SENSORY IMMERSION IN ARCHITECTURE
To what extent does the work of Diller Scofidio + Renfro set out to excite the senses?
Noor Alyani Ahmad Fadzil
UP707637
To what extent does the work of Diller Scofidio + Renfro set out to excite the senses?
Noor Alyani Ahmad Fadzil
UP707637
This research is submitted to the School of Architecture in partial fulfilment of the Unit of 403 - Critical Writing requirements for the Master of Architecture Year 2 (2014-2015) in University of Portsmouth.
Title: Sensory Immersion in Architecture: To what extent does the work of Diller Scofidio + Renfro set out to excite the senses?
Written by: Noor Alyani Ahmad Fadzil [UP707637]Date of submission: 22nd January 2015
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Date: 21st January 2015
Sensory Immersion in Architecture: To what extent does the work of Diller Scofidio + Renfro set out to excite the senses?
Noor Alyani Ahmad Fadzil [UP707637]22nd January 2015
Architecture is often analyzed as a series of still images but the greatest mental impact of architecture arises significantly beyond the visual; the choreography of our movements, projection of distinct frames of perception and experience, evoking specific horizons of understanding and meaning. The purpose of this study is to investigate the multi-sensorial stimuli in architecture and how architects of today have effectively engineered sensuous spatial experiences out of the built environment. The dissertation draws upon the works of the architectural practice of Diller Scofidio + Renfro where the notions of architectural qualities of performance and the embodied encounter of architecture are most evident. The discussion begins by laying the foundations for a structured approach to perception in architecture through the rational understanding of human emotions, basic concerns and stimuli. The thesis then examines the artistic principles of DS + R’s installation and performance-based work based on a number of sources from interviews with the architects, their clients and collaborators as well as precedent access to published articles, books and documentaries. Finally, this study concludes by positioning immersive environments as a way to restore the body's participation in the way architecture is perceived.
Keywords: sensory space, sensorium, spatial perception, architectural stimulation, design for the senses, embodied space, multi-sensory.
First and foremost, special thanks to my written thesis tutor, Dan Blott for his guidance in refining my ideas and his effort to explore the potential of this research. I would like to also thank my tutor, Fabiano Lemes for his inspiring discussions that engaged my manifesto and helped me to chann el my thoughts and enthusiasm to create this work. I am profoundly grateful for their effort and dedication they have put in advising and coordinating the development of this study.
Sincere thanks to Francis Graves and library staff who have kindly taken the time to assist me on acquiring books from the British Library Document Supply Centre (BLDSC) through the University of Portsmouth lnterlibrary Loans.
Above all, this thesis would not be possible without the generosity of my family and close friends who have always encouraged me to follow my passion.
Cover Image – Melting Rainbows
Figure 1.1 – The basic model of emotions (Pieter Desmet, 2002)
Figure 1.2 – Hierarchy of needs (Maslow, 1943)
Figure 1.3 – The Model of Emotion in Architecture
Figure 2.1 – The amorphous fog mass
Figure 2.2 – The nozzle and the ‘braincoat’
Figure 2.3 – Animation showing the deconstruction of the Blur building (Leo Mulvehill, 2010)
Figure 2.4 – Thrill of venturing to the unknown
Figure 2.5 – The ‘wonder cloud’
Figure 2.6 - Blur explained by the basic model of emotions
Figure 2.7 – Refuge to prospect
Figure 3.1 - Walking the High Line (Joel Sternfeld, 2000-2001)
Figure 3.2 – Multitude of plant colours are staged on the High Line landscape
Figure 3.3 - The ‘agri-tecture’
Figure 3.4 - A woman descends the 14th Street Entry
Figure 3.5 - Car watching at the Sunken Overlook, West 17th St
Figure 3.6 – The 26th Street Viewing Spur frames a couple against a stunning sunset
Figure 3.7 – The High Line channel
Figure 3.8 – "Groovin High" by Faith Ringgold
Figure 3.9 – View of the Statue of Liberty
Figure 4.0 – A couple watching the Macy’s July 4th Fireworks display over the Hudson River
Figure 4.1 – Elizabeth Soychak, Renegade Cabaret performer
Figure 4.2 – Viewing platform
Figure 4.3 - A moment of supreme nothingness
Figure 4.4 – The High Line brand
Figure 4.5 - The setting sun glows against the IAC building designed by Frank Gehry, and residential buildings designed by Jean Nouvel, Annabelle Selldorf Architects, and Shigeru Ban
Figure 4.6 – Summer time on The Porch, an open air café on the High Line at West 15th Street
Figure 4.7 – The High Line explained by the basic model of emotions
Engagement of the senses is mostly evident in staging of exhibitions. Yet making qualitative judgements is challenging in the case of spatial senses in the context of architecture. How does architecture become a special-effect machine that delights and disturbs the senses? Few architectural studios have touched on the matter in any depth and it is seldom the subject of critical reflection in the design process. However, one particularly inter-disciplinary design studio, Diller Scofidio + Renfro have been integrating architecture, urban design, media art and the performing arts in an array of their projects. Thought of as artists in architects’ suits, DS+R are a suitable design studio for this sensory investigation in architecture.
The motive for this study is to examine how the works of DS+R’s certain spatial, specific visual identity and atmosphere have been programmed into spaces and how they affect the user’s experience. Their works are studied to situate the senses within an architectural framework and to define a vocabulary that does justice to the dynamics of the field. To address this challenge, in each chapter, the application of the ‘Basic Model of Emotion’ is reviewed. The model acts as the basis for the thinking behind this study.
The first chapter, entitled “Emotion in Architecture”, looks at understanding what emotions are and how they are elicited. This is crucial before identifying what makes a space evoke an emotion. Based on the ‘Basic Model of Emotion’ of Pieter Desmet, both stimulus and concerns affect ones appraisal to develop an emotion. The model describes the eliciting conditions of emotions with the use of three underlying key variables: stimulus, concern and appraisal. What are the concerns of the users? What are the
architectural means or stimuli used to create such atmospheres? These questions are answered with a number of architectural examples, presented to provide an extensive overview of these eliciting conditions of emotions put into practice.
The narrative then unfolds into three chapters covering a selection of notable projects by DS+R that identifies the sensuous design parameters articulated in their spatial configuration. The stimulating spatial structures featured in this paper are the Blur Building and the High Line. Due to the broad range of these projects’ origins, aims and outcomes, the ‘Basic Model of Emotion’ will respectively underline certain concerns and stimuli of the experienced space arriving at a certain emotion. Visiting their projects; looking at drawings, videos, interviews of the architects and collaborators, clients, and reading commentaries on their work allows this research to shape the ‘Basic Model of Emotion’ for each project.
Finally the concluding chapter will seek to prove whether DS+R succeed in creating exceptionally distinctive immersive environments which inspire or even provoke users to think and feel differently about space. It is hoped that this study of a cumulative sensorial development of thought will invite, encourage and perhaps even inspire the reader to appreciate the powerful impact of the senses in an attempt to enrich architecture and hopefully lead to the creation of more embodied sensorial experience in the future.
“...in the darkness of the innermost rooms of these huge buildings, to which sunlight never penetrates, how the gold leaf of a sliding door or screen will pick up a distant glimmer from the garden, then suddenly send forth an ethereal glow, a faint golden light cast into the enveloping darkness, like the glow upon the horizon at sunset. In no other setting is gold quite so exquisitely beautiful” (Tanizaki, 2001, p. 35).
Our world is alive with stimuli; the external environment filled with vibrant objects and events that surround us. We connect with the world by exploring sensations through touch, taste, smell, see and hear. Through sensation of a stimuli, we perceive and give meaning to an environment. The value of embodied aesthetic experience of architecture has been explored by various writers such as Abram (1996), Le Cuyer (2001), St John Wilson (1989), Von Miess (1997), etc. Sensorial revolution in architecture was apparent in the 1960s where the works of Marshall McLuhan and E.T. Hall, introduced the notions of “sense-ratio” and “proxemics,” respectively. The experience of architecture is a subjective dialogue that emerges in the unique encounter of space and the person:
"Architecture is the art of reconciliation between ourselves and the world, and this mediation takes place through the senses"
(Juhani Pallasmaa, 1996, p. 50)
Furthermore, Joy Monice Malnar and Frank Vodvarka (2004, p. 287) state "for an architecture that views the sensory response and memory of human beings as critical functions of the building, and
thus vital to the design process." In Le Corbusier's famous phrase, a house should be "constructed of sensation and memory" and not merely function as "a machine for living".
Witold Rybczynski (2001, p. 89) argues that the essence of a building lies in the articulation of its materials and in its atmosphere, which is something that no picture can convey:
"Although architecture is often d efined in terms of abstractions such as space, light and volume, buildings are above all physical artefacts. The experience of architecture is palpable: the grain of wood, the veined surface of marble, the cold precision of steel, the textured pattern of brick."
Similarly, as what Pallasmaa (1996, p. 22) coins the ‘Narcissistic Eye’, he highlighted that this quality is a means to address the dominance of vision in much contemporary architecture. Pallasmaa holds up the work of Alvar Aalto as an example of ‘sensory realism’, for the richness of its textures and acoustics, and as an aspiration for a ‘haptic architecture’. In contrast to Modernist architecture's striving for clarity, transparency, and weightlessness, ‘haptic architecture’ aspires to plasticity, tactility, and intimacy.
By foregrounding the role of all the senses as mediators of experience, and understanding the fields of sensory geography, sensory history, and sensory ethnography, provide means for architects and planners to design in multi-sensuously and stimulating new environments.
Howes & Classen (2014, p. 1) argues that the way we use our senses and the way we create and understan d the sensory world is shaped by culture. Perception is informed not only by the personal meaning a particular sensation has for us but also by the social values it carries. Thus, one’s emotional response towards an architecture may differ from another. Nevertheless, Pieter Desmet (2002, p. 2) stated that the process of how emotions are triggered is universal. According to his recent emotional design strategy, a basic model of emotions comprises of three underlying key variables; appraisal, concerns and stimulus, which are responsible for the eliciting conditions of our emotions. Figure 1.1 depicts an emotional response as the outcome of an appraisal process in which the architecture is linked to underlying human concerns and stimulus.
An emotion always involves an assessment of how an object may harm or benefit a person (Arnold, 1960). Arnold (1960, p. 175) defined an appraisal as “the direct, immediate sense judgement of weal or woe,” and as being at the heart of every emotion. An appraisal is a non-intellectual, automatic evaluation of the
significance of a stimulus for one’s personal well-being. One author of an early seventeenth century medical treatise asked: “Does melancholy induce fear and sadness because it is black in colour or because it is cold?” (Thorndike, 1934, II: 205). The assumption was that, not only did illness cause certain sensations, but certain sensations caused illness. The opposite of this notion that certain sensations could promote health was also held true (Howes & Classen, 2014, p. 38).
From an evolutionary perspective, the purpose of sensation and perception is adaptation that improves a species’ chances for survival (Hartman & Smith, 2009; Mader, 2010). This implies that every emotion hides a concern, a more or less stable preference for certain states of the world (Frijda, 1986). According to Frijda, concerns can be regarded as the points of reference in the appraisal process. An environment will only evoke an emotion if it either matches or mismatches a concern: stimulus that match our concerns are appraised as beneficial and those that mismatch our concerns as harmful.
The difficulty in understanding underlying concerns is that the number and the variety of human concerns is endless. Various typologies of concerns have been developed in the fields of organizational behaviour (Maslow, 1943); [Fig. 1.2], personality psychology (Murray, 1938), social psychology (Rokeach, 1973), and consumer behaviour (Hanna, 1980).
This principle is also applicable to architecture: a building elicits an emotion to the extent it is appraised as relevant to a person’s concern. Why was Alice proud of the louvered windows? Because it matched with her concern for comfort. Why was Mathew inspired by the pattern on the wall? Because it matched his concern for creative stimulation.
According to Frijda, any perceived change has the potential to elicit an emotion. This can be some event, something being said by someone or encountering something in a space. Not only actual events but also remembered or imagined events have the potential to evoke emotions such as thinking of our loved ones is enough to elicit strong emotions. Or merely fantasizing about a planned summer vacation can fill us with anticipatory excitement.
What are the parameters of designing atmospheres that attune to the concerns of the user? Light, form, colour, sound, movement, texture and scale, are examples of how architects have created certain atmospheres. Pieter Desmet created a basic model of emotions for his research (Designing Emotions), which was drawn up on the basis of this definition and on the related appraisal models developed by psychologists such as Roseman, Ortony, Lazarus, etc.
Based on the model shown in figure 1.3, an architectural feature or built environment (stimulus) evokes an emotion when it is appraised as either inspiring or indifferent to one’s concern. The range of qualities to be examined in an architecture included: sense, form, mass, void, movement, expression of form, material, tension and pressure, scale and proportion, rhythm, light, colour, associations and conceptions. One resides or travels to visit a place with concerns such as the need for prospect and refuge, exploration, enticement, thrill and being in a dramatized haven.
The basic model of emotions applies to all human emotions. A stimulus elicits an emotion when it is appraised as either harmful or beneficial for one of our concerns. Thus, emotions can only be understood in relation to the person who is experiencing them. Therefore, designers can only predict or manipulate the emotional impact of their designs when they are aware of the concerns of those for whom they design these environments:
“We want architecture that has more. Architecture that bleeds, that exhausts, that whirls, and even breaks. Architecture that lights up, stings, rips, and tears under stress. Architecture has to be cavernous, fiery, smooth, hard, angular, brutal, round, delicate, colorful, obscene, lustful, dreamy, attracting, repelling, wet, dry, and throbbing. Alive or dead. If cold, then cold as a block of ice. If hot, then hot as a blazing wing. Architecture must blaze” (Prix & Swiczinsky, 1992, p. 92).
This manifesto tends towards a ‘soulful architecture’, an architecture that heightens all human senses and is capable of raising the most fascinating emotions out of one’s body. Perhaps the most appropriate summary of this point is, a fundamental connection with the human spirit is needed in order to experience ‘good architecture’:
“If we can achieve spaces that create balance between the spirit, soul and mind then we have achieved successful spaces that mirror what it is to be human” (Kyle Clark).
The following chapters will further explain and illustrate examples of how Diller Scofidio + Renfro’s create such sensations in the built environment. This is done by gathering and analysing accounts of experiences by the users, interviews of the architects’ intentions and observation of their design strategies or architectural means to create immersive environments that satisfy the users’ concerns.
The Blur Building was built on Lake Neuchatel in Yverdon-les-Bains as the centrepiece of the Swiss Expo in 2002. Blur was initially designed as a media pavilion designed to articulate the intersection between mediated elements and architectural materials. The original overall aim for Blur was to reflect on the ‘blurring’ that occurs between the two ‘information states’ that operate within our mediated culture, as Scofidio outlines:
“Our objective is to weave together architecture and electronic technologies, yet exchange the properties of each for the other. Thus, architecture would dematerialise and electronic media, normally ephemeral, would become palpable in space” (Diller+Scofidio, 2002, p. 44).
However, due a sudden exit of a telecommunication sponsor, the programme; a water bar and a media project went unrealized and the pavilion was reduced from an interactive mediascape to a straightforward sound environment. One of the unrealised media concepts is the ‘braincoat’, a wireless communication devices integrated into the user’s raincoat to keep track of visitors and match their digital personal profiles.
Computers fed with data of weather scenarios were used in order to calculate the pressure and distribution of water and artificial fog. Blur consists of nozzles from irrigation and cooling technology of a similar technique used by Fjiko Nakaya for the Osaka World’s Fair of 1970. The steel frame (‘tensegrity’ structures) employed was developed by Buckminster Fuller and the bridges were made of fiberglass; [Fig. 2.2].
Diller & Scofidio applied notion of the sublime and proposed a simultaneous effect of manipulated climate (nature) and abstract media presentation (imagination). In response to the theme of the expo; ‘I and the universe’, the architects reflected on the dialectic between the individualised experience of the observer (I) and the environmental scale of their atmospheric installation in the landscape, and by addressing the topic of ‘weather’, with its relationship to the whole of society and culture (Universe):
“Blur is smart weather. Within the fog mass, man-made fog and actual weather combine to produce a hybrid microclimate. […] Weather is at center of a technological debate. Our cultural anxiety about weather can be attributed to its unpredictability. As a primary expression of nature, the unpredictability of weather points out the limitations of technological culture. […] At the same time, global warming are proof that weather and climate are not impervious to human intervention. When we speak about the weather, it’s assumed that more meaningful forms of social interaction are being avoided. But is not the weather, in fact, a potent topic of cultural exchange – a bond that cuts through social distinction and economic class, that supercedes geopolitical borders? […] In truth, contemporary culture is addicted to weather information” (Diller+Scofio, 2000, p. 182).
Following the artiste-architecte Frederick Kiesler (1890–1965), Diller and Scofidio sought to blur the distinctions between performance and architecture, scenography and choreography:
“Blur is a constant battle between artificial and real weather forces. In contradiction to the tradition of Expo pavilions whose exhibitions entertain and educate, Blur erases information” (Diller+Scofidio, 2002, p. 325).
For Blur was not a sculpture. Blur was not a structure. Blur was an event: a performance or as Diller + Scofidio state: “Unlike entering a building, entering Blur is like stepping into a habitable medium” (Diller+Scofidio, 2007, p. 144). The term ‘blur’ signifies an action, a verb, which simultaneously acts to erase and create information.
Architect Bernard Tschumi famously stated, “There is no architecture without program, without action, without event” (1996, p. 3). Rejecting the modernist dogma of ‘form follows function’, architecture (form) is a consequence of action (events). Equally events are also shaped by architecture as Pallasmaa (2005, p. 72) states, the built environment becomes integrated with our self-identity; it becomes part of our own
body and being. Following this assertion, Diller indicated Blur as a stage for artificial weather:
“This embracing application of material and construction techniques, information and communication technology, is on one hand strictly operational – to stage artificial weather, to keep control of the density of the fog or to optimise the steel construction as carrier of the visitor platform and nozzles: this is the ‘special effect’ part of technology” (Elizabeth Diller, 2001, p. 132-139); [Fig. 2.3].
Evidently seen in the Blur, ‘correalism’, Kiesler’s term was essentially ‘the dynamics of continual interaction between man and his natural and technological environments (1939, p. 61). Unlike previous architecture that privileged the sense of vision, Blur was encountered as an embodied experience: where the implicit effects of architecture were made explicit, for “Blur is a spectacle with nothing to see” (Diller and Scofidio 2002, p. 325). The action and social consequences of architecture are prioritized above aesthetic structure or visual composition.
The high-tech cloud hovering above the lake was immediately perceived as a poetic happening:
“Our architecture is about special effects… Fog is inducing some sort of Victorian anxiety about something that one cannot define” (Diller, 2002)
The immersive effect of being surrounded by dense fog, to walk alone or in groups in a cloud, a dreamlike or surreal situation with merely the sound of the nozzles, indeed has something of the dramatic visionary of Victorian novels; [Fig. 2.4].
The relationship between site and architecture is akin to the relationship between site and performance: durational action is inevitably read through the ‘lived’ narrative of a locale’s social and political fabric.
‘Site’ within Diller + Scofidio’s work means ‘situation’: event and social geography are intrinsically bound. However, the design studio’s work is also an examination of that which architecture invites to ‘take place’: the consequences of architectural experience. Diller + Scofidio challenged the imposition that architecture is a permanent such as the monumental architecture of early modernists by Le Corbusier (1887–1965) and Walter Gropius (1883–1969). Unlike these permanence of conventional architecture and abstraction of the imaginary sketches, ‘the work was ephemeral.… Brevity was key. Like a Polaroid snapshot, we were able to conceive an experiment, enact it, learn from its results and then destroy it. Our practice was a laboratory’ (Scofidio, 2007, p. 51).
Diller + Scofidio were driven to formulate their ideas within real operational scenarios where all the senses were in play: “For us, the challenge wasn’t just to imagine space, it was to produce new problems in space, to disrupt it. You couldn’t do that on paper” (Diller, 2007, p. 51).
Architecture, for Diller + Scofidio, is a means or tool of cultural dissection that subverts the spatial ecology of a site/situation for the purposes of revealing wider issues of technology and society. The Blur Pavilion was an act of architectural resistance and questioned the idea of national exhibition and spectacle and the superiority of visual representation (Ibid, p. 162). This shift of perspective is thought to break with conventions and display mechanisms of the everyday, which then become perceptible and intelligible and finally changeable. Blur stood out as an anti-object, with no ‘skin’, no façade, no ground or roof; hence a no definite form, nor size. Above all, it does not exhibit anything, except atmospheric experience itself (Ibid, p. 195).
Significantly, Diller + Scofidio invited this revelation through the durational aspects of architectural affect and utilized the ephemerality of this experience to underline the integrated relationship between technology and culture, body and architecture.
Though there was nothing to see, except a hint of a steel structure in dense fog, the newspapers and visitors of the Swiss national event favoured the pavilion above all other exhibition buildings and named it the ‘wonder cloud’; [Fig. 2.5]. Everyone was fond of the ‘beauty’ of this ‘habitable medium’, as Liz Diller had phrased the concept and journalists were astonished about the new Swissness: “No use, just fun.” They range from what a Swiss newspaper reviewer characterizes as the liberating effect of the zany cloud on "the crotchety Swiss": "What a crazy, idiosyncratic thing! How deliciously without purpose!" (Diller+Scofidio, p. 372) Consequently, Blur became a national icon. Images of the ‘cloud’ appeared on everything from sugar packets to phone cards and lottery tickets, making it the most recognizable image of the Expo. “And this is the highest honor to be bestowed upon an architect in Switzerland -- to have a chocolate bar” (Diller, 2007).
Summarizing the Blur experience using the Model of Emotions, [Fig. 2.6] the pavilion demonstrates the characteristics of:
featureless, depthless, scaleless, spaceless, massless, surfaceless and contextless.
out of focus, playing with the perception and gaze of the tourist and the transience of external conditions such as weather and temperature.
refuge to prospect, from an enclosed space (fog), ascending to the top viewing deck.
immediate and obvious metaphoric associations such as clouds, god, angels, dreams, etc comes into play for some users.
The unseen structure is thrilling as it is somewhat frightening to venture in a fog, yet the audience were drawn to it with such curiosity. They were dispersed with a focused attention and dramatic build-up and climax were all replaced by a kind of attenuated attention that is sustained by a sense of apprehension caused by the fog; [Fig. 2.7]. Their anticipation of what it could be evokes a sense of fascination
Ultimately, Blur was demolished after six months of ‘floating’ on Lake Neuchâtel. Yet, Blur has functioned as a durational symbol for the future of architectural practice: a fleeting monument to the integration of architecture and event, structure and information, within our twenty first century environment.
The High Line is a 1.5 miles, 6.7 square acre public park built on an abandoned, 30 foot high elevated ra ilway that weaves its way through the twenty-two city blocks from the Gansevoort Street in New York's West Village to 34th Street. The park was once a freight rail line, built in the thirties to carry meat to the meatpacking district, mail to the Post Office and agricultural goods to factories and warehouses along the West Side until 1980. The area’s economic decline and the popularity of truck transport put a halt to the train service leaving it to decay.
When the High Line was under threat of demolition, two neighborhood residents, Joshua David and Robert Hammond, founded the non-profit Friends of the High Line in 1999. Inspired by the Promenade Plantée in Paris, they advocated its reuse as a public open space, an elevated park or greenway. They commissioned photographer Joel Strenfeld, who previously had documented Roman ruins, to photograph it. What he found was astonishing, a ribbon of meadow-like wildscape running through Manhattan, a melancholic beauty which was all the more poignant for being inaccessible; [Fig. 3.1]. Strenfeld requested a year of exclusive access and managed to capture different seasons of the overgrown prairie on the elevated railway.
Julie Iovine (2009, p. 7) recalled the structure’s period of dereliction as “a figment of people’s romantic imagination – a wild meadow threaded with rusty rails high above the street – that was visited primarily by adventuresome truants and graffiti artists.” One of Sternfeld’s photos was later published in The New Yorker with a florid essay by Adam Gopnik (2001, p. 44) where he rhapsodized about it:
“There are irises and lamb’s ears and thistle-tufted onion grass, white-flowering bushes and pink-budded tress and grape hyacinths, and strange New York weeds that shoot straight up with horizontal arms, as though electrified. A single, improbable Christmas tree can be found there, and flocks of warblers have made themselves a home, too. In one sheltered stretch between two tall buildings is a stand of hardwood trees. The High Line combines the appeal of those fantasies in which New York has returned to the wild with an almost Zen quality of measured, peaceful distance.” (See Appendix C)
Confident by the allure of the urban meadow, these photos were key to the ongoing appeal at public meetings on the subject of saving the High Line. Reclaiming the High Line, an exhibition at the Municipal Art Society in February 2001 attracted big names such as Martha Stewart, Robert A.M. Stern, Sandra Bernhard and Kevin Bacon to become supporters of the High Line’s preservation. Gifford Miller, Amanda Burden, Edward Norton and Diane Von Furstenberg, were among those involved in the Save the High Line effort. Gifford Miller, City Council Speaker, regarded a scene on the High Line as “… in the clouds, as it were—on the level of the Jetsons” (Sternbergh, 2007, p. 5).
In 2003, Friends of High Line sponsored a competition seeking visionary design proposal for its revitalization and received 720 submissions from thirty-eight countries, including ideas for windmill farms, a lap pool, an aerial tramway, cow pastures and an amusement park with a Big Apple roller coaster. Diller Scofidio + Renfro, Field Operations (FO; a landscape architecture firm headed by James Corner), and Dutch planting designer Piet Oudolf were named the official selection of a design team to reinvent the public space. These designers beat out an A-list of competitors including Zaha Hadid, Steven Holl and Michael Van Valkenburgh Associates.
Celebrities’ reputations, money-shot photos, sensuous text and a promise of increased property values, worked to the advantage of the High Line activists. This was clever marketing, one that relied on combining appeals to all of the senses with the evocation of a sense of wonder called ‘sensory marketing’ (Howes & Classen, 2014, p. 133).
It was indeed a well-publicized ribbon of greenery at that time. The broadened High Line community support grew and in 2004, the New York City government committed $50 million to establish the proposed park. Together with New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg and City Council Speakers, Gifford Miller and Christine C. Quinn, they managed to raise over $150 million in 2014.
The redesign of the High Line Park “is not erasure, and it is not preservation, it is really transformation” (Corner quoted in Hustwits, 2011, p. 30). To create an accessible garden for people to walk, the High Line was stripped to make way for a new landscape. Many of the existing plants were being planted, some of the old rail tracks were reused and concrete pathways connected to gently nudge visitors toward a similarly meandering experience as they travel from one end to the other. Corner envisioned the park to constantly put before the eye the sedimentary layers of history and nature that had settled there over the years (Lacayo, R., 2007, p. 43).
The main feature of the wilderness beauty on the High Line Park is the tending of it. The ‘tended wilderness’ has a landscape design palette of types of plants that change seasonally, tended so as to give it shape by cutting and trimming the edges; [Fig. 3.2]. Such high maintenance is followed by controlled separation between pedestrians and nature using low fencing and signages to ensure its beauty is protected.
Corner’s (2006) terra fluxus version of landscape urbanism attempts at creating a balanced ecology between urban and natural processes (p. 31). Corner and DS+R did not want a sharp delineation between the plantings and the hardscape so they treated the park as a continuous carpet where the hard and soft blend together. That carpet unfolds as a system of concrete planks interwoven with strips of greenery. In certain places, planks seem to have been yanked up to form ipé-wood benches with metal grilles underneath for drainage. The designers refer to this feathering of hard and soft elements as "agri-tecture" (Pearson, C. A., 2009, p. 86); [Fig. 3.3] (See Appendix A & B).
The High Line Park is placed floating in mid-air, demanding an effort from the user to climb the stairs. Physically one has to climb the steps, and mentally move from one world to another: the “otherworldly space” (Diller, 2014). The threshold sets the contrast of the two worlds; the streets and the 30 feet tall garden. The ‘rabbit hole’ appears as a guiding light luring visitors to the summit to another world of a secret garden above; [Fig. 3.4].
Samson (2010, p. 332) highlights how the High Line Park has been designed in sections inducing a certain performative aesthetic, that as scenes, stage the city-vistas. DS+R developed a theatrical element that orchestrates views or frames elements of the city and invites individuals to immerse in their everyday landscape from a different spatial perspective. Achieved through a combination of viewing platforms and staged amphitheatre with large window frames, the structure curates the external view as each stage is aligned with one element of the surrounding landscape and viewed in isolation; [Fig. 3.4, 3.5].
This approach positions the surrounding features such as billboards, or building materials as being equally important as exhibits on display. Silent films and art videos presented on the high line channel light up the park every night and give visitors a reason to pause during their evening walks; [Fig. 3.7]. There is also the High Line Billboard series where each work of art is shown for one month, alternating with an advertisement by ParkFast.com at West 18th Street and 10th Avenue; [Fig. 3.8].
The result is an episodic and varied sequence of public spaces and landscapes, set along some of the most remarkable elevated vistas of Manhattan and the Hudson River; [Fig. 3.9, 4.0].
Everyone, from park visitors to nearby diners to condo dwellers to hotel guests, are invited to enjoy the High Line, behind their own side of the glass. Unintentionally, inviting voyeurism, a world of people posing in which people see the unseen. Late evenings, visitors can enjoy listening to Elizabeth Soychak performing jazz standards from Patty Heffley’s West 20th Street fire escape, just yards away from the High Line Park, turning the site into an ad-hoc Renegade Cabaret; [Fig. 4.1]. Her living room has now become a stage, and her fire escape; her front porch is a proscenium arch.
This exemplar highlights the way the High Line challenges the boundaries between the public and private spaces. Private and intimate everyday activities become part of the self-staging.
In stark contrast to the busy road traffic and the fast-paced New Yorkers, the experience of the High Line landscape is envisioned as slow and a distraction of a strange, wild ‘otherworldliness’. In other words, it was deliberately designed to slow things down, to promote a sense of duration and of being in another place, where time seems less pressing through long stairways, meandering pathways and hidden niches; [Fig. 4.2]. For a Swedish couple, these small nooks and alcoves where people sit alone on benches, reading books or tablets, writing or drawing, makes the High Line feels like a backyard:
“I think it’s nice. You sort of come behind the buildings and the city, it’s almost like a backyard, you come behind the buildings and apartments” (Swedish tourists, Thursday, October 25th, 10am, 2012) (Ebbensgaard, C. L., 2013, p. 98).
Liz Diller (2014) defined the park as ‘a moment of supreme nothingness’; [Fig. 4.3]:
“The high line, if it’s about anything, it’s about nothing, about doing nothing. You can walk and sit, but you can’t be productive.”
The account of one female resident confirmed this:
“It’s such a nice way to decompress after work. I find it very soothing to be around the plants, even though they are dying now [laughs] still it’s really nice to be here and it’s so unusual to be around plants and green in the city, and especially here in New York. And you know I just don’t like negotiation with cars and or cyclists – I do support cyclists, sure but they are just soo territorial and up here I don’t have to deal with any of that” (Local woman, Thursday, Oct 25th, 10am, 2012) (Ebbensgaard, C. L., 2013, p. 103).
As Francis and Hester (1992, p. 17) put it: “the elements of the garden–earth, water, plants, sun and wind can heal and nurture us with restorative energies”. The soothing environment induces another sense of time, a ‘garden time’ underlined by Thrift (2009, p. 121) where the evolutionary aspect of the garden which resides immanent within its perpetual shifting and changing. To some extent the meditative experience is questionable. In 2012, The High Line Park had 4.4 million visitors (12000 a day). It is 1/212 the size of Central Park (37.5 million). As popularity of the High Line increases, at times it gets congested, visitors are forced to make a conscious effort to be relaxed rather than residing in the space.
The High Line has had a knock-on effec t of making the areas around it in New York more desirable for property owners and developers. “The abandoned railroad that made a park ... that made a neighbourhood ... that made a brand” (Sternbergh, 2007, p. 1); [Fig. 4.4]. To this day the word High Line has been so often used that people may refer it to the High Line neighbourhood, the new skyline of glittering retail spaces, restaurants, warehouses, condos, with names such as High Line 519, HL23, the High Line Terrace and Lounge and the High Line Festival; [Fig. 4.5]. As companies move to brand themselves and their products along the High Line track, diverse commercial establishments spring up creating an endless experience brand of the High Line:
“As I move from the forest in the Southern part northwards the smell of Japanese cuisine makes my stomach twirl... As I can’t smell the Japanese cuisine any more it is taken over by the smell of Italian cuisine, pizza maybe …The smells, however, soon mix with the smell of coffee and ice-cream from the vendors in front of the kitchen” (Ebbensgaard, C. L., 2012, p. 86); [Fig. 4.6].
This is intensified by the realization that the sensory attractions of the High Line are too powerful and are enticing tourists from all over the world - art enthusiasts, shoppers and passers-by, to step into this wonderland to be overwhelmed by its highly memorable sensory splendour.
The findings of the High Line are summarised using the Model of Emotions; [Fig. 4.7]. The community support of public redevelopment of the High Line has evidently shown a deep desire for sensoriallyengaging environments. Their demand has shaped the design approach of the park (a series of stimuli) with preservation in mind.
An appraisal by Adam Sternbergh (2007, p. 2) highlights eloquently the utopian yet seemingly dystopian aspects of the park:
“The High Line is, according to its converts (and they are legion), the happily-ever-after at the end of an urban fairy tale. It’s a “flying carpet,” “our generation’s Central Park,” something akin to “Alice in Wonderland ... through the keyhole and you’re in a magical place.” It’s also the end-product of a perfect confluence of powerful forces: radical dreaming, dogged optimism, neighborhood anxiety, design mania, real-estate opportunism, money, celebrity, and power.”
The High Line has become one of the most beloved public space in New York City. It is a symbol of living in New York, a cultural identity that excite or soothe, shaping our senses and our lives.
Unlike the Blur building that focuses on one popular appeal of the cloud as an association and conception, the High Line is an abundance of mixed stimulating sensorium. While the High Line has gone into making relevant a site that's grown out of sync with its time and the Blur building lies more in the realms of experimental, both projects share an extremely intricate understanding of the greater architectural experience of events and dramaturgical effect of space as well as interactive and augmented environments. ‘Dramaturgy’ as anticipated by DS+R, suggest an understanding of architecture that includes the time-based, narrative and lived elements within it, the folding processes implicit, latent, resistant or simply possible within its structures (Turner, 2010, p. 152). This foundation influenced DS+R’s approach to architecture as event-space, ranging from choreographic scenographies on stage to performative installations in exhibition which were clearly translated into their architectural projects. These case studies are representatives of their continuing indifference towards the conventional boundaries between architecture and other artistic disciplines. As Charles Renfro states, the aim of the design studio:
“We strive toward a self-awareness of the building in which the audience understands itself as audience and the difference between art and the building. Art and building are not competing. That is a reductive notion” (Renfro, 2007, p. 125).
Like a filmmaker, DS+R manipulate the viewer’s attention by using movement, narrative emphasis, visual frame and dramatizing a space. They designate the calculated scenic arrangement in which image and space merge to form a narrative. They make spaces intelligible, playful, upbeat, joyful and unpredictable by controlling how and what we can and cannot see.
DS+R have brought complete and self-contained environments into being which remain open to the spectator’s own experiences and imaginations. The resonance that the architecture of DS+R engenders provides an inspiring reminder that imagination carries an emotional and sensory communicative power. By challenging the assumptions about everyday conventions of space, they are able to introduce a palpable change of perspective to the users. As discussed and analysed using the model of emotions, the multi-sensuous architectural elements embedded in their environments spark immensely strong sensory associations by the users, thus proving to be successfully engaging and memorable to their hearts. In this sense, DS+R’s work is truly the ultimate contemporary utopia for the senses.
Cover Image – Taisuke Koyama. (2013) Melting Rainbows. Retrieved from http://blog.nastygal.com/uncategorized/2013/03/meltingrainbows/?crlt_pid=camp.RmVmeqixgDwD#more-34105
Figure 1.1 – Desmet, Pieter. (2002). The basic model of emotions. Retrieved from http://experiencingarchitecture.com/blog/howdo%C2%A0emotions%C2%A0work/
Figure 1.2 – Maslow. (1943). Hierarchy of needs. Retrieved from http://whyleadnow.com/category/growth/page/3/
Figure 1.3 – Alyani Fadzil. (2015). The Model of Emotion in Architecture.
Figure 2.1 – The amorphous fog mass. Retrieved from http://dianedubeau.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/diane-dubeau-nuageblur-building-diller-scofidio-2.jpg
Figure 2.2 – The nozzle and the ‘braincoat’. Retrieved from http://dianedubeau.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/diane-dubeau-nuageblur-building-diller-scofidio-6.jpg
http://dianedubeau.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/diane-dubeau-nuage-blurbuilding-diller-scofidio-5.jpg
Figure 2.3 – Leo Mulvehill. (2010). Animation showing the deconstruction of the Blur building. Retrieved from http://vimeo.com/14257290
Figure 2.4 – Thrill of venturing to the unknown. Retrieved from https://placesjournal.org/assets/legacy/media/images/HeymannFig3_525.jp g
Figure 2.5 - The ‘wonder cloud’. Retrieved from http://www.archello.com/sites/default/files/DSRBlur04Beat_Widmer.jpg
Figure 2.6 – Alyani Fadzil. (2015). Blur explained by the basic model of emotions. Retrieved from https://designcanopy.wordpress.com/2013/04/15/blur-building/ http://www.designboom.com/eng/funclub/dillerscofidio.html
https://www10.informatik.unierlangen.de/Teaching/IGWA/2013/report/course2/pdfs/15_IITD_SJ.pdf
http://unit03-metamorphosis.blogspot.co.uk/2012_12_01_archive.html
Figure 2.7 – Refuge to prospect. Retrieved from http://server1.dsrny.com/projects/BlurBuilding/ . http://unit03metamorphosis.blogspot.co.uk/2012_12_01_archive.html
Figure 3.1 - Joel Sternfeld. (2000-2001). Walking the High Line. (From left to right, top to bottom). Retrieved from
1. https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3431/3249175570_153a8a4307_b.jpg
2. https://paulwalshphotographyblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/img _0427.jpg
3. https://paulwalshphotographyblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/img _0429.jpg
4. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/26aemhEUEZw/TWmF_9Rty4I/AAAAAAAABt4/O9rwnZlk_3s/s1600/Detail +Image-7.jpeg
5. http://mysite.cherokee.k12.ga.us/pe rsonal/gayle_eller/site/Joel%20St ernfeld/1/Dossier%20Journal.jpg
6. http://2.bp.blogspot.com/xz68z2OSNZ0/T1OyJGs0fDI/AAAAAAAAJSc/01ZADAHCFM8/s1600/Sternfel d%2BLooking%2BWest%2Bon%2B30th%2BStreet%2Bon%2Ba%2BSepte mber%2BEvening%2B2000.jpg
2207520000.1420627620./10154397703715122/?type=3&src=https%3A%2F%2F fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net%2Fhphotos-ak-xpa1%2Ft31.08%2Fs960x960%2F10460652_10154397703715122_4804665150905166217_o.jp g&smallsrc=https%3A%2F%2Ffbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net%2Fhphotosak-xpf1%2Fv%2Ft1.09%2F10500430_10154397703715122_4804665150905166217_n.jpg%3Foh%3D0 f8880fbf685daa29810633efc273122%26oe%3D55343106%26__gda__%3D14284 84217_f9903557b04392ad8e435317529635a5&size=2048%2C2048&fbid=10154 397703715122
Figure 3.3 – Girvin. (2010). The ‘agri-tecture’. Exploring place and experience: 24 hours | Part four – The High Line. Retrieved from http://www.girvin.com/blog/?p=4565
Figure 3.4 - Cook & Jenshel. (2013). A woman descends the 14th Street Entry. Retrieved from http://cookjenshel.com/wpcontent/uploads/2012/06/0681.jpg
Figure 3.5 – Wilkes, Stephen. Car watching at the Sunken Overlook, West 17th St. Retrieved from http://i2.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article2155396.ece/alternates/s1227b/ Another-one-of-photographer-Stephen-Wilkes-stunning-images-shows-thecitys-High-Line-move-from-day-to-night.jpg
Figure 3.6 – The 26th Street Viewing Spur frames a couple against a stunning sunset. Harvey, Erika. (2012). Photography: When Night Falls on the High Line. Photo by Tim Schenck. Retrieved from http://www.blog.thehighline.org/blog/2012/01/27/photography-when-nightfalls-on-the-high-line
Figure 3.7 – The High Line channel. Harvey, Erika. (2012). Photography: When Night Falls on the High Line. Photo by Austin Kennedy. Retrieved from http://www.blog.thehighline.org/blog/2012/01/27/photography-when-nightfalls-on-the-high-line
Figure 3.8 – Schenck, Timothy. (2014). "Groovin High" by Faith Ringgold. Retrieved from http://art.thehighline.org/project/faithringgold/
Figure 3.9 – View of the Statue of Liberty. Retrieved from http://www.greenduck.com/en/Green_NewYork/The_High_Line_Part2
Figure 4.0 – Cook & Jenshel. (2013). A couple watching the Macy’s July 4th Fireworks display over the Hudson River at Section 3. Retrieved from http://cookjenshel.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/0581.jpg
Figure 4.1 – Elizabeth Soychak, Renegade Cabaret performer
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/25/garden/25seen.html?_r=0
Figure 4.2 – Viewing platform. Retrieved from http://www.rediff.com/getahead/slide-show/slide-show-1-travel-photosthe-most-instagrammed-destinations-of-2013/20131223.htm#6
Figure 4.3 - A moment of supreme nothingness. Shutterstock. (2012). Retrieved from http://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-3259009-stockfootage-new-york-august-new-yorkers-and-visitors-on-busy-citystreets.html . Mike Tscappat. (2014). Retrieved from https://www.flickr.com/photos/25077121@N02/page1/
Figure 4.4 - Sternbergh, Adam. (2007). The High Line: It Brings Good Things to Life. Illustration by Andy Friedman. Retrieved from http://nymag.com/news/features/31273/
Figure 4.5 - The setting sun glows against the IAC building designed by Frank Gehry, and residential buildings designed by Jean Nouvel, Annabelle Selldorf Architects, and Shigeru Ban. Harvey, Erika. (2012). Photography: When Night Falls on the High Line. Photo by John Locke Lee. Retrieved from http://www.blog.thehighline.org/blog/2012/01/27/photography-whennight-falls-on-the-high-line
the High Line. Photo by Dan Nguyen. Retrieved from http://www.blog.thehighline.org/blog/2012/01/27/photography-when-nightfalls-on-the-high-line
Figure 4.7 – Alyani Fadzil. (2015). The High Line explained by the basic model of emotions. Retrieved from http://www.superatual.com.br/2014/04/um-jardim-suspenso-nos-euapode-servir-de-exemplo-para-o-futuro-do-minhocao-em-sp/ http://www.b.dk/rejseliv/guide-5-fra-high-line-paa-manhattan
http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/travel/279507582.html
https://www.flickr.com/photos/25077121@N02/page1/
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