Spatial Design

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September 29, 2006

Plasticity of Motion

Went a bit long on this one, just an area I've thought a lot about…

I had a very unexpected response to this reading. I trained as an actor, and some years ago read the seminal Stanislavski writings on acting and the theatre. At the time I accepted these teachings as the revered wisdom of the great master, as have generations of performers. To be sure, what Stanislavski did with his experiments in presenting psychological and emotional truth on the stage changed everything and created the foundation of the theatre we have today. What I remember from these books is the instruction to focus deeply on the physical, organic and natural, or “emergent” experience. Which is to say, as the “Plasticity of Motion” discusses, to ask such questions as: How does one walk? How does one move through space? How do I sit, or stand, or put on my hat? And then, given the quality and nature of my movement, or stillness, how then does that resonate and reflect the character and the story that is being told. And finally, to bring my awareness to whatever emotional and psychological states may arise from the physical state, from my awareness of the space I’m in and the manner in which I move through it.

Of course, this is counterintuitive for most people. The vast majority of first-time actors instinctively begin with attempting to find ways to display the emotional content of the story. Once in a great while, someone will come along with a curious ability to do so convincingly, and can repeat that each night. However, most of us cannot do so, and moreover, the viewer, when watching another having an intensely emotional experience, is closed off from having an experience of their own. I remember a moment in a production of “Antigone” where an actress had a moment of true emotional breakdown, sobbing hysterically. It was real, it was true, and it was theatrically not that interesting. All of the oxygen was sucked out of the room and all of the light seemed to become focused only on her and her moment of grief. The space itself deflated. It wasn’t because the actress was false in her tears, but that the “truth” we talk about in the theater is something that happens in the imagination. Room must be left for the spectator to enter the story, to see and experience the story in their own way. This interaction, between the imagination of those creating the event, and the imagination of those watching it, is what gives a performance it’s dynamism, it’s risk and it’s thrill.

Reading “Plasticity of Motion” again, many years later, I experienced conflicting thoughts. I was struck at first by the suggestion that there is a “correct” way to walk. While the intention of Tortsov’s instruction is to direct one’s attention to the nature and manner of our movement, we cannot have this idea that there is a particular way to walk. There are an infinite number of ways we could move through a space, and the specific qualities of that movement are such a subtle and eloquent storytelling device. The tone of the instruction in this chapter of “Building a Character” seemed to emphasize the “wrongness” of each actor’s movement, the disorientation that results from questioning an essential action. While asking such questions and exploring the range of possibilities in one’s movement is an essential experience for any performer, for any person really, telling someone that they are not moving correctly sets a strong psychological barrier to the very goal of exploring how to move.

I was also struck by the emphasis on industrial analogies to human movement. Of course, this was at a time where the machines of the industrial age had begun to awe people, trains that crossed continents, motors that could move people and products, ships, planes and automobiles. It was interesting to me to consider the human form as a machine – yes, there are resemblances, but only to a point. And humans are much more complex and interesting then the machines we make. The joints of the hip, knee and ankle do act like the shock absorbers in our cars, but you can also say “I love you” with your toes. It’s important to use and then discard our metaphors. We can also talk about moving through a space in terms of how the light was shifted by our shadows, or the way the sound changed.

I’m not saying that Tortsov is wrong in his description of movement, only that strong and powerful ideas that have been influential for a hundred years often need a bit of dusting off. Yes, this is one way to think about the question – what are others? We should take from Stanislavski the most essential instruction of all, which is to follow his example. Continue to ask questions of yourself and your work. Revise, discard, accept unexpected information and be sensitive to what results. Stanislavski did this his whole life. He did not arrive at a static truth that can now be disseminated to the masses, and it is a mistake to approach his teachings this way. A good friend of mine once referred to a lot of graduate school acting as the “limp noodle” school of performance. Since so many of us come in naturally with odd tensions and habits of holding ourselves, most graduate acting programs emphasize relaxation, ease of movement, a dilated physicality that the personality of the character illuminates. This is very useful and effective, but if we’re all doing the same thing physically the story begins to be about How we’re moving, instead of Why we’re moving.

Yes, let’s examine how we walk. Let’s also ask why.

Posted by Nathan Guisinger at 10:43 PM

September 28, 2006

Plasticity of Motion (in architecture)

Reading about the exercises those actors were doing reminded me of exercises I have done in pilates classes, where (among other things) you have to bend and stretch your back one vertebrae at a time. Paying attention to the way your body moves, and making it move in a very precise, controlled way that takes you through the whole range of motions your body can go is a great exercise, but you really have to concentrate to be able to do it. It's unfortunate that what comes most natural to us (in terms of walking, moving in general) is a much sloppier version of what we are supposed to be doing.

I thought the mercury exercise was great. Adding some intention to the motion (not letting the drop fall) makes it much more interesting to do. I tried doing the exercise myself, and then I started thinking about how these motions would look in a three-dimensional structure. This made me think of a kinetic sculpture by Calatrava in Athens (built for the Olympics) that is like this giant oscillating wave.

The sculpture is made up of vertical bars that move back and forth and their timing is such that the whole structure has a continuous wave-like motion. It's really beautiful.

Other works of Calatrava in Athens also express this same idea of spinal articulation, and fluidity of motion, even though they are static. This arched passageway is one example of this. I don't know how evident it is in the photo, but it is curving and the curve of the structure reminds me of the curve in someone's spine.

Posted by Kyveli Vezani at 11:30 AM

Plasticity of Motion

After reading the first few pages of Plasticity of Motion where so much concentrates on the act of walking, I was reminded of some advice I received shortly after I graduated college from a writer here in New York named Adam Sachs. I'm not sure if he heard this somewhere or if he made it up, but it's stuck with me and it's pretty humorous: he told me to get a funny walk. He said it would serve three purposes: a) a funny walk will help you standout in the crowd, b) it will keep you entertained on any journey and c) if I were to step in shit, it would look like it's all part of the act. I can't say I took his advice literally, but I figured his words might serve as a light contrast to those from the opening of the essay.

I did appreciate some of the larger ideas from Plasticity of Motion and Paul Tortsov. The line "If they would lend an attentive ear to their own mechanics, they would sense an energy rising from the deepest wells of their beings, from their very hearts," takes me back to an oil painting class I had has a teenager where my teacher would ask me to always stand while painting and feel my energy rise up from my stomach through my arms and to use that to paint with. It seemed like an odd thing at the time when I was more concern with learning brush strokes with my hand and my teacher was asking me to pay attention to the rest of my body instead. The idea of the unbroken line certainly works for me as a metaphor as to the artist's need to be honest in feeling and to remain true to an expression until the expression is complete. This echos a similar plea from Wendell Berry in his essay 'The Responsibilities of the Poet.' And when the ideas of tempo and rhythm were discussed, not only did I think of poetry but also of basketball, a sport that has often served me with a zen like state when I have the opportunity to escape to it. Perhaps the physical motion I have practiced and considered the most in my life is the jump shot/cross-over dribble and the mechanics associated with it. I decided to use this as the inspiration for my project.

Posted by Charles Miller at 10:11 AM

Motion – Movement – Motion

Over time I’ve periodically paid attention to movement, particularly motion and rhythm, which then I construct a tune to further accentuate and prolong that motion and its fluidity. I would watch and listen for a period of time till it falls into a rhythmic pattern. After reading Stanislavsky’s ‘Plasticity Of Motion’ it inspired me to recall, observe and employ elasticity and floating form in my immediate surroundings. At least I am able to conjure up a pattern with a rhythmic form. I look at the movement of people on the subways, their stance at rest, the stance at anticipation on the platform, their entry into and out of the train, and their stance in the train during its motion. I often affix my feet at various positions and balance without hand support – how long can I surf the train before the wave of stops and turns send me crashing to onto bystanders or face-plant into the metal bars. At those moments I pay attention to my body, almost motionless till I have to shift to offset the opposing forces, may that be the movement of the train or people. I evolve into elastic and solid forms simultaneously. Every angle, movement, non-movement, and rhythm of the train on the tracks all serve a purpose – I am floating at those moments, at least for a brief self-connected moment.

Working on my class project I decided to observe motion in water. Form, timing and elasticity is very important when in water. Catherine was my subject for this observation. As she moved through he water I looked at her position, every stroke, every kick, every breath of air taken. First she kicks off with her extended connected arms, she glides to become acquainted with this foreign environment. Then her extended arms separate in a synchronized form where they meet the side of her legs as she propels forward. Then she applies the kicking of the legs to the movement of the arms all in a synchronous form. All while keeping her head in a fixed position sustaining her depth under but near the surface of the water. She would then rise head first in order to get that all-important breath of air so that she could repeat this dance. The form is rhythmic and can be easily scored (applying music to specific visual…).

The two observations - examples are what I would call Elasticity, Fluidity, Rhythm and Motion – Movement – Motion.

Posted by Allistar Peters at 09:29 AM

Stanislavsky Reading Reactions

Saturday 9/23

Visited the Issey Miyake Store with my wife Kelly. Indeed, the prices were high -- which I attempted to explain as the difference between buying clothing and buying art. Unfortunately, except for www.isseymiyake.com, I didn't have an opportunity to see the clothes in motion so could get a sense of Miyake's appreciation for a body in motion. In speaking with employees at the store, I sensed an emphasis on the technology involved in creating the clothes. Apparently the pleating process is quite involved.

Kelly saw a skirt she liked -- a long skirt in a variety of green hues that must shimmer as the pleats swish with the body's walking motion, The mens clothing did not seen to have the same focus on motion as it did on comfort -- this was the selling point the salesman returned to numerous times - how soft the garments felt after washing and how their texture continued to improve with time and washing.

Downstairs we saw two main varieties of women's tops . Those that had been crafted by carefully shrinking fabric impregnated with polyurethane and those that had been micropleated. I can't imagine that this plating (some of it 1/8" to 1/4" wide) had been done by hand.

Tuesday 9/26
The first group that presented in Red Burns class (Jack Aboutboul, Liz Gallo, James Kolstad, Amanda O'Brien, Jung Eun Shin) exemplified what I believe Stanislavsky related in the sections we read on plasticity of motion. The group presented a dramatic response to Marianne Petit's presentation on Assistive Technology. Clothed in silence and dressed in black, each group member acted out a human disability and the remainder of the group acted out a healing ("assistive") response. I wanted to "label" the performance as "mime" but to do so I think might disconnect with type of motions the group members performed. I didn't feel they were creating a dimensional volume with with motions; rather they conveyed emotion, connection, and interaction. Does anyone have video of the performance?

The motions reminded me of Madame Sonova and the movement of the imaginary mercury. Each arm motion they created originated at the shoulder and radiated outward. I find it difficult to put this into words, but I felt the motions grew in intensity and meaning as they continued down the arms.

Posted by Michael Chladil at 01:05 AM

September 26, 2006

Bill Viola and the Viewer

Reading Bill Viola I was kept thinking of that difference between "looking" and "seeing". Working with young actors one often has a sense that they are looking at their scene partner, or the imagined space of the setting of the play, but not really seeing it, not asking questions about what they are seeing, not moving in and out of their perceptions. There is a difference in the direction of energy in the action. Looking is a sending out of energy, the mind is occupied with the action of of the self observing, not what is being observed. Seeing is a receiving of energy (literally, in the sense of light energy.

Bill Viola, and Peter Brook as well, both approach their work with a kind of fearless curiousity, and ask of a space, or an image, what it already has their within it. In "The Empty Space" Brook writes about starting with nothing. Then there is a chair. Why is there a chair, and not a divan or a futon on the floor. Viola, looking at the waterdrops reflecting cars passing by, is looking deeping into what is in front of him, asking questions of it, changing the focus changes the object itself, and changes our psychological experience of our environment and the objects in it.

I was also interested in how Viola breaks the flat surface of the screen, pulling the viewer into the image and pulling the image into the room. I'm struck that creating 3D desktops in the computer interface has been so long in coming, though we now have the video acceleration technology and vivid powerful monitors with which to display this "spatial" workspace metaphores. I think the challenging nature of this indicates that we may not have asked enough questions, or the right questions. That creating a three dimentional workspace is something more than taking a two dimentional design and giving in depth. There is something more going on there with how such a workspace effects us, the Viewer, both psychologically and emotionally.

For the Viewer's Space assignment, I was struck when walking down Bedford Avenue that someone had placed blue chairs on no parking signs.

I heard these were part of the Conflux Festival but wasn't able to confirm that.

They have a kind of subversive quality to them, they break the line of the street, when you sit in the chair you're facing away from the traffic on the street. you really take in the grafiti, you see details what you are observing that you had passed by before. you are encouraged to take time away from the rush of life on the street and to really observe your surroundings. The angle of the chair also breaks the line of sight of the rest of the space. usually as you walk along the street the main line of sight is north or south. Those lines define the direction of energy of the space. putting a simple seat on a no parking sign totally breaks that line, saying, "why not look northwest for a moment.

Posted by Nathan Guisinger at 11:14 PM

Noguchi

The space of the city is transformed by the way I move through it. On my bike, instead of on foot, distances between things are shortened, time is compressed, and the city I move through is changed. I’m reminded constantly of the relationship between space and time.

I made a decision to not bring a camera with me, to instead just go on the trip to and through the Noguchi Museum and then, with words, pull what images remained with me from memory.

The ground falls down and away. The city widens and grows smaller. Sighed to another place, an inner island. From prisons to mansions, what changes? Mostly the price. Rectangles with larger windows and better paint jobs. From here I can see the pricy real estate on the east river. The rich and powerful surround themselves with a grandure they cannot themselves see. A display to remind their subjects that the king has wealth without usefulness. A short distance traveled and a completely different place. On this little island away from a larger island I feel more space as time slows down. Cars do not own this space, the pace is slowed down, it’s easier to breath.

The narrow angle of the museum’s face gives way to the expansive opposite, going in and finding outside has come with me. The stones have such slow conversations, we cannot hear them. Pulled into their surfaces, their mysteries. Some are yielding, welcoming, mirthful. Most retain their solemn grace, echoing the conversation with the man that coaxed their forms from rough houses.

Space within the stones, vision wrapping around their curves, seeking to swallow them, to see all around all at once. I cannot overcome their gravity.

What stayed with me the most – a stone with a pool of water in it, water flowing over the sides and down the face of the stone, giving it movement, uniting base elements of earth and water, and then the sun shinning, light slanting down and glancing off the surface of the stone with water running down it, casting a shadow onto the ground, onto these small rocks we walk on as we observe these rocks of Noguchi, and the reflected light casting this shadow of the waters movement. A breathtaking unity of space and material.

Posted by Nathan Guisinger at 11:02 PM

September 25, 2006

images in motion

As research for the motion graphing assignment i stumbled across this polish artist Zdzislaw Beksinski, who was stabbed to death last year. His art is very morbid, considered post-apocalyptic surrealism/fantasy art some of which features an elegant way of representing motion through the stillness of a fixed image. From what I gather, these images were painted oil on board sometime between the late 1970's and 80's. All work is Untitled.

Posted by Eric Beug at 09:54 AM

September 21, 2006

Bill Viola's notes

I like Viola's childish enthusiasm with simple visual "effects" that he accidentally discovers. He has a great sense of wonder for the world and the way we perceive it, and I wonder how he communicates that in his videos. He thinks a lot like a cognitive psychologist, trying to figure out the way we perceive our environment, the limitations of our perceptual system. I'm really curious to see his work, and whether or not this way of thinking comes through in it.

I don't really understand why he is so fascinated by the medium of television, as opposed to film. I am guessing television was a little different in the 70s? Or did he work with video for practical reasons? I wonder what he would think of television today - would he be greatly disappointed, or would he find some that of the shows that are on tv "offer us sight beyond the range of our everyday consciousness?"

Posted by Kyveli Vezani at 12:33 PM

‘Reason for knocking at An Empty House’ and ‘Sight Unseen Enlightened Squirrels and Fatal Experiments’ by Bill Viola

‘Reason for knocking at An Empty House’ and ‘Sight Unseen Enlightened Squirrels and Fatal Experiments’ by Bill Viola

Three situations

1. There is a man in the small room.. he spends three days and nights without sleeping.
- Putting oneself in a small room for three days with conscious decision.

2. Car accident
-Faster than one speed of thought. Unexpected, uncontrolled. There is no time it
prefers to happen.

3. Imagination of losing oneself. Physical death, mental death.
-Just imagining about one losing oneself and the Fear of it.There is an idea of originality But like he said, will I know my consciousness has been altered? How would I know that a change had taken place? Would I remember who I was?

* Boredom and tiresome from endurance (1) and Life threatening moment(2) cross each other.

* Disorientation of time and space occurs - time and space we DECIDED TO KNOW alter.

* Within Blurred notion of time and space, all the sudden, one and only thing remains is one facing the existence of oneself.

* 1,2,3 make one’s realization of one’s existence.-one gets camera’s eyes to look at oneself. One’s eyes see the scene, and oneself within it.

* Human consciousness observing one’s self image, not the original face.

Posted by Eugene Ahn at 11:51 AM

Reasons for Knocking at an Empty House

Having got a chance to read excerpts of Bill Viola's works, I was drawn to read more about his works as one of the pioneers' in the fields of video art.Though not completely through with the book -Reasons for Knocking at an Empty House, I have come to realise that, Bill Viola was instrumental in using video like an artist's paint brush and that this was a revolution that extended his creative outputs to beyond the cloistered world of art.
In his works he takes various different scapes to provoke a direct experience of the world. His work brought out a sublime hint of spirituality and yet on the surface he is able to create works that are drawn from his experiences in daily life. His well defined notebooks that he filled with his ideas clearly bring out his desire to be expressive not only through visual forms but also in the written form that have give much insight about the values that he derives from life, his works and so on, to have a profound and continued impact on his future works.
His works also highlight the fact that he has a deep understanding of his viewer's neuro-physiological perception that helps him draw his viewer to be a part of the installation that he is here to view.
Of the few works that I read from the book, a distinct pattern that one can draw is that all of his works are entwined when it comes to the composition of the piece of art and each of the work of art is somehow difficult to differentiate due to its overlapping content with other pieces that he has created. And, yet each piece is unique in its creation. Another aspect of his work is related to his focus on universal human experiences - pain, joy, birth, death, violence and the total beauty of capturing human emotion. His work also involved aimals and their reactions to particular situations. There is a frequent mention of spiritual traditions like Zen, Buddhism, Sufism and so on, where he is still able to easily draw the viewer into his works like in any other comtemporary art.
To define what I like best among all of his works would be wrong since I have not got a chance to view his works apart from the prints available, but yes the book does give a small prelude into the vastness that his works constitute and awakens a desire to be a very part of his works as a viewer who gets a chance to be a part of the very installation.

Posted by Riddhima Shelat at 04:28 AM

Bill Viola

I'd like to see some of Viola's work, because just from reading these notes its difficult to get an idea of what his work is about.

He seems to get very excited about things which would strike most people as mundane, quotidian events. I am thinking of his description of playing with a magnifying glass and when he gets excited about the reflections on his glasses on a rainy night in New York. Frankly, these epiphanies strike me as fairly silly. Did he mean for these notes to be published, or were these things he wrote down in a private journal? I mean if I started telling someone about how I got excited about the reflections raindrops make on my glasses, and just had to rush home to photograph them, they would probably just think I'm daft. But maybe that's why I'm not a world famous video artist.

I can definitely see the influence of Aldous Huxley's "Doors of Perception" in these writings, particularly where he talks about the human senses beng "limiters" on the "spectrum of electromagnetic energy vibrations that make up the universe at large." But don't senses like taste, smell, touch and hearing have nothing to do with electromagnetic energy? Well nevermind. Viola writes, "Imagination is our key to the doorway of perception," rather than mescaline, as Huxley suggested. Further, that "the television medium... can offer us sight beyond the range of our everyday consciousness." This is strange statement. Why did he say television rather than film? I'm not sure I understand in what way Viola wants us "as viewers and creators" to use television in this way, although it did make me think of a lecture by Douglas Rushkoff where he talks about the remote control as a device that breaks up a continuous narrative, a cut-up machine like those experiments by Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs.

Posted by Andrew Doro at 12:00 AM

September 20, 2006

Point of View

After reading the articles the immediate space that came to mind was the sky. The clouds are one of my favorite subjects to view because they embody soooo much, from their shape to their size to their type...infinite possibilities arise. As I explore the world I try to become as explorative as possible, getting a sense of everything around me...I like to say from reading these notes it makes me really think of my attention to detail. No matter how much you think you know a place, someone will always notice that place in a different unique manner.

My sense of place is that of awareness and that of similarity and difference. With awareness I mean to acknowledge your surroundings and where you are, where you've been, where you're going and how it affects you. Similarity and difference is how places can become different but in the end become the same and vice versa.

The construction of this next project is challenging in just developing a point of view and finding a space to recreate. The reading has inspired me to bring it back to the basics.

Posted by Amber Reed at 08:53 PM

Electromagnetic Sense of Space

It's true, there is an enormous spectrum of information in the world that our senses are unable perceive. A lot of electromagnetic energy comes from the machinery in our cities - subways,bank machines, electric signage, etc. And increasingly, much of that information has been used to transfer digital information through the air: wireless internet, cell phone conversations, digital files via bluetooth. It was only a few years ago when we were discussing the pros and cons of being surrounded by wireless networks. There were a lot of skeptics who were concerned about health issues. Who was afraid to use a cell phone at first after hearingthat they caused cancer? They only had a brief moment in time to state their claim - now it's basically a free for all (look how many open networks you can receive from the 4th floor of the Tisch building alone). I personally don't feel it, but many claim that this dirty electricity causes health problems. Trent University, a major researcher on dirty energy in Canada, actually prohibited the use of WiFi networks on its campus.

A couple of artists have begun to work with information in the electromagnetic spectrum, using technology to sense and record what we cannot perceive and transferring the information into a visual or sonic medium ... to re-create a new perception of physical space.

German artist Kristina Kubisch created a series of "Electrical Walks" in different cities, creating a piece of equipment that amplified electromagnetic sounds. She offered the technology for people to explore their hometowns through soundwalks, enabling them to experience the city in a new light. A collection of the recordings that she made is available here.

Similarly, recent ITP graduate Sawako Kato created a performance for the Conflux festival, which took place this past weekend. Sawako amplified information from the 2.4 GHz range (bluetooth, WiFi, microwave etc.) to create a soundscape. In the description of her project,
she writes: "Our world is resonating with various kinds of waves, and the waves make harmony in the air." Clearly she saw some beauty in our electromagnetic spectrum. Members of the audience were invited to use their cellphones and laptops to contribute to the performance. Unfortunately, I couldn't make it. I had too much Physical Computing homework to do.

Given the chance, I'd personally love to do some visualization work in this field, maybe started with radio. That's just the beginning of a wide electromagnetic spectrum.

Posted by Jeremy Rotsztain at 02:14 PM

More Work on Assignment 2

I have built a small model of my space using another composited panoramic image.

Posted by Michael Chladil at 07:52 AM

September 19, 2006

noguchi Museum

Download file

Posted by Eugene Ahn at 10:19 PM

September 17, 2006

Working on Assignment 2

I've been working on my second assignment.

Posted by Michael Chladil at 09:44 PM

September 14, 2006

Noguchi

I had a little more to say about last Saturday's Trip to the Noguchi Museum.

Posted by Michael Chladil at 04:22 PM

andy goldsworthy

Noguchi Museum Blog...

Noguchi Museum didn't catch my attention so much. granted, I was only there for half an hour, and there were all the themes that we talked about in class such as the defining of spaces by one continuous object, ...

But what really reached me was this Andy Goldsworthy book I picked up at the gifts store. I picked up "Time". Naturally, it exposed his work about Time. Frost shadows and rain shadows happen if he stands still for the entirety of a duration of time while the environment he's in starts and ends a process, and the same sort of thing can be said about his sculptures that cave in to the tide.

But something that really hit me most was that this work was really about his hands, his experience with his hands on the land. When I scanned through the book, the pieces hit me for their simplicity, usually a juxtaposition of colors, a patterning of objects, or other simple methodical concepts framed in a particular environment.

But when you read his notes, you realize just how long each piece took, and how he was often forced to compromise his work to a setting or rising sun, etc. A pattern of branches around a tree trunk might take the man from morning to night to gather and arrange the branches and determine how to layer them together.

That knowledge really does transform the piece. It's like seeing a flower and noticing its colors, or seeing a flower and realizing the entire history of processes from its birth to its bloom.

And I guess that's what most of andy goldsworthy's work in this collection book Time is about, it's about framing processes before the current time in an arrangement of objects.

Posted by Kunal Gupta at 12:34 PM

The Journey to Noguchi:

The Journey started 9 am Saturday morning – on our bikes. The meeting place, the 59 street Roosevelt Island Tram. Our destination - The Noguchi Museum.
It’s been a while since I explored the city and what better way than biking high in the sky. Looking down over the bridge there was construction going on . Part of the bridge was blanketed hiding its skeleton from spectators view. Is it just maintenance or is it an art piece in process? I wish this to be an art installation that lives with us. Something new amongst the old. Something grand yet subtle. This could make us look, wonder and smile. In the water there was a dredging crew. Maybe this is an underwater art piece too. It would be great to have sub terrestrial art spaces in the river.

Having spent some time on the Island is was good rediscover and discover what the island had to offer. New buildings - new parks - a sanctuary for locals to embrace. It’s history. Some may take it for granted but it’s there for our own reflection. We toured the main road and made stops including the farmers market next to the spiral car ramp. A good use of space – living, moving, space. Under the ramp there used to be large installations a few years ago. One every month. Now there’s just a large void consisting of an encircled bike rack - and no bikes. I ask myself why? I should find out why and get back to you… We made our way to the lighthouse at the Northern tip of the island. It was a peaceful resting place and the water (East river) had a calming affect. Across the water we could view our destination. So close but further than our immediate view.

We proceeded to out of the island into Queens and up Vernan Boulevard to the Noguchi Museum. After checking in at the reception we entered the firs room with large stone sculptures completed by the do not touch signs in its surroundings. My attention gravitated towards the use of open space with the inside connecting with outside. It allowed the space to breath like us. And the light, how it falls, separates the walls and floors and its slow movement. I continued to focus on the light throughout the museum.

I tend to gravitate to circular objects so I thought it was fitting to present a view from inside one of the sculptures ‘Core’. To me the sculpture is looking into the sky. At night it can gaze at the starts. It bathes in the rain and dries in the sun. It’s so exposed to the elements and its eyes go un-noticed. I particularly like the contrast between light and dark.
Here’s another circular piece I like, ‘Magic Ring’. It’s a stale noodle left by a giant. It was fitting to have it exhibited. Sorry, my imagination takes over sometimes. I like this piece because it’s not at our level. We have to go down to its level to explore its details. To touch it (we could not touch) - to see the patterns and explore its colour formations. How the shadows fall. I has temped to lie on the ground, inspecting it from a new angle.

On the third floor there I was very excited about the Dymaxion Transport. This was an engineering failure. It cold have been a way of fluid mobility / maneuverability in a vehicle. We would have a more efficient parking system if this car were to be. Link Dymaxion

There’s more but I don’t want to make this a long list so I would end here. See you all in class.

<|>

Posted by Allistar Peters at 12:25 PM

Everything was just new to me

The third week in this city.
I was asked to explore an Island- a little Island between 2 crowded lands built by communist architects. Sounds adventurous. Thanks for Jean-Marc suggesting a bike ride trip. Hey, biking on an urban bridge!! I never thought of it before. “Who are going to join the bike ride to Roosevelt Island? My hand was up immediately.

The bridge amazed me. Not only you can cross by driving, biking, walking or roller-skating, there is a cable car beside the bridge. Space inside the cable car is interesting. You can walk around and the glass walls allow you to see everything around you. I feel some freedom up in the air.

Ok, back to the topic—The Noguchi Museum.
Unlike the typical museum in my mind, Noguchi Museum is like a relaxing garden. Sun light comes in from the roof, walking on the stone road, going through different styles of sculptures made me feel laid off. The first floor was well set.

However, I was a bit disappointed about the playground display on the second floor. It was supposed to put it in the park for children to play. When put in the museum, it was so well protected in a room (actually a room where people quite easy to miss). It was labeled “DO NOT TOUCH”. I would prefer “PLEASE PLAY” instead, as one of our “bike-mate” Daniel said.

Back to Manhattan, we ride cross the bridge. A little bit terrified as busy traffic was passing by crazily. Especially when hearing the roaring car engines sound. I tried to keep concentrated…ride up the crazy slope….Whooo… I had a very good exercise.

Posted by Hiu Tai at 11:49 AM

Noguchi Museum visit

Of course I didn't write down the directions for how to get to the museum, so I got off at 30th instead of Broadway. After a stressful "am I going the right way" walk to the waterfront and down Vernon, I found the Socrates Sculpture Garden, with its new exhibition of sculptures. Young children were playing around the sculptures, touching them and wanting to feel what the sculpture is made of, sometimes even climb on it. They seemed to be enjoying the art much more than their baffled parents, who seemed reluctant to let their children touch and interact with the sculptures.

Before going to the Noguchi Museum, all I knew about Noguchi was that he had designed a very beautiful table, which was unfortunately no longer interesting to me because I keep seeing it everywhere I go, available for sale at every other furniture store. I now know that that was not a very accurate perception of him at all, in fact, it is one that he might not be very happy about.

I learned a lot about Noguchi from the exhibition that explored the friendship and collaboration between him and Buckminster Fuller. There was a video of Noguchi talking to Fuller where he was talking about how when he first started working for Brancusi he did not like that Brancusi's work was so rooted in aesthetics alone, and how Noguchi himself wanted to make art that was useful (which is part of the reason why he and Fuller became so close) and that later in his work he was always struggling with these two idea(l)s, both of which have a strong influence on his work. Interestingly, this little discussion was filmed at a playground that Noguchi had designed, and as Noguchi was talking about art that is useful, the camera panned to a child climbing/playing on the sculpture/playground (this made me think back to the sculpture garden --why have sculpture in public spaces and not let people touch it?). In the exhibition, you could see the blocks that made up the playground (big, red polygons with holes that children can pass through), but it was somewhat strange to see them in a "do not touch" setting.

I found it really interesting to see how these two ideas/ideals play out in his work, and while I appreciated the elegance of the sculptures on the first and second floors, I was much more interested in the more playful, interactive designs of the public spaces, that are meant for people to enjoy in a more tangible, direct way.

Posted by Kyveli Vezani at 11:40 AM

an oasis

bland train ride on the W.
nothing to note- try reading
but my mind wanders + fixates
on someone's gym bag.

broadway stop in queens-
maybe i can pick up some groceries..
"It's about ten city blocks," I recall Charley saying.
so i walk in the direction of the water.
walk / observe / walk / observe

and then- a giant eyeball amidst the trees.

it's a mess! work in progress, under construction.
i can hear tinkling and dingling.
first, a life-size gorilla. then shards of metal and glass.
an urban, gritty, micro Storm King,
makes me smile.

rough, shoddy, almost juvenile constructions
still add intrigue to the landscape.
Socrates uses modest, earthly, simple language,
but everywhere you loook, an amusing delight.

I see
n
o
g
u
c
h
i
and decide to walk around the entire triangular, ivy-covered building.
sort of like a fort with no moat.
the entrance, just an indentation in the cinder block- understated and elegant.

whoosh___i'm overwhelmed yet calmed at the entry.
smooth stone-colored stone, slick surfaces.
i want to touch as my eyes meet
the DO NOT TOUCH ARTWORK sign (printed in a carefully chosen font).
it's quiet and peacefully meditative and it seems as though i'm the only one experiencing the beauty.

perfect. my feet take slow, gliding steps as i move from piece to piece.
and then it comes, "ma'am, we're closing. you're going to have to run through."
so i run! what a balance, frantically seeing such soothing lines and forms.
some would say, "that's fung shui," but they're probably wrong.

the inside and outside of the museum are so contrary-
dilapidated warehouses that i would like to come back and photograph,
surrounding a tall castle with light and air trapped inside creating a surreal environment.
i must leave, i got here too late!
back down broadway, this time dragging my feet in contemplation.
the scents and memories of fried tostones draw me into a Colombian cafe- La Margarita.

nothing like a table by the window to digest good design.

Posted by Piama Habibullah at 10:24 AM

Bridge, Roosevelt Island and Noguchi Museum

Posted by Eugene Ahn at 06:28 AM

September 13, 2006

I took the N train from canal street to broadway which took forever. I wish I was back in cali where I could just hop on my honda cbr f4i and get 2 where i have to go in 5 min. But alas I sit on the train listening to my music. Finally I arrive and walk the 10 or so blocks to the museum. With no prior research of the artist I step into his world amazed @ the structures I see before me. I take the plastic placards to explain the pieces but find them poorly structured. So I embark upon my journey to allow my senses to grasp what they can on their own. I really enjoyed the playground sculptures...but for my favorite piece:




The tranquility of the sculpture inspired me the most. The experience helped me to gain a broader perspective to complete my shadow box project. As I journied back to the subway amongst the many "hey girl, you can't say hi?" from men in the neighboring auto shops, I stopped to get a bite to eat and continued on my way to ITP to complete my vision.

Posted by Amber Reed at 08:56 PM

Noguchi Museum

“……Sculpture is something that has to be experienced” ……For me,each of Noguchi's work pieces are in themselves scluptures of his experiences and ideas. His use of different media like stone, marble, metal, paper bring forth the idea of his thirst to work with variety and experience the excitement that working with something new and unknown brings.
My visit to the museum was marked by a transition in thought. Like Jeremy, I too had an initial disconnect with the sculptures in stone and marble. To me the most fascinating thing around the sculptures was the way light played on them when viewed from far, especially the mixing of the studio lights and natural light. The fact that I was not able to connect and derive anything from each of the pieces (except one) left me slightly disappointed and set me wondering as to how does one assimilate the meaning from sculptures like these.
The one that I liked best was the ring in marble since it defined fullness, indefinity and that there is never an end or stoppage to anything in life.
The tansition from not being able to connect to being able to relate and connect with Noguchi's work came about when I saw his works in urban environment design, and design of public leisure spaces. His desire to design things in everyday life and bring his work to benefit the society was clearly depicted in his play sculptures like Playscapes at Atlanta.
His light sculptures left me thinking as to how easily he turned engineering concepts to give them a new meaning as an association of his sculptures.
Truly, his works offered the magical unfolding of progressive and yet experimental ideas. At the end of the visit I was assured that I will fit in with " spatial design".

Posted by Riddhima Shelat at 08:18 AM

A visit to Roosevelt Island and the Noguchi Museum

I was planning on biking over to the Noguchi Museum, but... I am not a morning person. I woke up in the afternoon and decided to take the subway. I got off at 59th & 5th Ave and walked to 2nd Ave and took the tramway to Roosevelt Island. I'd never taken the tramway before despite having grown up in this city and it was really a treat.

I've been to Roosevelt Island once before but hadn't really explored it thoroughly. Strange place, sort of like a miniature Manhattan sandwiched between Manhattan and Queens, which raises the metaphysical question; which of the five boroughs are you in exactly? I walked up the eastern side of the island. The architecture seemed pretty ugly- those brown corrugated stone facades. Lots of apartment blocks. The waterfront was strange because it just faced out onto this enormous factory. The factory was really interesting to me- I love the way factories are designed without aesthetics in mind. They're just enormous machines.

I walked north until I got to the bridge. Here the apartment buildings were in the same sort of unappealing style you see in Battery Park City and the new buildings along Houston St.- red brick with green trim. Although nothing I saw in Roosevelt Island was very appealing I definitely want to return to fully explore the island.

I walked across the bridge to Queens. According to the Noguchi museum website, this is how Noguchi would travel to his studio.

I liked the crumbling buildings along the waterfront on Vernon Blvd past Rainsy Park until I got to the Noguchi Museum. I've actually never been to this museum before, although I had meant to visit. Some of Noguchi's work is in Chase Manhattan Plaza, down near where I live. Noguchi designed a sunken stone garden for the plaza and also a giant orange cube with a cylinder drilled out of one side. The cube balances on one corner.

When I entered the museum I must admit I found the works at the entrance rather unappealing. I felt like I didn't just didn't get what Noguchi was trying to do. But after seeing the rest of the museum, on the way out I found that I could suddenly appreciate these works. I think perhaps these might be his least obviously appealing works in the museum, because they aren't colorful or particularly complex. After seeing them in context to the rest of Noguchi's work, I could appreciate their simplicity.

I liked the layout of the museum, the way it was non-linear and lets you jump easily from area to area. I sat and watched the documentary on Noguchi for a while but the sound quality was not very good. Noguchi's sculptures looked to me like artifacts from the ruins of some culture from another planet. It was as though the forms were part of some sort of alien stone age technology or monoliths to values we humans cannot easily understand.

I liked the way many of the sculptures had a half-finished quality. The stones retained a large part of their original shape and surface. The sculptures were finished even though they weren't fully transformed. This is something I hadn't really considered before in sculpture; we're used to the idea of Michaelango's David or a Duchamp readymade, but partially modifying a natural form is not something I have seen much of. It reminded me a bit of the rocks you see in gardens in China and Japan.

My favorite piece was "Well," the way almost the entire rock surface was coated in a moving layer of water. The unphotographable pieces on the second floor were more complex, featuring interlocking stone pieces and even some representations of faces, as well as architectural plans. I enjoyed the section on Noguchi's friendship with Buckminster Fuller, as I find his ideas very exciting. The influence of Fuller seemed most apparent in Noguchi's memorial for the Challenger disaster, which was a tetrahelix.

After exiting the museum I went to the nearby Socrates Sculpture Park. Really amazing, I had no idea that this existed! It seemed that many sculptures were being created on the site, and also some sort of event celebrating the park's 20th year was taking place. Some well-dressed people arrived in limousines, which was a strange contrast to the taxi repair garages right alongside. There were also several people fishing in the East River.

I walked back up Broadway towards the subway stop and wandered around Astoria a bit before heading back to Manhattan.

Posted by Andrew Doro at 01:56 AM

September 12, 2006

Noguchi Visit

I took the F train to Roosevelt Island and was struck immediately by the contrast between the skyline of Manhattan on one side of the island and a huge industrial complex on the other. From there I walked to the Noguchi Museum by using the large Costco Building as my beacon.

The Museum had a nice layout and vibe with half of the work outdoor (or semi-outdoor) and half inside in spaces that felt much more sterile (and air conditioned). When I was outside I payed much less attention to the sculpture and I wonder if this was Noguchi's purpose... perhaps wanting to obtain the Japanese garden feel or something.

I watched the video and I think was key. Not being very familiar with Noguchi before this day, the video gave me a nice context of his life and work. Also finding the little laminated brochures/guides helped as these provided the names of each piece (went through an entire room before realizing these were available). The Hiroshima memorial was the work that struck me the most, for both aesthetic and political reasons. The way Noguchi approached this as an American with Japanese roots and the political context is one thing, but his execution is another entirely. The sculpture strikes me as the dark mushroom cloud looming over... and based on the photograph I take it that there is a second level where the ashes would be held of many of the victims. I love the way the "legs" of the cloud extend down through the divide and remain on the sides like pillars with the ashes between. Very powerful. I cannot believe this project has never been fully realized and given a home in Hiroshima.

Posted by Charles Miller at 12:02 PM

September 11, 2006

Nugochi, Fuller and moving through NYC

I’ve always found to difficult to identify with sculpture and was moderately intimidated by the thought of having to write something mildly intelligent about my experiences examining the work of a famous sculptor. But my concerns were eased when I discovered that part of the exhibit featured collaborative work between Naguchi and one of my favorite inventors/philosophers Buckminster Fuller, author of Operating Manual for Starship Earth and promoter of non-specialization (which also seems to be one of the underlying philosophies at ITP).

I arranged with my group to ride to the museum by bike, which would be in itself an exploration of New York City’s spaces, from Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn to Long Island City in Queens. Along the way, I saw the neglect of public space on bicycle paths along and physical barriers that kept us from riding (construction, dead ends, etc). The group met up at the Roosevelt Island Tram, which took us along the Queensboro Bridge in a small enclosed vehicle, giving us this immense feeling of being in open space (much more so than walking along the street under the massive presence of skyscrapers). The enclosed shelter also gave me some comfort, as I am afraid of heights.

Arriving on Roosevelt Island, I was shocked by the presence of communal communist architecture in the middle of New York City. I was aware of the fact that it was there (as Jean-Marc mentioned in class), but being surrounded by it was overwhelming. With its tall concrete construction and integration of stores on the ground level, I felt that I’d returned to East Berlin, where I’d lived for half a year back in 2003. Unfortunately we had to rush through the island, skipping over the Mennonite farmers market hiding under the bridge.

Composed of industrial bricks, the main wall to the museum had a bold presence, almost protecting the contents of the museum from the outside world. The first space, which was indoors, was had features of Japanese garden design (the open roof, allowing light from the outside to pour in) and industrial design (a factory, or nowadays, loft space). Indeed the feeling in the space was a meditative calmness, caused by the open space between the initial sculptures, and the walled protection from the uncultured streets of Queens.

Of the five sculptures in the first room, the one that first attracted my attention was “The Stone Within”. It was a formal exploration of the basalt stone that Naguchi’s frequently used, demonstrating the aesthetic explorations of his materials. He smoothed out some parts of the large stone, leaving the original surface intact in other places. He also used a chiseling technique, removing little bits of the original stone, to get a different rough surface. He modified the rock in different layers.

In “Woman”, he used these surfaces to create a more literal work, using the rough original surface to create a skin and removing layers to show the inside of a woman’s body. In the center, he drilled out a womb and used a different texture to reveal the pathway to the womb.

After going through the outdoor garden, I rushed through the first floor of the main building, taking a few moments to examine the very literal “The Roar” and the contemplative “Memorial for the Dead of Hiroshima”. “Roar” was the skeletal head of a mammal (perhaps a rhino) sculpted out of white arni marble. Looking closely, you could see the subtleties of the material, which, although it was white, had areas that were almost as dark as black. The single spotlight pointing down upon the sculpture emphasized its sharp edges, casting shadows and creating more contrast to the bright materials. In its mouth area, he cut a series of shapes to represent teeth. And along the tusk-like extension, he chiseled a variety of battle-scar like cuts in the skeleton.

“Memorial” was a smooth rounded shape that was divided into sections with extremely scientific cuts, as if the atoms of the shape were being split apart through an explosion. A rope kept viewers from seeing the rear side of the sculpture.

Upon arriving upstairs, I basically hit a wall. I was already overwhelmed by the large amount of work to see. And after seeing all these (mostly) abstract medium-scale physical constructions, we were introduced to Naguchi’s architectural works, which we could only absorb through photography and three-dimensional models. At the same time, I was excited to see a more practical side of Naguchi’s work – feeling that his sculpture had less “use value” and interactivity than his urban design projects (public spaces, expo sculptures, and children’s’ playgrounds). I wish that I'd visited these works first.

The poster on the exhibition for the collaboration with Buckminster Fuller stated that their connection was a desire to improve the world not by changing people, but rather through improving the environment. Bucky always encouraged doing more with less. The special exhibition showed a number of Bucky’s dymaxion designs - for a low cost mass-produced house and 3-wheeled car – both of which ultimately never caught on.

His design for Children’s Land (1960s) was a modification on a softly-rounded hilly landscape featuring playgrounds and walking paths with a clear educational intention: to “help bring up children with sound minds and round behavior.” The models of his design showed a scientific aesthetic – with a network of cellular structures forming the core shapes of the pavilion and the children’s play areas. The installation was only temporary – it was taken down after one year. You could see how Buckminster Fuller’s geodesic and “tensegrity” designs influenced Naguchi.

The experience of going to the museum was an informative one. But the adventures we had traveling through New York City’s transportation network will likely have more of a lasting impression on me.

Posted by Jeremy Rotsztain at 06:45 PM

September 10, 2006

noguchi museum

Some fragments:

Our ride out to the noguchi sets up the kind of oppositions that the day will be full of:

As a group we’ve been moving through phases of unfinished/rough and polished/worked. Stepping into the museum is like cracking a geode, as the neighborhood’s grit opens into quiet glow inside.

We wander the first floor, and at first it’s as if the works are inconsequential on their own, just marking out the geography of the space. Cumulative presence. Over in the corner a triangular break in the roof frames a slice of sky, impossibly white birch stretch upward into the blue. It’s as good or better than anything labeled “do not touch.”

And out in the garden is “the well.” I remembered this piece from a visit a few years ago, and was looking forward to seeing it again. I love the thought of it quietly bubbling away all these years, marking time with it’s slow current. The weight of the piece. The depth of that bowl-like pool. The way that the tiny imperfections (is imperfection always negative?) of the lip give way to the patterns of wet/dry and the design they map along the sides of the piece. And yesterday, the surprise of reflected sunlight bouncing off the bonsaied waterfall of the thing, and illuminating the first fallen yellow leaves of autumn. One of us (you know who you are!) plunges her hand in the pool. I want to do the same but can’t. Am I too reverential? The wet/dry patterns change.

So much of the stuff speaks to the “what looks easy is hard” thing. Invisible process butts up against a thousand visible drill holes. The compact form of a small girl drawing in the corner becomes another point on the map, stretching the space toward herself.

We move among each other, like so many new works, then disperse back out into the city.

Posted by Daniel Liss at 10:18 AM | Comments (0)

September 09, 2006

Roosevelt Island

Rode out to Roosevelt Island (history) with folks from class. The view from the tram was quite spectacular. We were in the middle of the air in a space defined by the walls and floor of the tram car -- held in place by the cable above us.

I attracted the attention of the Grog Shop's owner by stopping to shoot a photo.

I was more interested in documenting the duplicated shops signs and the glass-enclosed walkway rather than taking a picture of his shop. He sent someone out to ask me what I was doing. I fumbled a bit for words because he gave me the impression I was doing something wrong. When I explained that I was on Roosevelt Island as part of a class assignment, he asked if I could send him the photo. The Grog Shop doesn't seem to have a website, though... so I guess he'll have to wait until the next time I'm on the island -- and remember to print the photo.

I found the island to be very angular: many of the buildings had strong prependicular lines jutting out of their facades. It seemed very ordered, controlled, and planned -- a stark contrast to Manhattan's jumble of towers. In some ways it made me forget about the presence of Manhattan. The tall apartment towers on the west side of Main street effectively block off any view or sound of Manhattan.

We spent some time at the northern tip of the island watching passing tug boats. I wondered who Vicki Holland was, but couldn't find out much about her.

One of the things that intrigued me in our first class with Jean-Marc was his sense of the history of places. I would have to admit that I rarely have had an interest about this -- until now. From the small bit I've read about the island it has changed drastically over the past forty years from "Welfare Island" into a self-governed (?), intentional community (again? -- perhaps this is not the correct term).

Posted by Michael Chladil at 07:12 PM

September 08, 2006

Welcome to Spatial Design - Fall 2006

Posted by jean-marc at 12:56 PM