A sampling of modular paintings by Roy Lichtenstein (gridded arrangement by us).
Roy Lichtenstein is an artist widely known for paintings whose form and content are derived from comic book illustration. So it comes as quite a pleasant surprise to us to discover that his oeuvre includes a series of ten canvases and additional preparatory drawings based on a modular theme.
Lichtenstein executed the bulk of these works in 1969. Nine of the ten works were composed of four identical panels arranged in a grid; a single canvas, done in 1968, contains nine panels in a similar arrangement. All but two are square in overall proportion, since the individual panels in them are themselves square. All of the finished works are rather large in scale, measuring somewhere between eight and ten feet in either direction.
We find these pieces compelling on a number of fronts. From an historical perspective, it’s refreshing to see an artist ‘crossing over’ from one current stylistic genre to another, in Lichtenstein’s case, from the figurative Pop school to the abstract Minimalist one. This fluidity underscores one problem we have with art historical labels – they tend to pigeonhole people into categories under the assumption that one must be a hedgehog and not a fox when it comes to artistic production (the hedgehog knows one thing really well, the fox knows a bunch of things but none as well as the hedgehog). It’s particularly curious that we laud the idea of pluralism when applied to art and design as a whole, but seem less ready to embrace stylistic diversity when it comes to defining individual artists.
Then again, if one digs deep enough one might find some thematic connections in Lichtenstein’s paintings that tie the two seemingly opposite schools together. For instance, like other Pop artists Lichtenstein took inspiration from the mechanical processes of commercial illustration. Modularity and minimalism have a similar affinity for industrial character, but emphasize its abstract qualities rather than try to bring it into an overtly humanized framework. Lichtenstein seems to want to bridge the gap by using repetitive and abstract forms, but then endowing them with rich, sensuous colors and patterns for the purpose of inducing visual pleasure in the eye of the viewer.
Of course, people like Frank Sella, Ellsworth Kelly and Kenneth Noland had been generously applying color to their Minimalist canvases for some time when Lichtenstein produced his modular series. But Lichtenstein composes his panels with more visual complexity and contrast than his colleagues, many of whose works indicate a reductivist desire to simplify rather than amplify. In one sense, he was taking modular painting in the only direction it could go, if we consider Rauschenberg’s White Painting series of 1951 as the grand-daddy of the multi-panel modular work of art. Devoid of color or content, Rauschenberg’s paintings are the obvious antecedent to and a point of departure for all the modular canvases that came after them.
One quality which the modular pieces we’ve cited so far have in common is a lack of mobility. In other words, all of them are fixed works of art, unchanging and untouchable in their finished state. Other artists, like one of our favorites, Charlotte Posenenske, had already associated modularity with changeability, but she was among the few to incorporate this understanding into her work. Another was Norman Carlberg, a modular artist and sculptor who we will talk about in an upcoming post. Until then, you’ll just have to ponder the possibilities.
FABRICATE is an international peer reviewed conference with supporting publication and exhibition to be held at The Building Centre in London from 15-16 April 2011. Discussing the progressive integration of digital design with manufacturing processes, and its impact on design and making in the 21st century, FABRICATE will bring together pioneers in design and making within architecture, construction, engineering, manufacturing, materials technology and computation. Discussion on key themes will include: how digital fabrication technologies are enabling new creative and construction opportunities, the difficult gap that exists between digital modeling and its realization, material performance and manipulation, off-site and on-site construction, interdisciplinary education, economic and sustainable contexts.
FABRICATE has emerged as the first in a series of focused events from the highly successful ‘Digital Architecture London’ Conference and ‘Digital Hinterlands’ Exhibition in September 2009. Organised by The Bartlett School of Architecture, University College London in collaboration with The Building Centre London, this conference intends to frame discussion around the presentation of built or partially built works by individuals or collaborators in research, practice and industry selected from submissions through our Call for Works.
Representing the broad disciplinary spectrum from design to production, the presentation of built work will contribute alongside leading invited speakers from Australia, Europe, North America, and Asia. A significant and supportive context for the event will be provided by London’s extensive network of global creative consultancies, many no more than a short stroll away from the venue.
We welcome original, innovative and pioneering projects for the Call for Works and we would also encourage works in progress to enter too. Submission requirements emphasize strong and informative visual material with succinct analytical text and project synopsis. Selected conference submissions together with articles from keynote speakers will be featured in ‘FABRICATE: Making Digital Architecture’ published by Riverside Architectural Press and launched at the conference.
Central to the aim of FABRICATE is to interrogate and disseminate difference, similarity and innovation across design and making practices in industry and academia. Submissions will be independently blind reviewed by two members of an international panel of experts. Selected submissions will be featured in ‘FABRICATE: Making Digital Architecture’ published by Riverside Architectural Press.
The Call for Work deadline is the 20th of September 2010.
Submission Instructions
On our submission page, you will need to read and agree to our terms and conditions and provide the following information.
Author(s) Details
Fill in details of the author(s) and collaborators if any.
Project Title
The project title as you wish it to be published, followed by the site location if applicable and finally the year.
Keywords
Provide between three and seven keywords that help us choose appropriate reviewers from our panel of experts.
Synopsis (Between 500 and 1500 words)
Please pay particular attention to to this part of your submission. Synopsis should both introduce the project and focus on any specific innovations in the design and fabrication of your work. We are also interested in the development of the project including challenges and lessons learnt, conclusions on the approach you took, and where your practice goes next from this project. Furthermore, we ask you to add a paragraph at the end of your text where you can include any further details about your project that you feel are important e.g. you may wish to acknowledge sponsors, clients, contractors, universities etc.
Images (Between 5 and 15)
It is recommended that submissions include an appropriate range of images including concept sketches, early iterations, CAD and physical models, photography, manufacturing or construction information, scripting, test pieces, prototypes, parallel experiments, final assemblies, artifacts in use, revisions, renovations, and subsequent iterations. PLEASE NOTE images MUST be submitted as a single combined PDF not exceeding 30Mb in size. All images must be fully captioned, credited and dated in the PDF. The PDF with your images is the only part of your submission in the form of attachment. Everything else should be filled in in the appropriate fields of the online submission form.
The submission process is only online, no postal submissions will be accepted.
Multiple submissions are permissible.
Please note that this is a complete article submission. No pre-submission of abstracts is required. Ready to submit? Click here.
Oh brother, are you in hot water! Symetrics: the Dornbracht modular bath sysem.
As long-time aficionades of modular design, we might have finally found our Shangri-La, our Holy Land, our Nirvana – and lo, it is a bathroom. Yes, a bathroom, or more precisely, a line of bathroom fixtures and fittings based on a modular grid designed by the German company Dornbracht. Or more precisely still, a design system for planning, constructing and fitting out a bathroom, which the company has dubbed Symetrics.
Among the many intriguing aspects of the Symetrics initiative is that we have a rare occurrence of a manufacturer advancing a series of products linked not just by a few common details or surface characteristics, but by a larger context of formal relationships that guide the placement of the products in their setting. The glue that binds the various products together, of course, is the grid – an underlying vertical and horizontal mesh of 60 millimeter square cells in which can be fit any of the Symetric products.
In a languorous music-backed video on their website (link is below), a narrator tells us that the unifying effect of the Symetrics system concentrates the design focus “on the room as a whole, as opposed to the individual fittings”. Presumably our minds derive greater emotive pleasure when disparate things hold together by means of common measures and orientations than when they are randomly sized and capriciously oriented to each other. At least, that is the position of the rationalist school of design, to which not everyone necessarily subscribes.
At the end of the video Dornbracht’s tagline appears: “The Spirit of Water”, it says. On seeing this we were rather struck by the inherent contrast between the crisp, geometrically pure and eternally fixed square geometries that underlie the Symetrics system and the unpredictably fluid contours of water. At first we thought that the Dornbracht people were vulnerable to charges of being inconsistent in their philosophy and approach (or at least, in their tagline). But then we recalled the iconic image of the Vitruvian man, an ancient Roman icon that embodies the possibilities of reconciling organic nature and abstract geometry, the curvilinear and the rectilinear, the eternal and the ephemeral. So maybe the Dornbracht people have it completely right, in which case we may truly have found Nirvana after all.
Can you tell which is the real Scott Snibbe? Click on the image for the answer.
We frequently read about artists exploring the ‘intersection’ of art and technology, but Scott Snibbe realizes this concept more literally than most. Trained in computer programming and fine art at Brown University, Snibbe makes use of both skill sets by producing interactive digital programming for commercial as well as fine art applications. According to his company’s website, Snibbe Interactive has undertaken installations in more than twenty countries, which makes for a good start on his goal of developing his work product as a ‘worldwide communication medium’. Most of his portfolio derives from orchestrating the human body to come into contact with a digital sensing apparatus, which then translates the encounter into visual form for others to see.
Modular art, as we untiringly remind everyone, is by its nature an interactive and co-creative type of art, since it necessitates a collaboration between originating artist and collector, spectator or designer to achieve form (a cluster of connected modules) out of formlessness (a pile of disconnected modules). It can also be described as a generative medium, because each module has been designed by an artist to automatically generate a coherent whole when the modules are joined to each other.
Snibbe’s drawing apps for the iphone and ipad can also be described as generative insofar as their internal computer codings automatically produce a coherent visual form when a finger or other suitably shaped body part is dragged across the touchscreen. As with modular art, Snibbe the digital artist takes the process only up to a point, and then leaves it to others to consummate the work.
There are several aspects of Snibbe’s portfolio we find appealing. First, unlike some of the more purely abstract and digitized forms of generative art, Snibbe’s apps require the intervention of the human hand (literally) to produce the work, which connects them to the manual tradition of historical art. Second, like modular systems, there are no limits in the number of formal permutations that can grow out of the coding, which makes them highly economical in every sense of the term. And third, we find the idea of using a mass-produced object (the phone or tablet) to make contemporary art an exemplar of the democratizing capabilities of the digital era, and an encouraging sign of things to come.
Anyone who has either been a child or has the experience of parenthood is painfully aware that young people like to de-construct things. Naturally, since their knowledge base is still in formation, there is little discrimination as to what things may be subject to this impulse; one day it’s a ratty old doll that you had wanted to toss out anyway, but the next day it will be that miniature Rietveld chair from Vitra that you paid a pretty penny for and failed to put at a sufficiently high altitude to escape prying hands.
What can a parent do? Move everything of value out of the home and live inside rubber walls? Acquire only objects made out of cast iron with no removable parts? No, that does not seem practical. But there is an answer, at least when it comes to toys and other belongings dedicated to children’s play. As with so many of the challenges that beset mankind, the solution to the problem is – you guessed it – modular.
Now, you are probably thinking we have gone overboard in our faith in the salubrious effects of modularity. But think about it: when it comes to enabling a child to decompose material objects – which is, after all, a necessary phase in their mental development – wouldn’t it make more sense to start with the part and end with the whole, rather than the other way around? Eureka – of course it is! And get this: not only will we reduce incidents of mass destruction among the smaller set, we would also be encouraging in them the brain-building, life-affirming act of using their hands and minds to make form out of formlessness. It’s a win-win all around.
To aid in this quest, we are presenting here a roundup of some of the more appealing modular toys currently on the market, organized by type. Let the games begin!
Bricks and Blocks
The granddaddy of all modular products, LEGO is perhaps the most well-known toy in the entire modular universe. What’s less well-known is that it was largely invented by an Englishman who patented it in the 1930s, when modularity was gathering steam as a production method in industrial design. But it would be the Danish company whose name (an amalgam of ‘play well’ in Danish) would become synonymous with interlocking building blocks. What goes around, comes around, though; a Japanese company is marketing a product called Nanoblocks which to our eye are the spitting image of LEGO. Another variant is Bristle Blocks, whose connection architecture is formed from dense, short spikes; the same design appears under various brand names, including Stickle and Nopper Bricks.
Not far behind LEGO in historical longevity are Lincoln Logs, invented in the 1920s by the son of famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Given their pedigree, it’s not surprising that these blocks derive from an architectural theme and are largely used to construct buildings and objects of engineering, like fences and forts. Similarly architectural in character are Froebel blocks, devised by one Friedrich Fröbel in the 1840s. It just so happens that Herr Fröbel coined the term kindergarten and was among the first to codify its educational program, including – you guessed it again – the use of his blocks.
Turns out there is more of a connection between Lincoln Logs and Frobel blocks than meets the eye. There’s a legend that Daddy Wright was given a set of Froebel blocks when he was nine years old, a life-changing event which led him to become what he later became – an egomaniac in love with himself who happened to be a great architect. Okay, maybe just the architect part. One might also read some psychology into the fact that son of Wright invented a modular block system with a retrogressive perspective evoking the frontier days of early America, while the geometrically simplified Froebel blocks are now considered an icon of modernist design. Perhaps we’ll just leave this to the psycho-cultural crowd to sort out.
Of similarly modernist sensibilities are the numerous wood block systems currently offered by Naef, a Swiss company specializing in hand-crafted, high quality, non-motorized toys for infants and children. These handsomely designed ‘objects of art’, as their manufacturer prefers to call them, are among the few products here that would look equally at home in an adult environment as in a child’s.
Naef also happened to sponsor a design competition for a wooden toy which was won by a student at Virginia Tech; her modular design (above) uses magnetics to join together a single recurring shape in a variety of configurations.
Marble Blocks
Once assembled, building blocks tend to be pretty static affairs, which is understandable given that a principal goal in their composition is to not fall down. So what do you do if you want to inject an element of dynamism into the mix? Modify the blocks with a groove on one face sufficient to direct a marble down its path, that’s what. Once again the Swiss are on top of this game with their Cuboro wood blocks, launched in 1997. But the concept must have been around earlier, because in 2007 an American named Andrew Comfort designed a modular suite called Q-BA-MAZE made from plastic, apparently inspired by playing a marble maze game with his grandfather as a boy.
Vehicles
One of our favorites and a recent entry into the modular pantheon is Automoblox, a system of re-combinant cars and trucks made out of wood and brightly colored plastic. Beautifully designed and crafted, they are as much a delight to look at as they are to play with. The story of their creation and eventual success is nicely documented by their inventor in a series of web articles, which we recommend as reading for anyone crazy enough to want to bring something of quality to the market.
We might also put into this category all the electric train and car sets in which the tracks – and in the case of trains, the cars as well – come in interlocking segments that can be freely configured by their owner. Of the many such products Lionel trains stands in as similarly an exalted status within its category as LEGO does in its. Unlike the ongoing LEGO business, however, Lionel essentially ceased manufacturing in 1969 and was officially defunct by 1993. The divergent fortunes of these two icons of the toy industry make for an interesting comparative study as to why some products live on and others fade from view.
Electronics
For the mad scientist in your life, there is Snap Circuits, a modular system of interlocking parts which, when properly connected, perform all sorts of nifty electrically driven functions. Among them are a wind turbine, solar powered meters, an FM radio and motion detectors. We can attest from experience that boys go absolutely Lady Gaga for this kit of parts; in fact, they go so gaga they have a tendency to disassemble the handful of components within the system that are vulnerable to dismemberment. Thankfully there’s a brisk market for replacement parts, so science will continue to move forward despite their efforts to the contrary.
Dollhouses
Lest we suggest with our selection of categories that modular toys are predominantly oriented to boys, we include here some modular Dollhouses – not that we prescribe to outdated theories about gender of course (some of our best friends are girls). Still, as most of us are aware, dollhouses were traditionally oriented primarily to the lassies, who would presumably become acquainted with their future domestic duties by practicing them at a small scale. In most cases the dollhouse came already constructed or was first assembled by the Pater, since construction was as stereotypically a male skill set as interior furnishing and maintenance were female. Such neat gender divisions are nicely blurred when it comes to modular dollhouses, however, since the task of constructing the shell of the house out of the available parts becomes part of the user experience. Interestingly, many of the examples we show here were designed by architects, which might explain the prevailing mechanistic aesthetic, exemplified by a dollhouse in the form of modular shipping containers!
Sound Instruments
Music and modularity are closely intertwined, so its appearance among these categories should come as no surprise. Still, we were not entirely prepared for the charming device created by PKNTS called AMK (anagrams ‘r them). This is a modular sound toy designed for preschool children which, according to the designers, works in combination with a computer to transfer single sounds and sound sets to sound blocks, called Klangbausteine. Die Kinder can play independently with each module, or combine sounds by plugging blocks together.
Recyclable Toys
We conclude our survey with a neat and unexpected version of a modular toy. In 2007 Design21, a social design network, sponsored a design competition for a child’s toy with a requirement that it embody sustainability principles. Italian designer Barro de Gast came up with a terrific double whammy: he designed a packaging system for yogurt which, once the contents were consumed, could be transformed into a variety of children’s toys by means of interlocking tabs. Bravo Barro!
First of all, we’d like to know who said interior walls had to be flat as a pancake? Sure, it’s fine if you want to place a piece of furniture against them (although there’s usually a gap back there anyway because of the baseboard or chairrail). Sure, flat is good if you need to hang framed or canvas artwork on them. And sure, if you want to apply wallpaper to the wall, well, it really does need to be flat.
But let’s say you want to turn the wall into a piece of low-relief sculpture – after all, you’ve got enough painted and papered walls elsewhere in the space or building, and you really, really need some relief. Something to catch the eye by a dramatic play of light and shadow five, ten, twenty feet high, and just as long or longer. Something that would keep the eye moving up and down, left and right, in the way all good design should.
Left: “Uh, honey – I forgot to wear my pants today…” Middle: “I told you we were in a bubble!” Right: “Hey, looks like you lost a little weight there…”
Baby, what you could use is the modular wall surfacing system developed by modularArts, a Seattle-based company that started making this product in 2002. They offer over twenty different designs of modular panels, each thirty-two inches square and cast out of non-toxic mineral material. The panels interlock by means of a proprietary system of steel joints, and the company now offers a low VOC installation kit to further ensure sustainable building practices. Panels are light-weight and applied to sheetrock, so they can be installed by a finish crew using standard tools. The company has recently come out with a smaller scale module for use in residential contexts and for jobs smaller than typical commercial applications.
Being modular, of course, means the panels are flexible in terms of the overall size and configuration of the installation. That the modules are ‘pre-designed’ also brings an economy to the job insofar as it eliminates the need for costly customization while allowing for the creative disposition of the panels within the space.
The designs are on the whole abstract and freshly contemporary in appearance, with a taste of mid-century modern in a few of them. We also rather like that they’re uniformly white, which keeps the eye focused on the effects of light and shadow rather than be distracted by color or secondary patterns.
It was only recently that we stumbled on the work of Charlotte Posenenske, a German artist who was born in 1930 and survived life in Nazi Germany during World War II despite her partially Jewish heritage. Posenenske’s story is remarkable in a number of ways, not the least of which is that she is best known for a tiny body of work produced in just two years of a truncated ten-year career in visual art. That her tenure as an artist was relatively short had nothing to do with her passing in 1985 from the effects of cancer: rather, she had deliberately walked away from the art world seventeen years earlier, in 1968, never to look back again despite invitations for her to return. Instead, she spent the last part of her life pursuing a career as a sociologist, studying the effects of industrialization on organized labor.
Her choice of an alternative vocation, however, was not quite as disconnected from her preceding artistic pursuits as might seem the case at first glance. For in the sculptures for which she is now celebrated are interwoven some of the very same themes she would take up in her new profession: industrialism and its relationship to art and craft; how things are made and who is equipped to make them; and how we value objects in the marketplace. Imagine our excitement when we discovered that someone had been exploring several of the very concepts that interest us at A.R.T. today – only a half-century ago. Sure is hard to have an original idea around here!
The principal sculptures which we and others particularly admire were assembled by Posenenske from pieces which she designed to resemble ventilation ducts, such as one might find inside a building. Pieces were either of a rectangular, square or transitional section, and could be attached to each other with screws. Her choice of materials was limited to galvanized sheet metal and corrugated cardboard, with no hand-finishing or post-production treatment to pretty them up and belie their industrial origins.
As visually appealing as they may be in a purely formal sense, an important distinguishing feature of her duct sculptures is more conceptual than visual: that is, the pieces were designed by Posenenske to be re-configurable, meaning they could be detached and then re-attached in a myriad of different configurations. In other words, they were modular.
Posenenske put the fact of her sculpture’s modularity into practice by leaving it to curators to arrange the pieces as they saw fit when exhibited in galleries or curated spaces. By implication collectors and spectators would also be empowered to install them to their own specifications. For one event Posenenske herself choreographed a performance piece in which a crew of assistants dressed in white Lufthansa jumpsuits re-arranged a set of modules suspended from a ceiling in order to reinforce her ideas about the fluidity of their composition.
But her preferred environment for their display were public spaces, especially transportation nodes – airports, traffic islands, train stations. In part this stemmed from her political sensibilities; keep in mind this is all happening in 1967-68 when the counter-cultural wave of democratization and anti-establishmentarianism was about to reach a crescendo. The socially conscious Posenenske did not want her work to be the object of market speculation by collectors banking on their appreciation in value for reasons of a limited supply and the rising reputation of the artist. Besides physically locating her sculptures in more ‘democratic’ contexts than the privatized gallery space, Posenenske also intended for them to be produced in open edition and sold for the cost of their production.
If you’re familiar with some of the thinking behind the portfolio of work we offer through A.R.T., you can see immediately why we feel such a strong affinity for this fascinating figure.
Happily, public interest in Posenenske’s work seems to be rising again with a new book and catalogue, an exhibition at documenta 12 in 2007 and now, at the Artist’s Space in New York, a series of events and films (left) organized around the Vierkantrohe Series (Square Tube Series) of sculptures that we have focused on here. Part of the program at Artist’s Space faithfully reflects Posenenske’s attitude regarding the non-static character of art: four living artists have been invited to position the modules in the space to their liking over the course of successive weeks. Listen, if she was okay with some guys in Lufthansa suits playing around with her tubes, what harm could a few artists do?
Oy vey, does she really want a painting to go with her sofa?!
A documentary film about the abbreviated life of painter Jean-Michel Basquiat was reviewed recently in The Paper (you know, the Paper). Towards the end of the article the writer references a “tantalizing anecdote” where either one of the invited talking heads appearing in the film or Basquiat himself “tells of his [Basquiat’s] disgust at a patron who asked him to color-coordinate a painting to her living room”. This is a real-life version of a frequently repeated mise-en-scène in which the artist becomes aghast at the notion that his or her work could possibly be considered as somehow related to the surrounding décor. A fictionalized dramatization of the same scenario occurs in Woody Allen’s 1986 Hannah and Her Sisters when Dusty Frye (Daniel Stern) visits the studio of the artist Frederick (of Hollywood?) played by Max Von Sydow, who flies into a rage when the moneyed but obviously boorish Dusty explains his desire to find some art of sufficient scale for a place in Southhampton he’s renovating with the help of an interior decorator.
The aversion among the cognoscenti to the idea of connecting fine art to its physical environment is a relatively recent phenomenon. For centuries this was not at all the case; quite the contrary – art was very much viewed as part of a larger whole, rather than as self-contained, autonomous objects floating in their own hermetically sealed bubble. We can start by citing the ancient Greeks, who adorned every square inch on the inside of their pagan temples with works of painting and sculpture, all organized to harmonize with the surrounding architecture. The Romans continued the tradition, developed some new media to add to the mix (e.g., mosaics) and extended it into secular buildings and private dwellings. The practice reasserted itself with a vengeance in the art-crazed Renaissance, its apotheosis being the riotous agglomeration of artistry inside the Christian church, especially those in the northern reaches of Europe.
Things visually calm down a bit in the more restrained Neo-classical era, but in truth it’s during this period that the concept of the consummately designed environment – what would later be broadly labeled the gesamtkunstwerk, or ‘total work of art’ – emerges as a desired objective among design professionals working at a domestic as well as an institutional scale. Perhaps no entity better represents this new empowerment than the architectural and interior design firm headed by Robert and James Adam. As impresarios of a new attitude towards interior design, the Adam Brothers are among the first to regard the modern domestic interior as a weave of the fine and applied arts, and then to choreograph the execution of these spaces in a masterful assemblage of multiple media down to the smallest detail. To coordinate the parts into a coherent whole, their scope of work necessarily included the design of tableware, decorative accessories, furnishings and floor coverings, as well as the development and commissioning of the fine art program.
You might be thinking at the moment that this is all fine and good for the olden days, but hey, we’re in the 21st century now and we just don’t do that kind of stuff anymore. Well, not so fast: the first generation of Modern Masters were very much of the same mind as the Adam boys when it came to the idea of the totality of the arts. The doctrine of the gesamtkunstwerk underpinned the curriculum of the Bauhaus through its entire history, to take just one of many celebrated examples of modernism’s embrace of this philosophy.
Excuse me, Mr. Molina – I mean Rothko – there’s no smoking in the studio, even your own.
So when and why did artists start to think differently? Honestly, we can’t say for sure, but we can surmise that, like so many things, it all changed with the War (you know, the War) and the demise of the Beaux-Arts. To bolster this assertion we again cite a literary dramatization about artists – this time, the award-winning Broadway play Red. The play tells the story of the painter Mark Rothko in the late ‘fifties after he’s received a commission from noted architect Philip Johnson to paint some murals for the upscale Four Seasons restaurant inside New York’s Seagram’s Building. Rothko is both flattered and repulsed by the invitation, and ultimately decides to turn down the work in part because he felt the atmosphere was undignified and his artwork a mere palliative for the unenlightened fat cats who would be dining alongside them. Among the snippets of dialogue there lingers a whiff of familiar disdain for anyone who dares think of art as merely ‘decoration’ tacked onto a wall.
In historical fact, Rothko was among the last of a generation of artists who very much wanted to embed their art in the larger context of a holistic environment. His canvases for an eponymous chapel in Houston and his research in preparing for the project represent the very embodiment of an artist in search of a physical grounding for his work. So again, we ask, when did things go awry? Okay, here’s another stab: when the artist’s studio and the art gallery became White Cubes.
But that’s a story for another day. For now, we would simply like to note that our efforts to promote a modular art stem in part from our desire to see art and its setting re-united in a common vision. For one of the most appealing characteristics of modular art is its customizability, which provides the artist, collector and designer with a powerful tool for re-linking the components that make up a space. After all, isn’t the whole nearly always greater than the sum of its arts?
This model lost her head over her fabulous bag she was so happy with it!
If shoes are punctuation points encasing a part of the body, then a handbag is its extender as the body transitions from arm to hand to bag. The handbag, or pocketbook as it’s also been called, has many roles to play, including 1) to hold stuff; 2) to catch the eye of anyone design-savvy enough to know something cool when they see it and initiate conversation with said individual; 3) to complement and accentuate the rest of the fashion ensemble, thereby further advancing item 2; 4) to express one’s individuality and taste; and 5) to hold stuff. So, given how tightly the identity of person and bag are interwoven, what fashion object lends itself more naturally to the concept of mass customization than the pocketbook?
Laudi Vidni clearly realizes the insightfulness of our viewpoint, since they’re a web-based company that offers buyers the opportunity to personalize their handbags by selecting styles, materials, colors, ornaments and other details from an array of interactive menus. Their flash configurator is among the most visually and functionally sophisticated we’ve seen for ecommerce sites and is almost worth a visit for that reason alone.
Interestingly, this approach to handbag design is in some ways directly opposed to the counter-trend of creating value by elevating a mass produced item to cult status. The folks who put out the high-end Prada, Louis Vuitton and Hermes bags are continually searching for a singular, iconic item (like the Kelly bag) which they hope will be acquired by large numbers of people; Laudi Vidni facilitates the production of an almost limitless number of different bags each of which, ideally, would be acquired by just one individual. We see no reason why both approaches can’t remain viable in the marketplace for the foreseeable future, which makes this an excellent time to be alive and in the hunt for a handbag.
By the way, if you’re wondering about this company’s unusual sounding name, here’s a clue: think ANAGRAM. Now do you get it? Ahhhhhh, yessssss…of course!
We are very fond of these modular storage cubes (and larger cousins), for several reasons. First, their shape – the cube is one of those Platonic solids that the ancient Greek philosophers believed represented the atomic units from which all physical matter derived. We might no longer believe in such theories, but there remains something eternally appealing about this very elemental, cosmically pure geometry. And of course, at the root of the cube is the square, a favored shape for modular design by virtue of its direct application to grids (just glance at some of our own posts, like this one and this one).
The formal simplicity of this product is nicely mirrored in its straightforward construction and means of assembly — no tools, simply a strong eco-friendly adhesive to hold it together (wow, that must be seriously sticky). And just when you think things might be veering toward the formally ascetic, their designers wrap them in colors and finishes that range from child-friendly playful to elegantly adult. The contrasting tone along the edges and back face add to the whimsy of the brighter versions.
Top and middle:Way Basics offers kits for a larger sized unit called the “Tribeca” as well as the standard cube size; both can be customized by varying either their interior sub-division or by grouping multiple units in different combinations. Bottom: buyers can take the possibilities of personalization a step further by mixing and matching individual components from different series as well as by adding their own touches in the form of adhesive decorations, casters, and whatever else they can imagine. The company has also added some neat accessories to its line, including hardware for spinning stacked cubes and tightly fitted storage baskets. Thankfully there are legal or moral limits to what one can do with all these options!
Speaking of eco-, these products are composed of zBoard, which is made from recycled paper and non-toxic materials, and which is available to others for use in their products. Way Basics has received a lot of recognition from green-minded organizations and reviewers for their approach to sustainable design. This doesn’t appear to be just a marketing ploy on the company’s part to bolster sales — they seem genuinely involved in pro bono activities to foster sustainability at large.
Oh, and then there’s the price point; at these numbers who can not like them?
Apparently very few, judging from the strongly positive reviews they’ve gotten on Amazon (not to mention the company’s website, but we’d kind of expect that!). We look forward to seeing some more pieces from this company in the future.
Bottom: Moducool: Modular Vaccine Rucksack. Designed by Ian Friday (2010). Courtesy of Open Architecture Network.
Art and Design as a Return on Investment (ROI)
If the art market were a sport, then the painter Rackstraw Downes (b. 1939) should be credited with scoring a hat trick for appearing in no fewer than three different regional exhibitions at the same time: a small, focused show of his work at the Aldrich Contemporary Museum in Ridgefield, Connecticut; a broader retrospective at the Parrish Museum in Southampton, New York; and an exhibit of his drawings at the Betty Cuningham Gallery in New York’s Chelsea art ghetto. Most artists would be thrilled to have any one of these events on his or her résumé; in fact, the only person who appears to be a more popular subject in these parts than Mr. Downes at the moment is Andy Warhol and, sadly, he’s not around to enjoy it.
Mr. Downes’ work is notable, among other things, for synthesizing two seemingly opposing impulses: on the one hand, to lovingly render the material world by means of a luminous and sensuous application of paint, and on the other hand, to choose as his subject matter some of the least visually appealing snapshots of the urban streetscape. But we’re not going to dwell here on Mr. Downes artistic accomplishments. Rather, what caught our eye in the review of his works that appeared in the Times was the reference to his painting of the underbelly of the Westside Highway pictured above having taken him fifteen months to complete.
Now, it’s not clear whether Mr. Downes spent these months working exclusively on this particular painting, or whether he is the sort to have several projects underway at the same time, but in either case we are reminded of the labor intensity of good old-fashioned plein-air easel painting. The hugeness of the time invested is only further amplified in our minds when we realize that the object which is born out of this endeavor is singular in nature – that is, there is and always will be only one painting to show for the effort (along with some notebooks compiled by Mr. Downes and, of course, a potentially infinite number of inferior mechanical reproductions). Only one person or institution will be able to own it, and a limited number of people able to view it.
By the laws of supply (necessarily low, given Mr. Downes’ working method) and demand (high, given the artist’s reputation and quality of work), the cost to acquire one of Mr. Downes’ works is no doubt very substantial. Which further means that only a limited number of people or institutions will be able to purchase it. Let’s not bemoan the fact or question the value of Mr. Downes’ work or the work of other artists who create by means of manual craft; this is how capitalism is played, and apparently nobody’s thought of a better way to do it.
Speaking of capitalism, these circumstances raise a question in our minds about value, or more particularly, about a return on investment (ROI) when it comes to objects of art and design: how do we measure the value of the work product relative to the amount of creative energy invested in producing it? In the case of “West Side Highway”, it’s fair to say that the high quality of the piece is offset by the large amount of time and effort needed to produce it and by the comparatively small size of the audience which will enjoy it, and therefore its relative valuation is at best, in strictly capitalistic terms, flat. Take a painting similarly composed by another artist who is lesser known or, um, emerging, and the valuation of the return on effort goes into negative territory since the sales price for such work is likely to be considerably less than Mr. Downes commands, and far fewer will clamor to see it.
Now let’s apply the same approach to assessing ROI for a work of modular art or design. In its most elemental form a single module deployed in multiples is sufficient to generate a piece that has the aesthetic integrity and critical mass to stand on its own, as in the illustrated example from the textile designer Mia Cullin (left). The greatest investment of creative energy required to realize Cullin’s concept no doubt went into the design of the individual module, which we can reasonably presume did not remotely approach the fifteen months needed to create the Downes canvas. Even adding in the time needed to evolve from individual module to concepts for assembled pieces, or the hours spent developing prototypes, or the interaction of the designer with the parties responsible for the physical production of the modules, would not greatly alter the disparity between the (hu)man-hours required for the two works. And if one objects to comparing a fine art painting with a textile design as a case of apples and oranges, we can reply that the very same point could have been made by referencing works by recognized modular artists like Sol Lewitt, Tony Smith, Norman Carlberg and others.
Having spent far fewer waking hours devising her module, Cullin was ostensibly free to design other modules and other pieces in the same amount of time it took Downes to make just one. But here is where the ROI of the modular approach really pays off: unlike the singular work of art, which is both the beginning and the end of itself, the design of the individual module spawns an infinite number of subsequent iterations, since it can be reproduced in unlimited quantities with no loss of artistic quality. When we figure in the limitless permutations that can be generated from the design of a single module, then the potential ROI of modular art and design balloons to an astronomically high figure.
Using slightly different terminology and a metric based purely in terms of energy versus output, we can say that modular art and design is by its nature a highly efficient system of both design and production, whereas the arduous practice of crafting fine art by hand is a largely inefficient means of value creation. Efficiency benefits the greatest number of people by producing the greatest amount of goods or services at the lowest cost; inefficiency yields a lower supply, an inflated price point and a necessarily restricted audience.
Which takes us, finally, the question of socially responsible design. If the modular method is in fact highly efficient and provides a high rate of return on the investment of creative energy, then it stands to bear that it is equally advantageous as a means of addressing the problems that afflict humankind, or at least those which can be ameliorated with the help of design. A recent project by Ian Friday for a modular vaccine rucksack, affectionately labeled Moducool (ah, a wordsmith after our own heart), reminds us that design can indeed solve problems beyond those of a purely aesthetic nature. And in a world of limited resources and a seemingly unlimited number of humanitarian ills, we need to “capitalize” on any expedient we can find.
Project Description of Moducool, via Open Architecture Network:
Function
Moducool is a modular vaccine rucksack designed to aid in the transportation and distribution of vital vaccine vials in rural areas of developing countries. Vaccine vials must be kept between 2 and 8 degrees Celsius, anything above or below and they start to lose potency. Millions of pounds worth of vaccines are wasted every year because of heat damage. Moducool features removable insulated modules that house custom-made icepacks allowing each module to be dedicated to particular communities, thus, ensuring that only the vaccines needed at any one point are exposed to heat. In the existing product, there is no other storage for syringes or anyway to dispose of medical waste. Moducool, however, features a removable sharps box and extra storage to ensure that the user takes away all the medical waste and can carry the vaccines with both hands free, making climbing mountains to reach remote communities much safer.
Inspiration
Inspiration came from a documentary on the immunization process within developing countries and witnessing aid workers struggling to carry the cumbersome existing product, a traditional cool box. The major flaw in the existing product is the fact that it only has a single chamber that the vials are stored in. As the aid workers tend to visit multiple communities within a day, with a single chamber, it results in all the vaccines being exposed to heat every time the lid is opened. The cold air is released and hot air enters, therefore, risking heat exposure to ALL the vials. The advantage of Moducool’s modular design is that only the vaccine vials required at certain locations are exposed to heat, thus, keeping more vials colder for longer which could potentially saves millions of dollars and lives.
Development
Development involved initial user, task and environment research to develop the idea in to a potential product. Many cardboard prototypes were made of various insulated rucksack forms and tested with potential users. A PDS was developed which adhered to World Health Organization criteria regarding vaccine transportation. A full working prototype was made by hand and was fully evaluated with potential users. Feedback was highly positive and users felt there was a real need for the product.
We must admit, despite our own efforts in the field of Word Art, that we’ve often felt uncomfortable with the preachy tone of a lot of work coming out of this genre. Maybe that’s because the conversation has always seemed…well, kind of one-sided. And in your face. And over-scaled. And prone to one-liners and the self-consciously profound. And most of all, very top-down because of the tendency among word artists to deliver their content in the form of proclamations, an attitude underscored by the widespread use of text laid out in all caps.
But in the age of crowdsourcing this sort of dictatorial attitude can no longer relied upon to attract viewers, so it’s interesting to see how the art world is straining to meet the crowd halfway by associating a major figure in Word Art like Holzer with an interactive art project. Titled ADDRESS (there are those caps again), the project is connected with an exhibition of her work at Montreal-based DHC/ART Foundation for Contemporary Art, running from June 30 to November 14, 2010. It’s billed by the host as an Art Education project, which is a somewhat puzzling label and perhaps reflects the uncertainty of the host as to how to involve spectators in the otherwise passive experience of viewing art exhibitions.
Projects by Jenny Holzer, from the artist’s website. Words words words!
In any case, the project has something to do with inscriptions, postcards, mailboxes, graphic imagery, video and the Canadian postal system, although how they interrelate is not altogether clear from the DHC/ART website. Perhaps you will have better luck if you read it yourself:
Project
Participants will create a postcard based on the theme of social engagement. At the end of the exhibition participants will be invited to take part in a happening where as a group, each card will be addressed and deposited in a selected mailbox as a symbolic, group gesture.
In reference to themes explored by Jenny Holzer, the participant will call up and reflect upon social engagement inspired by:
a point of view on human behavior
a point of view on culture
a reflection or critique on society
Text is central to this project. The challenge is to express an idea in a one word or concise phrase in order to remain within the constraints of the postcard format, which may motivate the participant to take a poetic approach.
Creation of a postcard
The participants will receive a short presentation from the DHC/ART Educators about the postcard’s presence in art history, on the public function of objects and the impact of words in poetic writing in order to contextualize the project.
Each participant will then receive a blank postcard on which they are free to:
Visually interpret the word or phrase on the front of the card
Write the word or phrase on the back of the card and to create a visual on the front that is thematically linked to the word or phrase
The participant may use drawing, photography, painting, collage and decoupage to make their creation.
Exhibition
The projects will be exhibited in the Education Space and in a virtual gallery on DHC/ART’s website. A reception will be held to conclude the project.
Happening 10 / 11 / 10
During the closing reception, participants will be invited to go as a group to a selected mailbox where the cards will be deposited as a symbolic gesture. This event will be documented on video and posted on DHC/ART’s website and Facebook page.
*DHC/ART will provide postage for the mailing. Canada only. [Thanks guys! ~Eds.]
Within the sphere of customizable products one might say the two areas most ripe for personalization are the things you put in your body (food) and the things you put on your body (clothes). We’ve already begun to look at examples of the latter (as in this earlier post), so now let’s check out the food department (pardon the puns).
Of course, one could say that cooking is itself a process of customization — mixing together individual ingredients in infinitely diverse combinations to produce coherently tasteful ensembles. What’s perhaps fresh about the idea of customizable edibles is that it’s happening now at the level of prepared foods, rather than remaining at the miniature scale of individual preparation. Especially since this is not an industry known for finessing its wares — listen, when they say General Foods, they mean general foods!
Now, we understand the economic (and perhaps even moral) challenge of trying to shift the packaging of food from the scale of mass production to one of mass customization, but then, that’s what the shift towards the New Industrialism concept is all about. So here are just a few of the companies working now to satisfy the hearts, minds and tummies of their customers by personalizing their comestible wares.
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Chocri: Customized Chocolate Bars
Chocri is a German startup, founded in September 2008, and then launched in the US in January of this year. Chocri enables its customers to design their own chocolate bars by selecting from a menu of base chocolates (white, dark or milk) and toppings, of which there are over 100. These include global favorites, like nuts and dried fruit, but if you really want to surprise someone you can also choose real gold flakes, roasted almonds, pretzel, chive rolls, and even jalapenos! Talk about hot chocolate…Anyway, the bars are made in Germany and shipped globally.
Chocri says it wants you to eat chocolate and fully enjoy the good feeling it creates, so they claim to use only the best ingredients, such as organic, fair trade chocolate from Belgium. And, since goodness comes in different forms, they also state that they donate a percentage of their revenues to DIV Kinder, an organization that supports children in the West African country of Ivory Coast. According to a running tally on their website, these donations are approaching $50,000 to date.
YouBars: Customized Trail Mix, Cookies and Other Nibbles
This online operation takes the cake (sorry) when it comes to the variety of customizable food products offered by a single site. Here’s the list of offerings: nutrition and energy bars; protein shakes; trail mix; cookies; and cereal. While the cookie category stands out at first glance as not exactly aligned with the nutritional goals of the other products, the company has done a pretty good job of offering healthy choices among its ingredient options. The website even provides a nutrition chart on every category page, which is not a universal feature among the other sites reviewed here. The About Us page, by the way, tells the classic story of a start-up launched by a mother/son team and the business’s subsequent evolution. We wish them the best of luck with their venture.
We love our animals, certainly enough that we’re willing to spend time concocting their very own chow online. Yup, pup — you heard us right: throw away that bag of Purina, you’re getting a custom mix of your very own! And same with you, my friendly feline. Actually, the degree of product customization is relatively modest; you go on the Red Moon website, select one of the available base formulas, add a supplement or two from another list and choose your bag size. The order is then shipped direct to you and your mammalian companions. Re-order the very same mix from the saved formula when that last shipment’s been devoured by the hungry beasts.
Forget the iPhone, forget the iPad, forget even iTunes — the topper is now…iScream! Yes, the old chant “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ICE CREAM” can finally be put to rest, or at least truncated after the very first line, since WE no longer all have to grab spoonfuls of the delicious foodstuff from the same container as it’s being passed across the sofa. Thanks to an online purveyor of customizable ice cream called eCreamery, we can now create our very own personalized flavors and have them shipped to us in tastefully designed containers bearing the flavor names of our choice. Don’t ask us how they manage to get the stuff to our doors without melting in a gooey mess, but they do.
The company’s configurator is easy to use and involves a four-step process of which the most impressive part is the long list of mix-ins — those added accent flavors that take ice cream out of the bland chocolate/vanilla/strawberry mode that existed before Baskin-Robbins’ 31 Flavors arrived on the scene in the Early Boomer Age. Thanks to mass customization we can now guffaw at the notion of having only thirty-one flavors to choose from — although we’re not sure the world is quite ready for avocado-flavored ice cream!
Okay, so this is the kind of food product that you DON’T want people trying to customize, at least, not in terms of formulating the food itself. So what do you do if you still want to provide your customers with the co-creative experience? You let them design some of the packaging, of course! That’s what the people at Heineken did, and we must say, it would be pretty cool to serve your guests a bottle of beer with a picture of your frat brother’s derrière on the reverse side – you know, a heiny on your Heine!
General disclaimer: listen, we’re art and design types, not food critics, so we can’t vouch for the taste or preparation quality of anything discussed here. That’s why we’re inviting our readers to send in their own reviews and recipes for customizable eats from these or any other sites, so we can compare notes and all head to the nearest food configurator!
From bricks to blobs: Who said walls had to be straight? Contractors will love this!
The late great architect Louis Kahn once famously asked “what does a brick want to be?”. Probably few of his responders answered back, “a blob”. But then, when Kahn posed his inquiry, future architect Greg Lynn (b. 1964) was probably playing with his Froebel blocks in his parents’ Ohio home and had no idea that he would one day demonstrate the viability of just such an idea.
Flash forward a couple of decades, and Lynn has emerged as a leading proponent of ‘blob architecture’, a term which he helped coin in the mid-1990s. This particular aesthetic is a good example of form following tech, meaning that the artist is letting the available tools guide the creative process, rather than first visualizing a composition and then figuring out how to realize it. In the case of blob architecture, it’s the development of 3D modeling software and the robotic machinery capable of fabricating objects with complex volumes that make this design approach feasible.
Blob architecture is characteristically organic in form, meaning it emulates the soft contours with which nature tends to endow its living creations. It generally avoids the flat surfaces, right angles and clear demarcation of boundaries that we typically associate with works of architecture and the shaping of space by human hands (like rooms enclosed by straight walls). Think of it as the Vitruvian man with the circle but without the square.
Understanding that the whole is dependent on the part, Lynn has explored blob architecture not only as a large-scale undertaking but on the level of the micro-building unit as well. His modular Blobwall brick system — currently marketed by the Panelite company — is a 21st century reinvention of the ancient building block as transformed by the computer. Gone are the measurable dimensions, rectilinear outlines and planar faces that make the traditional brick such an effective building material when stacked and placed in rows. In their place are undulating surfaces, non-linear points of assembly and irregular geometries that require automated fabrication techniques, like rotational molding, to accomplish. Moreover, the blob bricks are completely hollow, and therefore can’t be used to support weight from above, perhaps reflecting the modernist’s ambivalence toward classic brick as a load-bearing material.
Nonetheless, the Blobwall bricks share with their ancient counterparts the capacity to be joined together as modular units to form larger compositions. Robbed of their structural role, assembled Blobwalls hover between sculpture, architecture and design — yet another manifestation of the steady erosion of boundaries that permeates our culture of digital connectivity.
Flor carpet tiles, Alexander Girard, designer. Girard is best known for his contributions to American textile design while working for the Herman Miller Company from 1952 to 1975.
Co-creative design hits bottom with modular carpet tiles from the company Flor. The concept is elegantly simple: users create customized area rugs and carpeting by joining together square carpet tiles in a design of their choice. Tiles come in a broad array of colors and patterns, so there’s a pretty wide range of expressive possibility available. In addition to the company’s own tile designs, there are a few collections from guest designers, including Martha Stewart, famed textile designer Alexander Girard and, yes, Walt Disney (or at least, his eponymous company). Hey, kids deserve nice floors too! (And if you surround them with beautiful things when they’re young, maybe they’ll grow up to make the world an even more beautiful place than we did.)
In case you’re wondering how the tiles stay together…well, we did too. Dots. Or more specifically, adhesive dots that are applied to the underside of adjacent tiles sticky face up. When placed on each tile they knit the whole into a pretty tight mesh that isn’t susceptible to movement any more than a conventional rug would be.
Most of the face fibers in the tiles are made from nylon, while others are composed of natural fibers like wool or PLA (polylactic acid, a natural derivative from corn). The backings are a vinyl composite, some of which are made from recycled materials. According to the company, the carpet tiles meet or exceed the Carpet and Rug Institute’s Green Label Plus standards for VOC emissions (Volatile Organic Compounds) and are recyclable.
Looking at this product we are inevitably drawn to make comparisons with the traditionally crafted textiles of bygone eras. At the highest reaches of artistic refinement are the great rugs of the Islamist cultures, marvels of intricate patterning and quality of weave. Right alongside them we can place the best wall tapestries from the Middle Ages and the later classic rugs from Aubusson and other European centers of production. One can only imagine the time and effort that went into these pieces, both in terms of their actual production and the years of learning that it took to develop the craft and train the craftsmen who did them.
The there’s Flor. In place of the strand-by-strand approach of traditional weaving we have pre-fabricated squares of material. Instead of specialized craftsmen we have a product design company teaming with non-specialist users to create pieces of aesthetic and practical value. Instead of great works of art accessible only to the very affluent, we have a widely distributed article of embellishment available to large numbers of people. Such are the consequences of economic and artistic democratization.
By the way, the concept of modular floor coverings goes back quite a ways, and is not confined to the western hemisphere. The Japanese placed straw mats on the floors of their dwellings for centuries. Known as tatami, their approximately three foot by six foot proportion corresponds to the outlines of a person lying down – an interesting contrast to the abstract square geometry of the Flor tiles. A whole tradition of how to lay out the tatami inside a room evolved over time; in some cases the size of the room was even determined by the arrangement of the mats. Much of the tatami tradition has now disappeared from common use, but maybe a little of its spirit continues in its modern incarnation at Flor.
The Twin Groves Wind Farm Lookout is a publicly accessible landscape installation in central Illinois. It serves as an information center and viewing platform for the Horizon Wind Energy company to teach the public about renewable energy. Metalab digitally modeled the design as a kit-of-parts to be made in Houston and then delivered to remotely located sites in modified shipping containers.
For about the last 150 years there’s been a notable divergence among visual artists in terms of how the works of art got made. Painters and sculptors have typically created their pieces themselves, while architects designed structures and spaces but then turned over the job of constructing them to builders and craftsmen.
That’s all likely to change now, and in fact has been for some time. As the use of digital fabrication technology continues to spread among visual artists, we’ll likely see more and more of them adopting the architectural method of separating the conception of the work from its fabrication by utilizing automated machinery to produce their work. Meanwhile, architects are taking down the historical wall between design and construction by exploiting the same technologies to conceive and then manufacture building components for their projects.
In combining expertise in architecture, design, construction and digital fabrication technology, the Texas-based firm Metalab is a clear example of this new trend toward consolidating the creative processes in the architectural field. Principals Joe Meppelink and Andrew Vrana bring to the table experience in each of these disciplines both as practical undertakings and, more recently, as academic subjects in courses they teach at the University of Houston.
Top left and middle: Ceiling Cloud, a suspended acoustic and lighting ceiling system. Top right: Mirabeau B Sales Center, a temporary structure constructed from recycled shipping containers and digitally fabricated components. Bottom left and middle: New Harmony Grotto at the Univ. of Houston. A reimagination of Frederick J. Kiesler’s Cave for the New Being, in digitally fabricated steel. Bottom right: Press+Pleat+Peel, a digitally fabricated panel system for architectural applications.
Metalab’s portfolio reflects this diversity, comprising work in architecture, product design, digital fabrication and, interestingly, civic art. For this last category the firm has teamed with individual artists to realize projects requiring a working knowledge of digital fabrication. “Open Channel Flow”, a work of public sculpture commissioned by the City of Houston Art Collection from New York-based artist Matthew Geller, provided the occasion for Metalab to contribute turn-key services, including architectural design, custom component fabrication and construction management.
On a similar scale, the firm collaborates with ttweak renewables, a marketing, design and communications firm specializing in renewable energy development and other sustainable technologies. The two offices work together to design and fabricate lookouts, kiosks and visitors’ centers for educating the public about renewable energy within a public landscape context.
Metalab is also affiliated with Tex-fab, an organization which presents itself as “a resource for designers, academics, fabricators, and students seeking out the innovative application of digital technology to the physical environment”. Its programs include workshops, lectures, exhibitions and competitions – the first of which is is now underway (check out our earlier post). The group’s network is largely composed of Texas-based companies, institutions and individuals, but it’s looking outward for opportunities to collaborate with similar entities in metropolitan centers across the U.S. and internationally as well.
Metalab’s diverse menu of services and array of professional associations grow from a culture of collaboration fostered in part by the ability of the Internet to connect us. Maybe it’s all a dream, but thanks to the computer, we may all wake up one day to discover that cooperation has finally supplanted competition as the true catalyst for human advancement.
On behalf of The Emerging New York Architects Committee, Versa Design, Lero Lero Productions and Archinect.com, we would like to invite you to the premiere event Shifting Paradigms: Design in Transition.
This event will explore the evolving relationship between the creators of the built environment and the technological advancements in the design and fabrication process that are facilitating a new contemporary language of architecture.
Shifting Paradigms will feature the premiere of (Re)centering the Square, a documentary film which provides in-depth analysis of the recently completed 41 Cooper Square in New York City. Designed by Morphosis Architects, this academic laboratory exists as a pure child of the digital age, providing a comprehensive model of how digital technology and a growing concern for environmental sustainability have impacted the design disciplines over the last decade. Framed around an engaging discussion with the Project Manager, Jean Oei of Morphosis Architects and Dr. George Campbell, President of the Cooper Union, (Re)centering the Square features a compelling visual tour of the facility, a detailed narrative from multiple perspectives explaining the forces which drove the design process forward and captures the transformation of the architectural profession over the last ten years through the lens of this visionary project.
Following the film, a panel of leading practitioners and researchers will examine how contemporary advancements in digital technology and environmental sustainability are propelling our most innovative design experiments, facilitating a new architectural discourse, redefining the relationship between designers and machines and helping to shape how humans will interact with the built environment in future generations.
Tuesday June 22nd at the Center for Architecture
FREE ADMISSION + WINE & H’OURDERVES
6:00pm Wine & H’ourderves
6:35pm Film Premiere
7:15pm Panel Discussion
Panelists Include:
Marty Doscher: Morphosis Architects
Paul Seletsky: ArcSphere
David Benjamin: The Living New York / Columbia University GSAPP
Neil Meredith: Front / Columbia University GSAPP
David Pysh: Gehry Technologies
Moderated by Jason Ivaliotis: Versa Design
(Re)Centering the Square
Director: Elba Calado
Executive Producer: Jason Ivaliotis
“Lily”. Carpet formed from star-shaped leather modules. Produced by Mia Cullin.
We greatly admire the ‘soft’ work of Mia Cullin, a Swedish designer and interior architect. She designs what might be described as modular textile systems in traditional and modern materials. Her palette includes felt, Tyvek (a modern synthetic often used as a wrap in building construction), leather and wool. Cullin’s modules have the appearance of multi-lobed geometric figures suggesting flowers, snowflakes and other centralized figures drawn from organic nature. The undercutting of the shapes forming the perimeter allows the textile units to be joined together by folding and interlocking adjacent lobes. Together they weave a tapestry of repetitive forms whose uniformity is relieved by the play of light and shadow among the variously raised pieces of fabric. The natural wave of the assembled pieces, a judicious use of cut-out figures within some of the modular designs, and the natural surface texture of the materials adds to the visual play.
“Flake”. Star-shaped Tyvek modules joined together to form drapery and screens. Produced by Woodnotes.
Cullin’s work is conceived in the context of interior design, which is unsurprising in light of her professional training and activities. Variously described as ‘screens’ and ‘draperies’, her textile work bridges the realms of product and interior design, art and craft.
We recently enjoyed seeing one of her designs featured at the Cooper-Hewitt Design Triennial in New York. She is a regular contributor to design fairs and exhibitions in Europe.
“Four Leaf Clover”. Leather carpet formed from clover-shaped modules. Produced by Mia Cullin.
From the designer’s website:
“Mia’s design is described as simple, poetic and elegant. Visualizing the object’s construction plays an important role. Many of her products contain a textile feeling where handicraft, folding and origami are sources of inspiration. Her works with assembled modules creating surfaces with relief patterns discerns a fascination for geometry.
Among her clients are Woodnotes, Nola, idea, Habitat, Ateljié Lyktan and Asplund.”
Elimelech’s cubes are approximately 3 inches square on each face, which makes them perfectly scaled to the human hand.
Los Angeles artist Moshé Elimelech makes cubist art — only not the kind you’re probably thinking of. Elimelech’s pieces are constructed of a series of cubes nested in a gridded container mounted on a wall. Each cube is rendered on all six sides with a variety of solid colors and bold geometric figures. The cubes can be removed from their cells and rotated to present any face to the viewer. By manipulating the choice of visible surfaces the artist or co-creator can generate a nearly infinite number of graphic compositions, either deliberately or by chance rotations.
Elimelech’s work reminds us how rare it is for artists to invite the viewer to actually touch the art they’ve made. We’re usually warned by signs or sternly faced museum guards not to do any such thing, which is understandable since most pieces are not constructed with that possibility in mind (not to mention the need to protect them against theft). On the other hand, that persistent distancing between us and the art makes our experience of it too uniformly passive for an interactive and energetic culture such as ours. It also reinforces the perception of the art object as something endowed with a sacred aura to be venerated, rather than as an agent of material beauty and sensuous delight to be enjoyed.
Exhibiting steadily since the 1980s, Elimelech shows primarily in California galleries, and has work represented in several museum design stores as well.
“Cubic Constructions” by Moshé Elimelech. Though they may look like independent and distinct works, the various compositions in each image derive from a single assortment of cubes. It’s often surprising how such a broad range of formal diversity can be generated from a finite set of modular components.
From the artist’s website:
“Expressing his fascination of the nature of duality, artist Moshé Elimelech has created a unique series of three-dimensional abstract cubic constructions that invite the viewer to reinterpret each piece. Putting into play his notion of opposing forces has yielded works that are fixed yet mutable, precise but free-flowing, analytical yet imaginative, singular in essence and at the same time open to reinterpretation.”
A competition was recently held to design a temporary pavilion for Governors Island, a historic former military encampment and Coast Guard base in New York Harbor. The brief called for the design of a shelter and gathering place for people participating in planned and impromptu events during the summer season. Entrants were instructed to design the installation as an efficient structure and as a model of sustainable construction. The competition was jointly sponsored by FIGMENT and The Emerging New York Architects Committee of the American Institute of Architects New York Chapter (ENYA) and the Structural Engineers Association of New York (SEAoNY).
Ann Ha and Behrang Behin were selected as the winning team for their design Living Pavilion. The vaulted structure employs reclaimed milk crates as a modular framework for holding plant materials to serve as infill material (we hope it grows fast). The design recalls the graceful vaults built in America at the turn of the last century using the Guastavino tile arch system. Unlike the Guastavino works, however, this structure will be disassembled in October 2010 and its crates given away for re-use.
We rather like the integration of nature and structure in the interweaving of organic and inorganic matter, as well as the contrast of the qualities of soft and hard, organic and industrial, variegated and uniform.
Henry Ford, move over – the New Industrialism is here. Mass customization, modular design, co-creation, robotics, production on demand, open innovation and other computer-driven technologies are changing the way things are made all over the globe. Inevitably they'll change the fields of art and design too – not only how work is produced, but how it’s thought about. In fact, the shift has already begun. Our goal is to show you how.
