The (Physical) Suspension of Disbelief

This piece questions the societal  obsession with making it to the “top” and the cultural dissonance that derives from it. The master narrative of climbing up and discovering treasure (Jack and the Beanstalk, Corporate Culture, etc..) is pervasive in this society. But those treasures have become corrupted by the obsession with materiality. The “morals” broadcasted to us by higher authorities are no longer our own but the formulation of averages and what is deemed to be good for the common man(Got Milk?). At the same time, the idea of individuality and singular achievement (ladders can only be climbed by one person at a time) is sold to the masses. The idea that you will have more as you  climb higher may be possible in today’s world but the true question is what will you have more of?

Parameters: Create an Exploded Comic where three events occur in 3-dimensional space

Materials: Found Objects and Spoilt Milk

What I Will Do Tomorrow

The map “What I Will Do Tomorrow” visualizes the commute from my home to my school. The home that is depicted in the map is not my actual apartment but the quintessential idea of what home is: a house with a yard and fireplace. The school building is a more direct representation of the Tisch building where my program is located. The 4^th floor (the floor of ITP) is partly obscured by clouds as a metaphor for the inward focus of the space. There is rarely a moment when someone stops to look out of the window and if they do they would only see other windows across the street and in some cases a brick wall.

Linking these two locations there exists a subterranean world and it is within this space, a long corridor representing the distance from the Bedford L stop next to my house and the 8^th street R stop next to my school, that my figure can be seen. I am running with my head down. A hobo stick is slung across my shoulder containing everything I will ever need. I do not look up because I have to get somewhere and when I am there I cannot look around because the view of the outside world is obscured by work, by obligations, and by physical constraints.

The outside world is a cartoonish ideal filled with birds and the open sky. It is carefree. The Williamsburg Bridge, suspended, between the two locations, serves a dual purpose: one, to place the map in the context of New York City and two, to acknowledge the existence (but impracticality) of other methods of getting from point A (home) to point B (school).

The map portrays one of the many dissonances of my existence. Here is an obsession with the outside environment conflicting with a devotion to the space where I can engage in my (mostly digital) work. However the map does not express a feeling of “missing out” on the outside world. Instead, it says that what I will do tomorrow is enter this repetitious cycle of going to school and coming home but what I will do today may be entirely different.

Thank you for the critique ISCO! It helped to turn my thought process into words.

Visual Communication: Website Anaylsis

I recently learned the basics of design and decided to put them to the test by analyzing a website I spend a lot of time on: outlier.cc. This is the website for OUTLIER, the company I intern for. They make tailored performance-wear for people who commute to work by bike. They are an up and coming company where everyday brings something new.

These are the 9 Basic Rules of Design and I will discuss them one by one:

Have an Idea
Outlier is based around the idea that companies should design for the future. For Outlier the future means cycling as the main form of transportation. They want to fill the gap between fashion and traditional performance clothing by making stylish clothing from technical fabrics.
Use elements that support the idea
Outlier’s website uses alot of elements that really support their idea. Most importanty, they use a blog format to highlight what they’ve been doing and promote their new releases. This allows them to turn their customers into followers who are interested in what Outlier is up to.
Use only 1 or 2 typeface families
They use one typeface family for branding and titles and another for the content of messages. Their branding typeface is very strong and draws the eye to it while the second typeface is more common and doesn’t distract from the content.
Pick colors and images for a reason
Their main colors are black and grey while links in the articles are red (grey after being clicked) and links in the sidebar are blue after being clicked. Although they are using 5 different colors they work well with each other. The only change I would suggest would be to match the color of the links in the sidebar to the ones in the articles. All of their images support their idea by using bikes, movement, and young professionals as symbols.
Make the negative space a part of the design
Outlier’s website heavily uses negative space as a part of the design. Clutter on their  website would detract from the message and from their products.
Communicate
Outlier’s site is a blog but it also serves as their online store. They need to be very clear about how to navigate their site. They do this at the very beginning by having an about button and a shop button on the top of the page after the brand. Their sidebars almost repeat each other by having one that navigates to specific locations and one that navigates by post topics. This repetition is good though because it doesn’t alienate people who aren’t familiar with the way blogs work.
Establish a Hierarchy
Their use of a blog format naturally creates a hierarchy of information which is based on time (older posts are pushed to the bottom).
Stick to one layout
Their website is centered around the posts and images while the sidebar is left-justified. There could be some adjustments to make it more cohesive however it works the way it is.
Work with a grid
Their website doesn’t really follow a grid. They have two columns with the links on the left and the main content in the center. Perhaps the blogroll could be moved to the left to balance out the page.

In terms of the ratio of branding to navigation to information, OUTLIER”s website has a good balance. The page starts with mostly branding and navigation but then as you scroll down content takes over. Also, because they are selling products, their images serve as information rather then pure branding.

Comments on Sophie Calle

Sophie Calle’s work is characterized by insight into the private lives of strangers through voyeurism and other activities with an arbitrary set of constraints. However in the process of capturing these insights into humanity there is ample room for both banality and interest.
In reading her two works “Suite Venetienne” and “The Hotel”, I found a direct link between the physical act of her observations to how interesting it was for her to document it and how interesting it was to read it.

The more passive work “The Hotel” involves her inspection of hotel rooms in the role of a maid. She categorically lists the objects left in the room by its occupants and the conversations she over hears by eavesdropping. She moves between the same rooms and repeats the same activities over a span of three weeks. Her process is completely passive in the sense that her object of observation is a location that does not move or create a great amount of risk in observing it. The only risk is the one of being caught however the time limit of her experiment lessens the emotional impact of that possibility. In her documentation she frequently sites her boredom with the project “I have to force myself to take interest in them” and seems to be searching for something sensational something to make the experiment worth while. Her lack of interest creates a lack of interest in the reader so that the only interesting objects on the page of her book are the pictures. The pictures take on a life of their own and become the project. I believe that she understood this and choose to place a disproportionate amount of pictures on each page especially for rooms where the occupants bored her.
On the other hand, “Suite Venetienne” was a completely different process. In this work, she follows a man to Venice and documents his trip. First, she actively pursued the object of her observations. Second, she was observing a person rather then the objects that people own. The primal pleasure derived from activity, from the hunt, was reflected in her writing and the stir of emotions that she expressed. In this way, “Suite Venetienne” became a much more interesting and engaging piece. Another aspect that differentiated it from “The Hotel” was location. “The Hotel” is geographically still while the “Suite Venetienne” is movement. It is frantic, haphazard movement followed by jarring stops. The lists of streets, turns, and sights links the reader to her own travels and opens the reader to her emotions. The work also panders to the fantasy of the voyeur of taking the next step (of going to Never Never Land so to speak). The man she followed to Venice was a man she had previously followed in Paris and then was introduced to at a party that same night. In a sense, she was provided with the opportunity to extend a one-sided conversation with a stranger and she took it. It correlates to that feeling of wonder of what might have been if you had not ended a conversation with an interesting stranger so soon or had stayed longer at a party.

Personal Time Piece continued

Time according to Newton is a dimension of the universe in which events occur in a linear sequence. The opposite view is that time, rather then being an entity or container for events to occur, is an intellectual tool similar to space and number used by humans to organize occurrences. A third view, the view of Kant and Leibniz, and the view that this time piece is based on is that time is neither an event nor a thing. It is unmeasurable and it cannot be traveled. The second, the hour are merely words that we use to describe the passing of time but they do not describe time itself.

Time is commonly defined as an abstract concept that places daily activities into a linear formation known as a time line that encompasses all of history. A moment in time, “now” or minutes, hours, seconds, days and so on are terms used to define and compartmentalize  the abstract concept. However, I hold that “time” is neither linear nor able to be seperated into distinct units. For example let us consider the notion of “now”. When is “now”? Is it “now” as I write or is it “now” as you read. If both and any moment can be accurately described as now then all moments are “now”, past moments were “now” future moments will be “now”. “Now defines only the instant that it pertains to. When that instant is finished or after the final -ow has escaped your lips it becomes the past.

Our personal time piece counts the nows. For no reason except to admire them. Because we cannot “know” time, the timepiece does not claim to know it. It can only measure it but it does so without measuring it by removing any recognizable symbols. It can only tick but it only does so when the user interacts with it so that the time becomes a time of reflection, interaction, and introspection. We cannot “know” time and we have invented to many ways to tether it our needs. Our personal time piece is an open container. It is meant to be used by only one person. The user activates it by winding it as long as they desire. When they have released the device it will tick. The top disk will turn based on the average length of a heartbeat. The other disks will tick at different increasing intervals.

Works in Progress

A single disk with one filleted edge

Stacked disks

The separate pieces

Week 5: Time Piece

The assignment is to design a personal time piece.

 

Inspirations

Disc Grinders

 

 

Wind-Up Bird

Notes/Sketchs

Playing with Time/ The Interaction

 

Sketches

 

 

 

 

Idea Map: Concepts of Time

 

Materials

Reflective metals shaped into thin discs. Each layer “ticks” individually to its own timeframe. The layers are stacked on top of each other and form a winding and moving object. It comes to life when you crank it like a wind-up bird except the mechanics work more like a tobacco grinder. Perhaps a hidden accelerometer inhibits the object from “ticking” if it is not on a flat plane. This would add an element of play where the user has to coax the movement and the life out of it.

Here are Diego Rioja’s pictures…

Medical Records and the Yard

 

The Pictures

Service Design for Public Space: Observations by Nahanaeli Schelling and Mike Kelberman

The Winter Garden on 220 Vessey St is a large hall with glass ceilings overhead. 16 palm trees spread their leaves to the sky. Permanent green benches mingle with uncomfortable black foldable chairs and face the prominent stage. On it a piano, a drum-set, and a mic. The organizers have stretched a large canvas up to block the light  coming in the from the floor to ceiling windows behind it. On the other side of the hall large windows face the World Trade Center memorial site. 

The hall is an open public space in the crossroads of a large mall. Next door is the WTC, Battery Park City, and the Financial District. As a result the public represented here are a mix of nannies, blue collar workers, and white collar workers. Today, there is a fourth group of retirees, and the young who have come for the impending show. And then, of course, there is the ever present security, staff, and police who watch over the interactions of these groups. Mike and I are sitting in the middle of two blocks of chairs. In front of us is a little pathway designed to channel people from one part of the mall to another.

Close to where we sit a group of nannies have congregated with their large strollers and white babies. They chat while braiding the hair of their wards. Passerby’s stop and smile at the children and the nannies smile back. A man walks by pushing a pram while he texts on his phone. He is the first man here I have seen with a child. 

There are women in heels with floral dresses and handbags. There are older women in floor length fur coats and pearl earrings. Allot of the seated women have just come for the show. The one’s who stroll through the seating area with purpose are all in business attire and off to work. 

On the large steps behind us groups of blue collar workers lounge in blue denim as if they were dressing for their job status. They lean back on the stairs away from the crowd in the chairs. They speak among themselves sometimes in English but mostly in other languages I can’t pick out. They seem to be the manual laborers while the group of blue-collar workers who (not dressed in blue) sit in the main hall. They seem to be the electricians, fore-mans, and engineers. I wonder if they would be in here if it was warm outside. They all seem to eat lunches brought from home or not eat at all. Although they seem comfortable here, their position on a place of movement (the stairway) indicates their lack of ties to this place. 

The concert begins and an announcer says that flash photography and video are forbidden. Suddenly, the hall does not seem so inviting and open but is taken over by the temporary ownership of the band onstage. Then, a man begins to take photo’s with a large camera. A security guard standing nearby glances over to him and does… nothing. The spell is broken the hall is free again. 

The singer dedicates a song to the financial analysts. It goes “what goes up must come down…”. A few chuckles spread through the hall. Dances have appeared from one of the escalators. They perform a lavish dramatic dance in business attire and then jump on the opposite escalator when the song finishes. Two men cross in front of me. One of them reaches out to punch the other as a form of greeting. The other man jumps defensively but softens when he sees that its his friend or acquaintance. 

On the stairs behind us the blue-collar workers have all gone. A few men in suits eat alone while some others eat with female co-workers. Several groups of women eat together. A man in a Harley Davidson shirt, purple converse, and a red scar over his right eye chats with a woman in business attire. He looks like he does not belong in the hall with his long hair and mustache but the woman and him laugh and talk over lunch like old friends or siblings (but not lovers because they never touch). A janitor pushes his trash can around and asks people if they are done with their food. They are mostly startled when he asks as if the intrusion of a hidden layer of the hall has disturbed their meal. He only asks a few more people.

Through large windows on the other side of the hall (opposite from the stage) you can see where the WTC used to be. Strangely enough all of the workers seem to have disappeared into the structure and nothing seems to be getting done.

On the second level, there are two security checkpoint which mark the transition from public to private space. They lead to the Word Financial Centers. They have X-ray machines, metal detectors, and three guards. Their artificial barriers extend out into the public sphere in a way that most people and I make a gigantic loop around them. 

In a side part of the mall, six restaurants are separated from each other by large brass pavilion-style structures that extend up and over the seating areas. The restaurants charge top dollar for those seats and the only “free” place to sit is in a small area sponsored by AT&T. Next to this is a small art exhibit that has assorted oddities including, a Starbucks cup, and a stuffed mockup of a dinosaur. 

Very few people are on computers even though there is free wifi in the hall. The inhabitants of the hall change methodically based their lunch hour. At first it was the blue collar workers from the next door WTC construction site. Now it is the financial workers. Only the concert-goers and nannies are not moved by this incoming and outgoing tide. 

The public mall is clearly divided into two areas: the free public (which was most of the hall) and the paid public (which was the seating areas of the restaurants). 

Photos

waves in a box: Animation and Storyboard

waves in a box from Nahana Schelling on Vimeo.

M5 Assignment

Manhattan home of the Lenape,  Nieuw Amsterdam home of the Dutch

Now home of I

What are you now and what will our journey tell us? We search for your soul for your loves and your hates from where we cannot touch you. We observe you from afar separated by glass and ignorance. From our lofty perch we begin. From the M5 bus we begin.

The journey we begin backwards, retracing steps down forgotten avenues. The Cloisters oh beautiful beauty be, fallen leaves, fallen trees, happy souls. We float through brown brown streets with brown brown bricks and brown places to eat. There are smiles and families, some sad some angry. Flashes of yellow, an Obama pin, followed by conspiratory grins.

The 181st potbelly sways in tune to the sonic mind games played by the woman on your right. Velour sweatpants such sweet stickiness pools and aches beneath your weary feet. Turn around take us back we miss the Cloisters and all the beauty Washington Heights lacks. How sad, how dreary to be weighed down by so much history. Washington Heights you are your own mother and father and brother and sister and son. Write down your story, chant your eulogy from broken rooftops, we are only passing through and we cannot help you.

Washington Heights the stains of blood spilled before you were named still shine bright in the form of neon lights. November 16, 1776 the British forces destroyed you. 130 killed and 2700 captured only to die on prison ships in the New York Harbour. Washington Heights you stand above the rest of the city a cousin to the skyscrapers. You are where George Washington rested his troops. You are where the Irish came to lay their weary heads then the Jews came chased from their European beds then the Greeks, then the Cubans, then only the Dominicans were left in your “Astoria” of Manhattan.

Washington Heights, Maria Callas sang in your streets before the crack opened chasms beneath your children’s feet. We hear the wild cowboys killed a generation and guns grew in the trees. We hear more died then during the Battle of Fort Washington. Did the fog descend upon you or did it grow from your very streets. Washington you are our broken-hearted cousin left by all those you love. Where are you now on 139th street. Here 2 for 3 the MacDonald hawks across the street. There Mofongo del Valle sighs with acquired wisdom. There the Bus Stop Restaurant gathers loose change and here in the future the Columbia students will fix you for free.

We turn and take off from a bridge lightened by the exodus of passengers. We are high above view left view right. Look it is the city of lonely lights reflected by closed windows. To the right of us the river. Poor Hudson you are the river bound to its sorrow. There are ghost ships that trail their flags through your murky water. Poor Hudson you are forgotten erased by the bridge builders and car pushers where is your soul where are your lovers. They abandoned you. We will also abandon you also and as we turn our gaze there is darkness and light darkness and light reflections of reflections.

The buildings are beautiful now and even your streets glow with the ether of satisfied souls. Soft lights polished interiors cars cars cars but no faces none happy none sad only TVs through windows. You are curled metal doorways and no one is here and no one alights our magic bus. Aimlessly we close open stop go playing the farce of all farces over and over again in an endless dance. If only we could touch you and run our hands over your sparkling windows. Would you whisper your secrets into our ears behind wood paneled doorways?

No there is no place in your shady hearth for our forlorn quest. From here we feel no shame as our journey carries us onwards to Broadway. Broadway the old Indian trail. 68th street rickshaws parrots bright lights all jockey for position. Stores stores stores stores for whores for remedies for liquor and divine redemption and at last the people return. Wickquasgeck are you still here under these twinkling lights that brighten your path.

Broadway what rest stops have they built along your way. Look there the New York Philharmonic towers over you demonic in stature. Look there the museum of compromised art.  Where are we now in our moving capsule our lofty perch our M5 Bus. These statues and minarets stand with arms outstretched towards the sky. They are not you. They sold your soul for trinkets, baubles, and beads. Bergdorf Goodman polar bear exhibits hide subliminal roars of terror “buy me buy me buy me”. You carry the Louis Vuitton monstrosity of plastic garbage and garish symbols of waste as Atlas carries the earth. Soulless or soul-free? You are now gold and curling metal now bright lights now Henri Bendel now Escada.

Broadway your streets are alive and watched over by hordes of high-rise voyeurs. Your soul is lost they cannot touch you we cannot touch you. Washington Heights have you seen this place have you made love to its tin-lined streets has it broken your heart? Take this jewelry out of our window our eyes can’t take it anymore.  Old Wickquasgeck all you have to do is raise your head and you will see that you’ve been had.

We float further hypocrite voyeurs guilty judges who cower behind our seats. From here we write love letters to Union Square stuffed with peonies and filled with woe. You began as a potter’s field a burial ground for the unknown now you are where the known are born. Union square they spared your soul like they saved the trees. Take off your Lennon glasses or is the world too bright for you to seize. Union Square put on your checkered suit and dance in front of Gandhi while George Washington smiles amongst you.

Our journey ends here where the souls are welcomed and awakened. Here where we can believe in the fairest of the seasons and watch the Eves frolic in brown brown snow.  Here where we have found the lovers. Here the place that we know.