Phenomenology and Sensory design: Philosophical design tools for memorable places
Carla Vanesa Vargas Soto Critical & Contextual Studies Dissertation Studio 6 - Atmospheres Interior Design & Decoration Student ID 18014849 2020/2021
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Fig. 9 ‘The fundamental event of modern age is the conquest of the world as a picture’ (Martin Heidegger). 7
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Chapter Two: Authenticity through materiality and the body of architecture. Phenomenology has been critical of modern architecture and interior design. Sigfried Kracauer talked about ‘transcendental homelessness’ of modernity, characterized by a generalized impoverishment of our existence, emptied of all meaning.1 Pallasmaa expresses it in the following terms: ‘the cancerous spread of superficial architectural imagery today, devoid of tectonic logic and a sense of materiality and empathy’2 and quotes Martin Heidegger sentencing: “the fundamental event of modern age is the conquest of the world as a picture”.3 We can all appreciate how these words ring truer than ever, with the blossoming of information technology and social media and the proliferation of digitally retouched images in it. Pallasmaa believes that only the Nihilistic eye is capable of detachment and alienation; for intimacy, veracity and identification are intrinsic to the sense of touch.4 Thus, it could be argued that another value of phenomenology is the search for authenticity, by means of materiality and sensory design. Phenomenology and sensory design go hand in hand with each other. When we hear about memorable places, we will notice how the subject is aware of what all the senses perceived. Tanisaki, for example, recalls the experience of visiting his favourite tea shop, and what stands out for him is the dense darkness of the atmosphere, the flickering candlelight and the mystery of the steaming teapot with its evocative herbal aroma.5 A passage of Peter Zumthor’s ‘Thinking Architecture’ book talks about one of these memorable experiences too, one that the architect attempts to emulate every time he designs a new space: ‘Sometimes I can almost feel a particular door handle in my hand, a piece of metal shaped like the back of a spoon… That door handle still seems to me like a special sign of entry into a world of different moods and smells. I remem9
ber the sound of the gravel under my feet, the soft gleam of the waxed oak staircase, I can hear the heavy front door closing behind me as I walk along the dark corridor and enter the kitchen, the only really brightly lit room in the house.’6 Paying close attention to the adjectives that define Zumthor experience with materials, we can appreciate that these are soft, curved metal, the cheerful sound of the gravel anticipating a heavy door that marks a before and an after, the polished wooden handrail of the staircase and the bath of natural light in that kitchen, highlighted by contrast of the dark corridor. All these materials are real, original materials: metal, wood, gravel, easily recognizable from their original source, nature. This is an important point to consider when choosing materials: real materials communicate authenticity.
Fig. 10 Some composite materials, developed in an effort to recycle more, unfortunately transmit a sense of temporality to interiors and the sensation that we are slowly drowning in plastic.
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The architect explains this further by saying ‘the world is full of signs and information, which stand for things no one fully understand because they, too, turn out to be mere signs for other things. Yet the real things remain hidden.’ 7 I believe this could be applied to new composite materials that we are trying to incorporate into design and architecture, in an effort to build more responsibly with sustainable and environmentally friendly materials. The intention is praiseworthy, but the result does not always contribute to an interior of authenticity. There is an implicit message of temporality and the sensation that we are slowly drowning in a world invaded by plastic, which sadly is our reality. What it can be done, as designers and architects, if we still want to build responsibly without falling into artificiality, is select reclaimed materials where we can appreciate their origin. These objects will have a story to tell, rooted in the past, just like the patinated lacquerware of Tanisaki’s does. This should contribute to depth and authenticity of the space with limited impact on the environment. I would like to comment on the case of Walmer Yard, in London [Fig. 8]. It is a residential project by architect Peter Salter, which is remarkable for the extensive research and incorporation of sensory elements applied to this residential environment. This is a pioneer type of project that invite us to learn from experience, however in this space both types of materials coexist, which in my opinion subtract from the full potential that the building could have reached. The external façade of the complex does not fully integrate in the context of the street, in terms of materiality. This could be for stylistic reasons but also due to constraints in terms of budget and space -Fig. 12-. The main onus of Walmer Yard is on the living experience. For this, the interiors and inner courtyards are emphasized by wells of light and double height ceilings that invite us to socialize and spend time in them -Fig. 14-. There is an element of flexibility that allows the inhabitants to alter some wooden panels to regulate the direction of daylight. This is a novelty element that provides a healthy sense of control. Some
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Fig. 11 Real materials transmit authenticity and solidity through their sensory qualities. Pictured above, Zumthor’s Therme Vals in Switzerland. 12
rectangular windows placed high on the wall of one of the bedrooms allow for natural light to enter while providing some privacy. Moving upstairs through the black steel steps, we can sense the touch of the rope handrail covered in brown leather -Fig. 13-. This fits perfectly in this dark corner of the house, just like Tanisaki’s textured lacquerware gleams to the dim illumination of a candlelight. However, the choice of cold, echoing metal in a residential context is less welcoming and mysterious than a dark, warm and inviting wooden staircase could be. How much more intriguing and dignified this corner of the house would be if our feet and hands sensed the absorbing consistency and density of wood rather than thin, vibrating and unforgiving steel. On the second floor of the house, we find the ‘yurt space’ -Fig. 15which is a circular room illuminated by some large window panels. The window is dressed in some translucent yellow curtains that create a warm light filter for the sunlight entering the room. This emphasizes the sense of comfort and well-being that the wooden floor and round geometry help to create. It is a space for reading and relaxation and it succeeds in creating a welcoming and soothing atmosphere. However, there is some contrast between the solid, real wooden floor finish and the recycled composite materials on the wall. These convey a message of temporality and fragility that, in my opinion diminish the sense of endurance, protection and authenticity that real materials transmit. We could continue commenting on this contrast between real and by-product materials, but in essence the same pattern repeats. A sense of temporality and fragility brought by some of the composite materials, in contrast with comforting, solid ones that provide a dignified context for daily life rituals. To conclude this point, we should summarize by equating authenticity with truth to materials in form, but also in place and purpose. With the precedent of the whitescape house and the exterior façade of Walmer yard, we cannot oversee how important it is to take into consideration the external context in which the project takes
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place, and the function that the choice of material will have within the space. The final value or phenomenological tool that I would like to discuss in this paper is that of the ‘body of architecture’. Bachelard made an extensive and invaluable analogy between the house and the human psyche and he even ascribed human qualities to the house, such as protection and maternal instinct.8 Similarly, Peter Zumthor compares the building structure to the skeletal system and the wall membranes to the skin.9 These philosophical tools are invaluable to understand habitable spaces as an extension of its occupants and thus create spaces with a spiritual dimension, buildings with a soul that will be remembered by its occupants in times to come. When the designer or architect becomes aware of the rich symbology that lies within parts of the building, such as doors, windows, lighting and floor levels; he or she will be in a better position to design with due care and attention, those elements that are so easily overlooked, but which form part of the daily rituals of life. The design will acquire a transcendental quality that will confer it with authenticity and will allow the occupants to bond with the space. One of the first symbolical elements that is important to understand is that the walls of the house delimit the borders between our social and domestic life. Bachelard claims that the house is the cradle that harbors our childhood daydreams, the place that protect us and allows us to ‘dream in peace’. The house of our memories is the house we carry with us anywhere we go.10 Pallasmaa adds that the house provides us with the framework that allows us to think with clarity. ‘The geometry of thought echoes the geometry of the room’11. Hence, we can conceive the house as the realm of our private life, our ‘corner in the world’12 and outdoors lies the immensity of the rest of the world and our public life. George Simmel would add, in his famous essay ‘Bridge and Door’ that the door in itself sets a boundary between the inner and the outer worlds, while communicating intention and marking 14
the difference between the actions of entering and exiting.13 Pallasmaa sees in the door handle the building’s handshake, and he passionately works to confer them with as much refinement and detail as possible.14 In directing our attention to the weight, materiality and details of the door and door handle, and to its surroundings as well, the day-to-day ritual of opening and closing that door becomes dignified and we are able to experience phenomenology. Another crucial principle regarding the body of architecture that phenomenology lends us, is that of the vertical and cosmic dimension of the house. Here Bachelard is the point of reference for the analogy, as we have mentioned before, between the human psyche and the levels of the house. Bachelard equates the cellar to our subconscious, instinctual world. The cellar is rooted on earth and it confers the room with the frightening notion that the walls could be swallowed by a landslide at any time. The cellar also harbors the monsters of the house. There we store all kinds of things, some of which we do not want them to be visible to visitors. In psychoanalysis, the monsters of the house would be the shadow self we do not want to acknowledge, and it does not matter how much we illuminate it, ‘the subconscious will always take a candle when it goes to the cellar’.15. The ground level of the house could equate to the conscious self, the place of action where we simply exist, carrying out our daily routines. The garret, however, represents the most elevated part of the human psyche. It contains our intellectual and spiritual world, as well as our imagination. In the garret we are free to daydream, retreat and we feel a bit closer to the cosmic world. This is perhaps the reason why humanity has aimed for taller and higher edifications, in a vain effort to reach for god or the stars. Modern skyscrapers are, as Bachelard would call them, a series of ‘boxes stuck up one on top of the other’. For the philosopher, dwellings stuck in a high building have lost all sense of intimacy, as well as the spiritual dimension because they have lost touch with the earth that rooted them, and the joy of ascending has been replaced by mechanical lifts. 15
There is no merit anymore in going higher. No thrill anymore for reaching to the stars. In addition, the house has lost the sense of vulnerability that paradoxically, made us feel safe and protected in the pouring rain or in the middle of a storm. These high-rise buildings stand up immobile, they hold themselves together to protect us from the racing wind, there is no struggling, no life in them anymore. Buildings have lost their soul.16 To finalize this chapter, I would like to mention the importance of windows and lights. From the point of view of phenomenology, we should understand windows as the eyes of the house. A sneak peek into the outside, from the realm of our domestic life. The light shining from inside the house through the window is the eye pupil. The house with the lights on watches us from afar and
Fig. 16 The garret symbolises the human psyche in its intellectual and spiritual dimension. Here we are free to daydream and feel closer to the stars. 16
awaits for our return.17 When the curtains, the house eyelids close, we are wrapped amongst the walls, protected from the gaze of outsiders. We are free to live and experience our own little universe. Notes
1
Rethinking Architecture: A Reader in Cultural Theory, ed. by Neil Leach (New York: Routledge, 1997), p. 51.
2
Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses, 3. ed (Chichester: Wiley, 2012), p. 25.
3
Ibid., p.24.
4
Ibid., p.25.
5
Jun’ichiroō Tanizaki, Thomas J. Harper and Edward Seidensticker, In Praise of Shadows, Vintage Classics, Repr (London: Vintage Books, 2001), p. 22.
6
Peter Zumthor, Maureen Oberli-Turner and Catherine Schelbert, Thinking Architecture, Third, expanded edi- tion (Boston: Birkhäuser, 2015), p. 7.
7
Ibid., pp. 16-7.
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Gaston Bachelard and M. Jolas, The Poetics of Space, Penguin Classics, New edition (New York, New York: Pen guin Books, 2014), chaps. 1–2.
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Peter Zumthor, Atmospheres: Architectural Environments Surrounding Objects (Basel: Birkhäuser, 2006), pp. 21–3.
10
Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, p.28.
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Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin, p. 48. 17
12
Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, p.26.
13
Rethinking Architecture, ed. by Leach, p. 67.
14
Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin, p. 79.
15
Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, p.41.
16
Ibid., chaps. 1-2.
17
Ibid., pp. 54-5.
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