1.
BIENNALE: ANALYSIS
“One Hundred Years of Repose”, Yu Hong, 2011, oil on canvas with gold leaf
The expansive painting “One Hundred Years of Repose” (2011) by Yu Hong may initially inspire awe, but is infused with an air of horror.
The gold-leaf background draws a visual parallel with the luxury of Klimt and the dimensions of the work - 6m by 4.18m - echo this grandiosity. Furthermore, the work appropriates the Ghent Altarpiece by Jan van Eyk in its biblical composition and form, conveying the perceived holiness of widespread economic prosperity. Yet there is an intentional discomfort in its positioning: the work must initially be viewed from the ground floor, forcing the viewer to strain their neck and eyes. Beyond this point, darker tones begin to surface; one must only gaze upon the wearied bodies strewn across the canvas, visually reminiscent of the aftermath of war, to sympathise with Yu’s overpoweringly oppositional sentiment towards the culture of overworking in China. Painted in 2011, this work was born in a period of exponential economic growth spurred by the increasing impact of globalisation - just a few years following the Beijing Olympics - yet she subverts elements of grandeur to capture the counterintuitive, inverse relationship of wealth and human wellbeing, echoing her practice’s focus on the individual impact of rapid social change in China.
In essence, she captures a dialectic through form and content; the neglect we exercise upon our minds and bodies in pursuit of monetary fulfilment. The people depicted in this work are intentionally devoid of individuality; with minimally indicated facial features and the material clothes they wear intentionally saturated in colour, attention is drawn away from their humanity. In the foreground, the composition of bodies in close proximity echoes a dehumanizing sentiment; workers packed onto train-seats like animals being transported from farm to slaughterhouse. More-so, the symbolic inclusion of a laptop on a sleeping man’s lap emphasises this conceptual lack of separation between private life and one’s working capacity. I chose this work because it provoked me in its sincerity, capturing the sense of burnout that is seemingly inevitable in our demanding society. Such a piece is highly topical in the context of a global society where this work-grind culture is manifesting in such sinister forms; biological pandemics that may kill more through a collapsing economy than through physical illness itself. And yet it is not simply those in the workforce who are affected; Yu’s inclusion of children and adults alike demonstrates the far-reaching implications of contemporary working practices on our society.
Titled “One hundred years of repose” as reference to a song used in a 1980’s Chinese television drama set in the Qing Dynasty, the origins of this title may not be accessible to the Australian viewer. However, it opens the work up to a host of different perspectives.
Depicting individuals with closed eyes, this title along with the visual metaphor of a sleeping society likely alludes to our complacency in this deeply-flawed system. Yet, in our current context - with our world thrust into an unusual form of forced repose, somewhat distanced from tiresome expectations imposed upon us from the five-day work week - perhaps we finally have the chance to wake up.
2.
MEMORY
"Which reality is more powerful, the reality of the present or our memory of the past? We all
know there are unreal worlds, but are we quite sure there is a real one? I can't answer that."
- M.C. Escher
When confronted with a task concerning a singular concept - the childhood bedroom - a distinct feeling of fragmentation arose within my mind. Disjointed snapshots of small details within the 10+ rooms I inhabited throughout my childhood sprung to mind; so loaded in terms of the emotional associations that had cemented in my psyche that details largely faded away as they all morphed into a unified vision of various constructions.
It was through this mental image that my model was conceived: serving to capture the fragmentary nature of the memory of my childhood, while enhancing the memory of details that allowed me to identify with my spaces; namely, the sunlight that remained a rare constant throughout changing physical spaces, rarely failing to fill me with joy.
The form of my model is a physical representation of the memory of the “childhood bedroom” in my mind; visually reminiscent of a russian nesting doll, the rooms are chronologically layered upon one another, with only faint memories of the structure present in my mind. Without referencing any artefacts - be it floor plans or photos - I began the model’s conception through sketching the core architectural elements, notably the windows. Likewise, I constructed the model and all the individuals rooms true to their “real” bearings, according to my memory of sitting by each window, quietly absorbing the sunlight that was cast through.
Thus, the model is purely a product of “unreal”, emotionally charged memory, but - inspired by Escher - I propose that it is as “real” and certainly as powerful as the reality we perceive, since reality can only be perceived through the emotional human consciousness and the reality we perceive in the present is inherently coloured by past perceptions, or memories.
The matrix-like appearance of the model, almost illusory in its visual effect, is an homage to the M.C. Escher puzzles that I owned growing up as it was this style that sparked my passion for design. Likewise, the use of silver spray paint - which is intentionally abstracted from the paintwork across all these spaces - echoes the ephemeral relationships I developed with these spaces; absent of much detail but cast upon my memory as “unreal” experiences.
The omission of personalised details upon the rooms’ walls is indicative of the experience of moving around frequently and renting, which limited my abilities to project my essence upon my space as a consequence of not being able to carry many items from house to house and the obvious fear of damaging paintwork on walls that my family did not own.
Furthermore, the subjective experience of the room feeling smaller with passing time and the physical growth that accompanies generated is reflected in the relational scale of the respective rooms. The most recent bedroom exists at the heart of this cognitive map, as it informs my memory of bedrooms past, and thus I have included more material detail within this space. However, I have included vinyl luggage - all uniform in their appearance - to communicate the distinct memory of “living light” that pervaded all of these individual spaces and - in some sense - tie them all together as one cohesive whole.
Smith, B. Sidney (12 Feb 2014). The Mathematical Art of M.C. Escher. <http://platonicrealms.com/minitexts/Mathematical-Art-Of-M-C-Escher/>
3.
GEOMETRY
underpins our conceptual understanding of architectural space by allowing us an accessible language with which we can distil complex constructions. One such precedent that illustrates how complexity can be made accessible through geometry is Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia
Though Gaudi’s church is visibly complex and incredibly detailed in its structure, a Latin cruciform creates the foundation of the floorplan which the Sagrada Familia is constructed around, like nearly all medieval cathedrals. The longer length of the cross, called the nave, comes from the Latin word for ship as this is what informs the symbolic meaning of a cathedral; as it is within this section that churchgoers sit, this structural “ship” is intended to carry the people of God through the storms of life.
San Andrea by Alberti is another historic precedent that demonstrates this cruciform very clearly. The transept in this plan is clearly indicated to be of architectural importance as this is where the dome lies.
This geometric symbol is visually repeated throughout the section of Sagrada Familia, extending upwards from the crossing and forms the highest point of the building - the central nave vault. As seen in the section, this transept is a focal point for architectural information, as it corresponds to where Jesus’ head would lie. In the plan, this crossing guides architectural detail around it, with the architectural detail present in looking upwards towards the ceiling.
In overlaying circles on the ceiling that covers the transept, we can understand how Gaudi has used circular arrangements of increasing detail to communicate the importance of this area structurally and conceptually.
THE GOLDEN RATIO is a proportion: 1:1.618. In halving a square, measuring a diagonal and taking this length to make one side of a rectangle, this length is considered sacred geometry as it generates forms that are visually the closest to constructing nature.
Upon viewing the plan, we can see how golden ratio geometry has generally influenced the architectural detail, with the initial curve following the length of the nave until reaching the transept, the secondary curve following the general shape of the ambulatory, and it extending to correspond almost perfectly with the positioning of the columns on either side.
Likewise, in section, this same ratio can be seen to influence the height of the body of the cathedral, and the height of the columns.
ll Danteum, an allegorical construction of Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, considers this same geometry but subverts it: In the room that depicts Inferno, this strict adherence to geometry informs the placement of columns throughout the room which contrastingly generates a sense of “hell”, communicating perhaps that while geometry can assist us in designing beautiful spaces, it can enable the opposite too.
In architectural design, we must begin with conceptualizing a space in a communicative way. PERSPECTIVE is a tool that allows us to effectively approximate in two dimensions what a spatial construction will look like, creating the foundation for creatively resolving junctions and tectonics and paving the way for further iterations to architectural design before they are built in three dimensions. Perspective is human-centred, considering how we perceive geometric constructions in a slightly distorted way to inform how architecture is designed to generate a certain atmosphere or feeling for inhabitants.
If we consider the Teatro Olimpico, the scaenae frons behind the stage is an excellent example of this: the perspective of the “streets” creates a false sense of space behind the main stage, generating an illusory perspective for those sitting in the audience and enhancing the subjective experience of watching a performance in this space.
Furthermore, Utzon’s “Platforms and Plateaus” urges us as designers to perceive the world in a different way through viewing spaces from a new perspective, specifically considering how architectural platforms can transform the perspectives generated within a space. In observing the tropical Mexican landscape where Mayans lived - at ground level, beneath a flat, thick canopy of leaves, Utzon notes how the use of platformed pyramids that rise beyond the trees and see the sky allow for a renewed sense of space through a new perspective
4.
Unintended Reality.
Tragedy of the Commons refers to the idea that, by acting solely in self-interest, we collectively diminish what shared resources we have access to. In an age where the threat of climate change is becoming more apparent with each passing day, we must be critical in recognising how we unknowingly fuel this crisis in our personal actions, often without any intent to do so.
Rather than focus on the intentional, constructed design of my neighbourhood, my mapping method is focused on observing what artefacts emerge unintentionally: the forgotten objects or trash that dots the sidewalks. It was only a few years ago that I first discovered I was short-sighted, and thus the shift in the quality of this sensory device has made me more attuned to these tiny items that seem to perpetually find their way onto the streets.
While we have traditionally perceived maps as fixed, objective representations of reality, James Corner suggests that maps are, in fact, “virtual abstractions that possess great force in terms of how people see and act.” (Corner, 1999)
Inspired by Guy Debord’s experiential drift method, I have broken down the spatial order in which I encountered each individual piece of trash, instead rearranging them into a new whole. In abstracting these spatially situated items beyond their contextual map - instead highlighting the negative consequences of our way of living - this method “permits a critique of contemporary circumstances” (Corner, 1999). The discarded pieces of trash have been scaled to visually emphasise their significance in accelerating this crisis. Arrows have been utilised to order the items in terms of how long they take to decompose, forcing the viewer to experience the harrowing reality of just how long everyday waste takes to disappear.
Inspired by Guy Debord’s experiential drift method, I have broken down the spatial order in which I encountered each individual piece of trash, instead rearranging them into a new whole. In abstracting these spatially situated items beyond their contextual map - instead highlighting the negative consequences of our way of living - this method “permits a critique of contemporary circumstances” (Corner, 1999). The discarded pieces of trash have been scaled to visually emphasise their significance in accelerating this crisis. Arrows have been utilised to order the items in terms of how long they take to decompose, forcing the viewer to experience the harrowing reality of just how long everyday waste takes to disappear.
In the Agency of Mapping, it is asserted that “The function of mapping is less to mirror reality than to engender the re-shaping of the worlds in which people live.” (Corner, 1999). Through my map I invite viewers to confront their seemingly benign actions and challenge their current ways of living so that we can collectively reshape our world.
Corner, J. (1999) “The Agency of Mapping: Speculation, Critique and Invention”. London: Reaktion.
5.
NATURE
INITIAL SKETCHES; TEXTURE, DETAIL, ONE LINE, SHADOW-PLAY
Nature. Our greatest teacher, the ultimate source of inspiration.
Much of what we design is a response to nature, either embodying its organic curves or defying it. However, my iteratively developed drawing challenges how, in attempting to digitise nature and profit from its beauty, we may paradoxically process it to such a great extent that it often no longer resembles itself.
The pot plant was chosen as the artwork to be developed as it embodies something so drastically removed from its original context, that we are still able to automatically recognise as a part of nature.
1. After having sketched in graphite the intricate shadow play of this domesticated pot plant, I photocopied the original drawing to mirror the mechanical method of mass production, which is inherently the product of a system that is output focused.
2. I proceeded to rip up by hand the drawing of this pot plant, symbolically destroying it and manipulating it for other purposes, to echo how in taking from nature we have the potential to cause significant harm.
3. By burying the ripped pieces in dirt, a handmade process, and leaving them for a mere 48 hours, this action symbolises how we attempt to control the laws of nature for production purposes. Afterwards, the piece was unevenly dirtied and shrivelled from moisture, which captures the beauty in the variability of hand making and natural processes alike.
4. I re-arranged the pieces and photographed them, using this mechanical process to further remove the physical artwork from it’s physical inspiration and allow it to enter the digital realm, mirroring the timeline from the handmade age, to the mechanical, and finally to the digital, where it can be widely shared and the commodification can be realised.
5. I opened the image in Adobe Illustrator, where I digitally overlayed a strikingly artificial green wireframe over the hand-drawn image to reflect how digital editing is often used to imitate a lost natural essence. Further attempts were made to imitate a more natural shape, through colour burning the line work and changing the stroke to a “glass” effect.
6. Finally, I digitally processed the image through a glitch effect, which distorted the image to capture numerous shades of green but visually communicates a strong artificial essence with pixelated sequences. In contrast to the original iteration of ripping it up by hand, this effect digitally “rips it up” but in such an inorganic way that it largely loses its natural essence.
STEP 1
STEPS 2, 3, 4
STEP 5
STEP 6
6.
HETEROTOPIA
While Foucault suggests that heterotopias of deviation are where individuals whose behavior is “deviant in relation to the required mean or norm are placed” (Foucault, 1984, p5.), I argue that this first principle extends to individuals placing them- selves in designated rooms: specifically, the bedroom.
One’s personal bedroom inherently functions as the space in which an individual is most themselves; where they are granted physical space and privacy to allow deviancies to surface, to freely explore and purge emotions and behaviours that are otherwise frowned upon so they can more comfortably return to the status quo of a surveilled world.
For myself, my “bedroom” is in fact a converted garage that simultaneously func- tions as a bedroom, an art studio, a workplace to see students, a lecture theatre and a library. Thus, I argue that my space likewise embodies Foucault’s third principle as it is a heterotopia “capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces””. (Foucault, 1984, p6.)
Foucault suggests that Heterotopias “always presuppose a system of opening and closing that both isolates them and makes them penetrable”. (Foucault, 1984, p7.) For this reason, I argue the entry room at the front of my home fulfils the criteria of the fifth principle, as it is “not freely accessible” (Foucault, 1984, p7.) and separates the public and private spheres: an airlock. The individual entering indeed “must have a certain permission and make certain gestures” (Foucault, 1984, p7.); particularly in the COVID era, even individuals delivering packages are no longer physically interacted with, this heterotopia instead barring them to leave items some distance away from the front door.
Within the family, identification of who is a household member requires a certain sequence of knocks on the front door. For friends beyond our isolation bubble, being welcomed into the house is dependent on them submitting “rites and purifi- cations” (Foucault, 1984, p7.) including giving notice that they will be arriving - as to keep the house secure - and sanitizing their hands upon entry in accordance with pandemic directions.
Found in almost any domestic space, the household fridge embodies a heterotopia in a multitude of ways. Specifically, the fridge’s function - as a preservation unit - is at least somewhat “outside of time” (Foucault, 1984, p7.); altering the lifespan of fresh goods that would otherwise wilt much more rapidly.
However, I primarily intend to argue that the outer shell of the fridge, in the case of my household, is a heterotopia on account of the third and fourth principles. With a variety of photos spanning decades, it is “indefinitely accumulating time” (Fou- cault, 1984, p7.).
Furthermore, it not only represents a “series of places that are foreign to one anoth- er” through capturing moments from different parts of the world, but it captures the same locations that have dramatically shifted with the course of time; “several sites that are in themselves incompatible.” (Foucault, 1984, p6.) In this sense, these photos are largely inaccessible to time’s ravage, persisting in representation despite no longer resembling the physical structures that exist today.
Through my generative drawing, I aim to challenge Evans’ notion that architects are disadvantaged through “never working directly with the object of their thought, always working at it through some intervening medium.” (Evans, 1986, p. 156) While architectural drawings are subject to the imprecise qualities of natural land- scapes, and thus significant translation and reimagining in construction, I believe this intervening medium forces architects to consider translation in their creative process and thus demands greater thought.
I printed the image of my heterotopic, multipurpose studio and traced over it to more clearly understand the geometry that informs this space. I then identified elements of this space that characterise its function and structure, and cut them out. Inspired by Foucault’s third principle of heterotopias - that they are “capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces” (Foucault, 1986, p6.) I proceeded to rearrange these elements in their respective categories of purpose.
I divided these elements into three main spaces: an art studio, a reading space and a bedroom. This involved merging of photographed elements that were visibly distorted by perspective, arranging them in ways that visibly made some “sense” but could not be constructed in reality, mirroring the “enigma” of transmutation that occurs between drawing and building. (Evans, 1986, p. 160)
In this process of dividing the space I began to question which architectural elements belonged to which function of space; whether natural light was of greater importance in the studio or bedroom and whether artificial light was necessary within all three spaces.
I proceeded to translate these hand-cut images by photographing them and tracing them in Rhino. This enabled me to explore the relative importance of these three places, through translation tools including scaling and changing layers, to develop a hierarchy of line weights in post production.
Evans, R. (1986), “Translations from Drawing to Building”, The MIT Press, Cam- bridge, Massachusetts
Foucault, M. (1984) Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias. (“Des Espace Autres,” March 1967. Translated from the French by Jay Miskowiec).
7.
PERSONAL STUDY:
The parlours of Georgian homes in the United Kingdom (circa 1714-1830; various architects)
The Music Room at 12 Henrietta St, Dublin
The Georgian period encompasses the years from 1714 to 1830 during the reigns of King George I through King George IV, where the architecture was characteristically sparse but retained the elegance of classical Roman and Greek styles.
Built in the beginning of the 1720s for the Irish aristocracy, these Georgian mansions along Henrietta ST transformed in their utility following the Acts of Union being passed in 1800: as the kingdoms of Britain and Ireland became united, the aristocracy relocated to London and there was little use for these townhouses.
Consequently, the function of these spaces dramatically shifted, and in the late 19th and early 20th centuries a single house became home to up to 19 families in the tenement era. In 1911, a single building in this block housed more than 100 people.
The Music Room at 12 Henrietta St (pictured) is situated within the first floor of one of these mansions and was designed as a grand social space that exhibited the status, wealth and taste of its highly regarded inhabitants. In essence, this parlour - while undeniably majestic in its structure and function - demonstrates that liveability is found through proportions as opposed to size, and sparseness as opposed to excess extravagance.
The fireplace is clearly the focal point of the room, bringing a balance to the two halves. In its large but proportional opening, coupled with intricate cast iron register grates, it embodies the design values of the era and captures the status of the original inhabitants. Original floorboards from 1737 (Hass, 2019) contribute to the domestic feeling of the space, and with considerably less ornamentality than neo-gothic and late Victorian buildings that preceded it, this Georgian room has a timelessly modern and spacious feel to it.
Despite 16ft high ceilings and vast windows that consume most of the front wall, the design is surprisingly human centred. In its openness and flexibility, one can easily imagine this as a social space; individuals gathered within it, in various spatial arrangements. Guests could be congregated around the piano area, enjoying the sunlight falling in, or be seated in the other corner, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace filling the tall, square room and the sounds of the piano echoing through the high ceiling.
Though the original plasterwork and finish from 1780 may have aged, these details successfully frame the room and how the space is inhabited; at eye level when seated, the elevated skirting detail enhances the visual flow of individuals communing in the space. A sitting room of creative magnificence, these walls would have likely been adorned with intricate oil portraits capturing the zeitgeist of the era.
The cornices along the top of the room, while far from the eyeline, can be imagined to inspire awe and allow individuals to transcend into the heavens; as guests would revel in the joy of music, they may recline back into their seated position and these minimal but elegant visuals would accompany their daydreams.
The mirror was a mid-19th century addition (Wood, 2018), as it wasn’t until this period that the English had “mastered the art of making mirrors” (Thornhill Galleries, 2014) and they became commonplace in domestic spaces.
With large and shuttered windows and a muted palette, this parlour exists as the ultimate display of control; either inviting the daylight in to illuminate the space or closing the shutters to allow inhabitants to ease into dusk. But it isn’t merely control of lighting conditions that is granted by this space. Rather, its ground floor positioning allows it to function as an exhibition of the most carefully curated moments of the domestic organism, a face to present the world looking in.
(2014), “An Introduction to antique fireplaces”, Thornhill Galleries News, https://www.thornhillgalleries.co.uk/guide-antique-fireplaces/
Wood, G, (Sept. 10, 2018), “This Dublin Block Tells the Story of the City”, New York Times Magazine,https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/10/t-magazine/henrietta-streetdublin-building-history-design.html?action=click&module=RelatedLinks&pgtype=Article
Hass, N (Dec. 15, 2019). “The 25 Rooms That Influence the Way We Design”, Page 3, New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/09/t-magazine/25-rooms-influencedesign.html