Tuesday, April 2, 2013

De la forme à la connaissance.

On peut aussi le faire avec les différents motifs de nos paniers gabonais.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Bulding safe city

I recall the first time I heard an architect talk about programming a building. I imagined an elaborate process of computational mathematics and structural engineering blended with social psychology. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that programming was little more than a designer saying "this place is for walking between a and b, this place is for sitting, and this place is is for the mixed use of sitting and/or walking." Certainly there is some excellent work out there to understand the relationship between human activity and the predeterminations of physical space. I have a copy of A Pattern Language sitting on my shelf and can't recommend it enough. But so often the process of programming is approached as formulaic as master plans (frequent readers are familiar with my disdain for old fashioned master plans). A quick google search will reveal step-by-step guides to programming, but reading through such procedures, one is simply confronted by the usual "rational strategic planning model" to identify user needs within the framework of budgets, time, and materials. Bottom up and mixed-methods exist as well, but again, how dissimilar is programming from basic decision making? I suspect we use the term programming because it sounds more impressive. But more importantly, there is a desire among architects and urban designers to identify and tap into some cosmic body of knowledge that will explain the structural underpinnings of human behavior. I'm certainly just as guilty as anyone else. And the evidence of this desire is everywhere. We have decades of research on central place theory and investigations into complex adaptive systems along with today's groundbreaking research on the mathematics of cities. But as we mine downward into the underbelly of social order, what do we do with these new understandings? Do we attempt to restructure all of society according to some personal vision like Le Corbusier, or do we simply reinforce these patterns with our design efforts, even if they are imperfect? There are plenty of tools out there to understand the role of space in human activity, but how do we build upon that? In many ways we are beginning already to implement these lessons, such as the efforts by Washington DC police to look at how land use and development trends impact changes in crime. But in this instance, it is about redistributing police officers to points of potential crime. As an urban planner, how can I apply these same tools and concepts on behalf of governments around the world? This issue has been on my mind a great deal lately I have been designing a public green space for construction in the spring and have been thinking a great deal about how the space can be used, and more specifically, abused. Unique architectural features that might stimulate social responsibility or interest can easily become transformed into vantage points for sabotage, crime, and violence. Although security has always been a critical part of city planning, the modern idea of creating a "Defensible Space" has emerged in the 1960s when Oscar Newman was attempting to reduce crime in low-income housing communities in the US. His conclusions such as the use of street lights, defined walkways, and indicators of clear ownership have all been successfully implemented in communities around the world to deter urban crime. Unique Feature or Tactical Vantage Point? But as I work in an areas where militant aggression and terrorism are daily realities, I'm curious how I can do the opposite. Everyday in Kabul I see big massive walls surrounded in razor-wire with reinforced steel doors and windows glazed in blast film. Not to mention that tall buildings have been utilized multiple times now as strategic points of attack by insurgents. Just the other day I was walking past Share-e-Naw Park and I was looking at its tall iron fences, the clusters of foliage, and the undulating terrain. Now the park isn't exactly an offensive vantage point, yet nothing about its design actually would deter or undermine an offensive actor. In fact, many of the elements designed in line with Newman's prescriptions just would just well serve as an asset to a criminal - with limited points of entry and exit, absorbing shadows at the edge of the spot-lit walkway and continually obstructed sight-lines formed by vegetation and corner shops. Perhaps a better solution is to create the Indefensible Space. A space or structure that can only be used for its intended purpose that cannot be destroyed, vandalized, or misused as a means to conduct offensive operations. Such a space or structure could not be formulaic, but site sensitive, and its programming would emerge more from the process of responsive decision making and data collection rather than from within a studio. But the intentional proliferation of such spaces could transform global conflict. We already have cities full of defensive structures, and when programming a public space in a conflict zone, it cannot be assumed that the typical recipe for creating secure structures meets long-term social interests. In fact, I would argue that the more classical interventions are utilized to secure a city, the longer that city will struggle with transitioning between conflict to post-conflict stages and beyond. If you want to undermine the resiliency and economic sustainability of a city in conflict, then build massive walls. But if you want to reinforce social forces to maximize social order, then a different prescription is needed. As for cities like Kabul that are already overwhelmed by defensive architecture, the infusion of indefensible spaces into such a landscape could help lesson the oppression of concrete barriers and checkpoints. The free-flowing indefensible spaces distributed throughout the city could bolster stability and even economic growth. Clearly the counter-intuitive nature of the concept yields many weaknesses. But we already have plenty of tools from which to analyze social spaces and to measure the impact of the built environment. So how do we transform the knowledge gained through all the analytical tools into an effective programmatic and design solution remains an unrefined art. So while my proposal for the indefensible space isn't perfect, it poses an opportunity to explore the analytics while lessoning the potential for negative consequences. The greatest risk is that some unimaginative planner will situate a flat, empty parking lot in the middle of a city and do nothing more. But as for the potential opportunity for design and the art of programming? That remains to be explored.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Libreville: le DNA d'une capitale tropicale.

Riche en couleur, image et dynamique en mouvement. Bâtiments modernes et traditionnels se côtoient.

Libreville:le DNA d'une capitale tropicale

Monday, September 3, 2012

Ajouter une brise, une attitude estival à votre domicile en canalisant un été icon-le panier pique-nique! Raphia apporte une ambiance élégante mais décontractée à n'importe quel intérieur, et Shelterpop a une grande rafle de pièces rafia pour accentuer votre maison Arkansas.
Pendant Light Shade de jute Horchow-main de jute tissée et toujours aussi peu bizarre.
David Stark Zebra Tapis de West Elm-Ce tapis en jute lunatique apportera un peu d'humour dans votre décor.
Raphia plaquées argent Cadres de Pottery Barn-Le contraste élégant, plaque en argent brillant et terreux, raphia naturel rend ces cadres un must-have.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Kawung motif is one of the geometric patterns of Indonesian Batik. One of the most prominent motif used is the overlapping circles. Usually the design contains other elements or other geometric forms. But you can use this simplified version for practice.

Plant motifs

Man's embroidered nightcap, 1600-1624, Museum no. T.258-1926
Man's embroidered nightcap, linen with coloured silk, spangles, silver-gilt thread and bobbin lace, England, 1600-1624, Museum no. T.258-1926


This resource is intended for secondary Art & Design and Design & Technology teachers. It contains information about plant motifs in textiles from Tudor England, Mughal India and Qing China. There are ideas about different ways of looking at objects in the Victoria and Albert Museum, as well as suggestions on preparing for your visit and follow-up activities. You will find sections on the following:
  • About plant motifs
  • Plant motif projects
  • Find out more
  • Botanical illustration resource box
The same plants often recur in English, Indian and Chinese textile design. By selecting the simple theme of plants, you can help your students identify their distinguishing features and analyse the links, similarities and differences between motifs from different places and times. In this resource, sections on each culture look at these issues by examining common aspects, such as technique, style and production.

About plant motifs

How does a motif move between cultures?
Woven Buddhist picture, about 1740-1800, Museum no. T.97-1966
Woven Buddhist picture, woven silk, China, about 1740-1800 (Qing Dynasty), Museum no. T.97-1966
Plant ornament on textiles travelled extensively through trade, colonialism and the spread of religions. In 1498 Vasco de Gama discovered the sea route to India and in 1600 the East India Company was established to control trade between Britain and the East. Its imports included porcelain and silk from China, lacquer from Japan and cotton textiles from India.
Such was the demand for these new and exotic goods that craftsmen in Europe set out to imitate them, in a style known as 'Chinoiserie'. But many of the imported goods had been made specifically for a European market. Their designs had been adapted to suit western tastes and were not an accurate reflection of Indian or Chinese design. Instead, they created a romantic idea of the East that had little to do with reality.
The influence of trade and colonialism is particularly striking in the case of Britain and India. The colonisation of the subcontinent began as a trading relationship. Initially, the British bought chintz and other textiles to use as barter in the spice trade with the East Indies, but there was soon a growing demand on the European market for Indian fabrics, in both dress and furnishings.
An example of a motif travelling through religion is the lotus flower. It originated in India and reached China through the spread of Buddhism, with which it was closely associated.
Herbs, fruit and flowers in English embroidery
'The Great Herbal', 1526, Museum no. L.1059-1901
'The Great Herbal', book with woodcut illustrations, printed by Peter Treveris, 1526, Museum no. L.1059-1901
In England, embroidery was specially popular in the Tudor period (1485-1603). It was worked professionally, by both men and women, and also in the home, where it was seen as a refined activity suitable for well-off, educated women.
Plant motifs were common, reflecting the widespread interest in horticulture. One of the main sources of plant motifs for Tudor embroiderers were 'herbals', which contained descriptions and illustrations of herbs, flowers, fruit and other plants. Compiled by botanists and specially trained artists, herbals were used by apothecaries and gardeners as well as designers. Embroiderers would often copy a plant from a herbal, showing it in fruit and flower and completing the design with insects. There was no regard for scale or season.
Pattern books, both printed and drawn, were another source for plant motifs.
They showed a design repeat or ornamental motif that could be used in a variety of different media, not just embroidery. Motifs clearly derived from the same source can be found on objects made in very different materials.
'The Shepheard Buss' wall hanging, 1570-1600, Museum no. T.219-1953
'The Shepheard Buss' wall hanging, linen embroidered with silk and bobbin lace border, England, 1570-1600, Museum no. T.219-1953
The amateur embroiderer would often engage a professional 'broderer' (embroiderer) to help her design and start the work. Motifs were selected from pattern books, herbals and other sources, then assembled into a design and drawn out on paper or parchment. The 'prick and pounce' method was used to transfer the design onto the fabric. Small holes were pricked along the main lines of the design, then chalk mixed with charcoal was shaken (pounced) through them. To make the design easier to follow, the dots were blended into a line using a wet brush. The main lines were embroidered first, then the other areas of the motif were filled in, often with counted thread work. In this technique, the stitches were formed over a set number of ground fabric threads, using the paper or parchment design as a guide. Some of the most frequently used plant motifs were sweet pea pods, pansies, roses, strawberries in fruit and flower, honeysuckle, grapes and vine leaves. These can all be found on objects in the British Galleries. Particularly interesting is a piece of blackwork (white linen worked with black silk) called The Shepheard Buss ('buss' means 'kiss' in 17th-century English).
It shows a young man surrounded by plants and animals. The inscription around the edge suggests that he has been disappointed in love and so is in a melancholy frame of mind, though much of the symbolism is very obscure and open to debate. A pastoral retreat - to study, compose music or simply contemplate - was considered essential to the development of a refined young man. It features in Shakespeare's 'As You Like It' and other plays of the period.
Flowering plants in Indian chintz
'Babur supervising the laying out of the Garden of Fidelity', about 1590, Museum no. IM.276-1913
'Babur supervising the laying out of the Garden of Fidelity', illustration from a Mughal book of manuscripts, watercolour and gold on paper, India or Pakistan, about 1590, Museum no. IM.276-1913
The display in the South Asia gallery (Room 41) concentrates on Indian art from the Mughal period (1525-1858). Many of the objects include floral designs because the Mughal emperors loved nature. This miniature with a decorative floral border shows Babur, founder of the Mughal empire, who was responsible for many beautiful gardens. Gardens occupy a special place in Islam. They are closely related to the concept of paradise, which the Qur'an describes as a wet, shady, spacious and beautiful garden. Paradise is formal in character and includes not only an abundance of flowering and fruit-laden trees, but also shimmering fountains and rivers.
Another factor in the use of floral imagery was the trade between India and Europe. This can be seen especially in the painted cottons (chintz) made in India for the European market. Their brilliant colours, exuberant floral patterns and fast dyes made them very popular in 17th- and 18th-century Europe. To create goods that would sell on the European market, Indian textile workers borrowed design motifs from western sources. In the palampore,  the stylised tree and leaves show the influence of European textiles, especially the tapestry and embroidery of the early 17th century.
In Room 56c in the British Galleries there are two contrasting chintzes with flowering-tree motifs, one English and the other Indian. This flowering tree motif was a particularly popular and recurring image on export chintz. It usually consisted of a tree with a serpentine trunk, entwined branches and highly stylised leaf motifs.
Part of a floor spread, late 17th or early 18th century, Museum no. IM.69-1930
Part of a chintz floor spread made for the Mughal court, resist and mordant dyed cotton, India, late 17th or early 18th century, Museum no. IM.69-1930
The manufacture of an elaborate, multi-coloured hanging or bedspread was a complicated undertaking. It involved many different processes and could take months to complete. The equipment was quite simple but the workers were highly skilled. Their techniques of dyeing and painting cloth were much more advanced than those used in Europe at that period. The dyeing required mordants (metallic compounds that formed a chemical 'bridge' between the cloth and the dye), along with resist techniques to prevent the dye penetrating certain areas of the design.
Before dyeing, the design was pounced or drawn onto the fabric. Then the cloth was put in a series of red and blue dyebaths. If the dyebath was red, the areas that were to be coloured were first painted with a brush dipped in mordant. Where there was no mordant, the dye would did not adhere to the fabric. By adjusting the mordants in the red dyebath a range of shades could be produced. A weak alum mordant gave pink and a stronger one deep burgundy. An iron mordant gave purple to black.
Blue was produced from indigo, which does not need a mordant. To protect parts of the design from the dye, beeswax was painted on to the cloth, as in batik.
There were no good dyes for green so the last stage of the dyeing process was to paint yellow dye over the blue to make green. Unfortunately the yellow tends to fade, so green leaves are often now blue as you can see in this floor spread.
Symbolic plants in Chinese textiles
Woman's birthday robe, 1870-1911, Museum no. T.231-1948
Woman's birthday robe, embroidered silk, China, 1870-1911 (Qing dynasty), Museum no. T.231-1948
Apart from a man's robe which may be as recent as 1930, all the textiles in the China gallery (Room 44) date from the Qing (pronounced 'Ching' ) dynasty (1644-1911).
The decorative motifs used on Chinese textiles almost invariably have a meaning that would have been understood at the time they were made. The meanings of Chinese plant symbols have a variety of sources. Sometimes they are based on myths, legends or traditions. The peach, symbol of long life, is a good example of a symbol based on a legendary plant, in this case the peach tree of immortality - which stood in the gardens of the fairy goddess Xi-wang-mu, the Royal Mother of the West.
Very often, the meaning of a symbol is derived from a verbal pun, in which different words sound similar when spoken. For instance, there is a phonetic similarity between 'chrysanthemum' and 'to remain' in Chinese. In addition, the chrysanthemum is the flower of the ninth month of the old Chinese calendar, and 'nine' and 'long time' sound identical. Consequently, the symbolic meaning of the chrysanthemum is 'long life and endurance'.
The characteristics and properties of some plants determine their symbolic meaning. The pine tree represents 'long life and steadfastness' because it can withstand cold and does not shed all its needles at once.
The social context for symbols was particularly important in traditional Chinese culture, and plant motifs were often used to communicate something in a situation where words would have been regarded as unsophisticated. For instance, there is a woman's robe in the China gallery that was probably given as a birthday gift. Its symbols convey birthday wishes: bats for happiness, peonies for wealth and distinction, and chrysanthemum, the Chinese character for 'long life'.
Most of the plant motifs used on Chinese textiles are fairly stylised. This is because they are mainly embroidered, and the techniques and style favoured by the Chinese did not offer much scope for naturalism, however skilled the embroiderer.
One of the hallmarks of Chinese embroidery is satin stitch, in which straight stitches are worked closely together to fill a solid shape. Shading is achieved through 'encroaching', whereby one line of stitches breaks into the next, which is of a lighter or darker tone of the same colour. Every new stitch is positioned between the bases of the two on the row before. Nonetheless, the individual colours do not merge in the way they might if they were painted.
Although some subtlety is possible with encroaching, the Chinese habit of leaving a thin line of unembroidered material between each motif or area (voiding) creates an outline effect that adds to the overall stylisation.
The pared-down nature of Chinese pictorial conventions also influenced the rather abstract appearance of the textiles. In China, botanical sources such as herbals do not seem to have been used, as they were in England and India. Certainly by the 19th century, Chinese embroiderers were using standardised plant motifs from pattern books. They transferred them to the fabric either by tracing, or by the 'prick and pounce' technique familiar to English embroiderers and Indian textile workers.

Plant motif projects