feel that design has brought together one of the greatest communities ever. I loved Daniel Donovan’s summary of the Hollin Hills mojo: “Having grown up in Fairfax County in the early 1960’s, I recall Hollin Hills as an exotic place where children called their parents by their first names. These people lived in glass houses, drank wine, and read The New Yorker. They drove foreign cars. In segregated Virginia, Hollin Hills was an enclave of social and political liberals, and remains one today “(in “Daniel Urban Kiley: the Early Gardens”).

Poem for Bicycles

O Tejo from Abilio Vieira on Vimeo.

From Curtiba Cycle Chic: on the bike lane along the banks of the River Tagus in Lisbon excerpts of the poem "The Keeper of Sheep" by Fernando Pessoa are printed on the asphalt.

Front Yards of Washington DC

Lisbon Marbles

Columns of Lisbon

Coumns in Monasterio de los Jeronimos in Belem, Lisboa, in manuelin style.
























Colums in Oriente Station, Lisbon, designed by Santiago Calatrava