katie's blog

A Short Poem…

Sense of Place, oh what a class…
Remember the time we all sat in the grass?

We talked about Whitehead, Jackson, and Tuan
Also, why was the clock on the computer always wrong?

But despite the constant confusion of time
I clearly liked the class enough to rhyme…

More specifically, Frazier was definitely a favorite
Bags in trees, the Holland Tunnel—I enjoyed all his wit

And who can forget the apropos youtube clips
Like Elizabeth Chamberlain and her feng shui tips

But I think we can all safely agree
One of the best parts was the final project about 4-20

So now it’s all over. Could it really be true?
I just hope none of us catch the swine flu.

The Interview

You say that your concentration was visual branding/advertising design—what does that mean?

Any good company must have a good product—yes—but in my opinion, what’s even more important than the product itself, is its representation. Packaging, logo, storefront, pamphlet, website—all of these things are the consumer’s first impression of a brand, so why shouldn’t they both reflect the product, and be carefully designed to appeal to the person who will eventually be BUYING it…

So visual branding includes any type of visual that is meant for the consumer. It should ALWAYS be well designed and consistent for any type of success…Apple and Nike are two prime examples of this. The apple and the swoosh are synonymous with their brand, but even more than that… most of the time you don’t even need to see the logo to know that the company created the given commercial—we know the STYLE, which I find absolutely amazing, and attainable on SOME scale for any company who attempts it…

Great—so what would the style/visual brand be for Cinque Terre be, then?

Places are more difficult than products, I think, but Cinque Terre is such a special place that actually brings you back in time with their architecture and culture… so I think their style should reflect that. As far as their website is concerned, it’s more important for it to be functional rather than stylized, but with print and video advertisement, I think all material should have a feeling of vibrant antiquity to go along with it… The colors, the cinematography, etc., should all consider this.

Tell us about your encounter with Rick Steves….

Cinque Terre is, without a doubt, one of the most breathtaking cities I’ve ever been to. With five villages that hug the Mediterranean coast, the site’s most popular attraction is the hike in between those villages that reveals the stuff you only see in paintings. Truly, the water, the cliffs, and the colors of each unique village structure make this a must-see on any Italian or European vacation.

cinqueterreonline.com: current
My personal encounter with this place was rather fortuitous, however. My European travels happened to coincide with some of my best friends’ Europe trip, and without hesitation, I jumped onto their itinerary (which included C.T.), sick of planning and eager to follow their lead. I soon found out, however, that their travel plans were pretty much entirely designed by Rick Steves, the famous American tour guide, whose fan base includes my parents, other un-adventuresome types, and apparently…my friend, Ellen. To be fair, he has an approachable knowledge of common European destinations, and to his credit, I had an amazing time in each one of his suggestions. It became clear though, that Cinque Terre—unlike the other well-known European destinations—was almost exclusively populated with Rick Steves-lovers, or those who were enlightened by his followers. I know this because a majority of the fellow visitors were visibly addicted to their Rick Steves travel books—noses buried in pamphlets, with fanny pack around waist. It also just-so-happened that Rick Steves was IN Cinque Terre while we visited, but that’s another story.

Subway MadnessColson Whitehead has a real knack for taking everyday experiences and highlighting how pathetic and depressing they can be. Of course, everyone subconsciously notices their impatience with the subway, or their disdain for the Port Authority, but when did every subtle mannerism become an indication of our depressing human nature? In some ways—yes—it was amusing, if not fascinating, to read the often un-written emotions behind everyday New York living, but unlike Tuan, who unwraps human nature in a more encouraging manner, Whitehead has left me feeling defeated. Suddenly I feel like a forgettable entity that New York has swallowed, and will someday spit out onto some other smaller city, only to forget about me and move on (this very well might be the case, but it’s not something you like to be reminded of). And while there are hints of truth in his portrayal of the city-dweller, I’m not convinced that his gloomy outlook on the mundane aspects of the city necessarily override the more exciting day-to-day benefits of living in New York City. Maybe Whitehead should write about the joys of the city’s fine cuisine, or the excitement of thrift shopping. Certainly there must be something vaguely interesting (or at least not pathetic) about enjoying New York’s theater or music scene…

And I don’t mean to completely bash Whitehead’s over-riding pessimism, as he does do a good job of uncovering the little annoyances which tend to make New Yorkers as impatient and unfriendly as they are (or can be). The rain, the subways, the morning commute, all contribute to what can make this city so extremely frustrating. There are undoubtedly times when I’m all too aware that the city’s prevailing negative personality is bringing out those same qualities in me, but the point is—New York couldn’t boast the excitement and diversity that it does if not for all the people who live here, and the many many many people who live here are mostly to blame for those annoyances. Certainly, the bus rides wouldn’t be nearly as annoying without the overflow of people, and Times Square might not have the same irritating stigma without all of the tourists. But you can’t have one without the other…unless you’re in Portland, and that’s a whole ‘nother blog post…

Tytell: I imagined him slightly more cute and fragile than this, but oh well...After reading Gone to New York: Adventure in the City, I’ve concluded that Ian Frazier is like a Waldie-type…but about 50 times better (or at least more interesting). He clearly knows A LOT about New York City and the surrounding area, but takes the time to make witty accounts of the city’s existing and historical details—ones that most people would never think to think about. And with each insight, he’s made me feel a little more connected to the city’s surroundings, which I tend to ignore on a daily basis. In fact, I’ve gone around asking people if they knew the Holland Tunnel was named for the engineer, and NOT the country, as Frazier has opened my eyes to the value of asking questions in search of deeper discovery. This type of inquiry is good, too, because I’m pretty sure if I remain on this path of discovery, I’ll have a greater appreciation for the city which I now call home.

I particularly liked the account of typewriters—partly due to my affinity for cute and wise old men, and partly due to my affinity to classic machines. And though this essay had less to do with sense of place, and more to do with sense of “thing,” it goes back to Fuan’s concept of attaching the idea of home to something other than a location. Tytell loves his business because of the human response he gets from completing his job, and the passion he witnesses for something he excels in repairing. I also loved his story of the Burmese typewriter, as it gives not only the typewriter I describe, but also Tytell the man, more character.

Of course, Frazier’s account of the Bag Snagger was thoroughly enjoyable, as this metropolitan mystery is a personal source of annoyance. I hate wasted resources, and even more annoying is when those unnecessary resources contribute to litter, etc. It’s a shame that his grand plan never caught on, or inspired a younger group of bag snagging activists.

starting over While I really enjoyed reading Paul Auster’s City of Glass, I couldn’t help feeling like I should have been picking up on WAY more symbolism than I was—like while reading the part where Auster and Quinn are discussing Don Quixote, I knew that this related directly to Stillman and his creation of Henry Dark…but I’ve never actually read Don Quixote, so it was hard to make the connection by trying to decipher their conversation... Nonetheless, I started to think about Stillman’s (the father) theories on the creation of language as it related to architecture and place (again, I feel like maybe this was the point of the book, but I felt both consumed and confused by allegory while reading). We have spent so much time building both a language and a built environment, that there is absolutely no way to “start over” (unless, of course, there were some major catastrophic event that destroyed everything)—but even though establishment makes it very hard to consider genuine innovation and initiative in terms of social conduct, environmental conduct, etc., it’s an interesting thing to consider destroying all current notions of the existing environment in the pursuit of something (more) perfect. It sounds extreme, but from a green design perspective—huge changes must be made in the built environment in order to redirect the current consequences associated with building. And it’s not just literal building that must be changed, but also minds, too. My own father won’t even consider green building because of the costs, and it almost makes me want to lock HIM up in a room for thirteen years (I kid, of course, but seriously….!) And based on some of the conversations I've had with him, it certainly feels like developing perspective from scratch... And isn’t it ironic that in this novel, the one attached to New York, to stasis, to anonymity, to immobility, is the one who goes crazy in the end? Quinn can no longer function in the world that is progressing around him… And I suppose Stillman couldn’t function either, but regardless, it suggests that the inability to let go causes ultimate destruction. Stillman couldn’t abandon the idea of starting over, and Quinn couldn’t escape his stronghold on the consistency of the case… an in between, then, is best? Respect for the past, but an eye to the future? I’m still trying to sort out all of these symbols…

Portland, Oregon- Farmer's Market

For the past nine days, I have spent my spring break exploring the North West—specifically, Seattle and Portland. And the reason I flew across the country to a place boasting even worse weather than New York (at this time of year, anyway) stemmed from my interest in moving to Portland (I admit, too, that it was interesting to put Kunstler’s adoration to the test, but he wasn’t the entire inspiration for the trip). And so, when reading Tuan’s chapter on intimate experiences of place, I thought a lot about my recent travels, and how they related to the author’s discussions.

On the one hand, I LOVE Portland. Just as I had hoped, Kunstler had it right, and like their city motto brags, Portland is indeed a “city that works.” And while I can pinpoint the architecture, transportation, friendliness, food and music culture as direct evidence of the awesomeness that is Portland, as Tuan points out, intimate experiences are hard to express, leaving my choice descriptions anything but convincing, and altogether, cliché. On the other hand though, it is a hard thing to reconcile the lack of intimacy that Portland represents for me. With only one friend who already lives in the area, I realize that if I do move there, I am giving up all of the intimately nurturing qualities that the East Coast, and its variable proximity to Pennsylvania, represents to me. T

he thing about Portland, though, that overshadows my lack of intimacy with the place, actually goes against some of Tuan’s insights, and falls more in line with Kunstler’s ideals in urban planning—because while I am all about “dwelling” in people, and being surrounded by those who I care about, and who care about me, I actually crave the experience of place that Portland’s city-planners have developed. Tuan argues that “one can no more deliberately design such places than one can, with any guarantee of success, the occasions of genuine human exchange,” but the way this city operates, looks, and simply feels gives me an overwhelming sense of contentment that I have only ever found in places I have called home…and this is after only two days.

Of course, I’ve acknowledged that this is a rare, and perhaps even fleeting reaction to a place, but it’s the direct result of an experience that was shaped both by me, and by the built environment. And so I truly expect that even if I moved there without my existing material goods, or even friends, I could still be happy… The other thing that Tuan explored that I found directly applicable to this experience dealt with validating worth through reflection: I was traveling with friends with whom I naturally discussed my feelings and affinity to the city, perhaps escalating Portland’s worth to me in a more intimate way. Indeed, our days were spent seeing and thinking, creating distance as tourists, but the interim was spent chatting, and it was through this “thoughtful reflection” that I garnered a sense of permanence to a place I may someday call home.

The moral of this blog: Go to Portland. It rocks.

I couldn't think of an appropriate picture, so here is me, contemplating my right versus left...

In Tuan’s Space and Place, the evolution of spatial organization and the human response to space inspires many interesting insights, as the author simplifies our complicated and unconscious human nature associated with the built environment. He discusses in depth how experience allows for the emotional elevation from space to place, but I think some of Tuan’s more interesting points stem from human’s unconscious experiences and consequential definition of space: notably, the idea of “front” and “back” versus “left” and “right.”

I, for one, have always had issues with my right and left, often finding myself second-guessing what probably should be second nature. But as Tuan points out, these indications are indeed secondary to the primary indications of front and back, thus causing my constant confusion. “Right and left are distinctions I have to recognize. They are means, however, to my end which always lies in front.” And there it is—succinctly put, and so very true. Right and left are directions. Front implies a landmark or conclusion, which is far more important than the mere route.

Another interesting idea that Tuan explored was our adaptation to crowding, and the toll it’s taken on our ability to find intrinsic satisfaction while being truly alone. Indeed, we learn to exist as a culture, in a group which “curtails the enlargement of human sympathy in two antipodal directions: toward one pole, an intimacy between unique individuals that transcends camaraderie and kinship ties; and toward the other, a generalized concern for human welfare everywhere.” This cultural crowding makes it hard to find personal meaning, and could thus naturally lead to justified racism, or, on the other end of the spectrum: social apathy.

In fact—and I’m not exactly sure what the official term is—there is a concept in psychology which relates to crowding justifying apathy…so in essence, if someone is being mugged, the more people who witness this act, the more likely the perpetrator will get off the hook, while on the other hand, if only one person witnesses the crime, the victim is more likely to saved… Safety in numbers tends to hold multiple meanings, according to this idea—both in encouraging responsibility, and giving it up… I digress in this brief interlude of psychology, but it is truly interesting to study both our fear and affinity toward crowding. We like space, but not if it means being alone. So how much is too much? On one hand, we prefer convenience—but convenience, at least up until the age of internet shopping, came at the price of too much crowding. Perhaps that will change now in light of our the heightened accessibility via the internet, but these current contradictions are nonetheless interesting to note…

Old Gramercy ParkI think it’s safe to say that unless you are in the confines of your own apartment in New York City, there is very little feeling of seclusion and privacy for any New Yorker on a day-to-day basis. The minute you walk outside of your door, crowds await you, as you share a “community” with over eight million other people. And even those living quarters you can call our own at the end of the day are usually no larger than a closet, essentially requiring any inhabitant of New York to welcome a very public life. You can forget the notion of running free in the waving wheat, or discovering yourself in some secluded forest—Central Park doesn’t quite cut it, so you better find comfort in a concrete jungle, and not in a real one. But tucked away in the lower half of Manhattan, there may just be an exception to this no-lawn, no-nature “rule.” Between Twentieth and Twenty-second Street and in between Third and Park Avenues, there lies a mysterious gate which holds a secret land—a secret garden, if you will—that requires an all-too coveted key for entry.

Green Pre-Fab HouseAt the end of Jackson’s “The Movable Dwelling,” the author makes the point that we, as Americans, have two conflicting traditions: a more recent dedication to environmental sustainability, which centers on “stability and permanence” through material; and a longer standing tradition which values mobility. I’m not sure if he meant environmentalism with the same kind of “green” vigor to which we attach the term today, but nonetheless, it’s true that while we take pride in our “accessible landscape,” unless roots are attached to our “dwelling,” we lose a sense of constancy and belonging—which is why the car is such a popular solution. Is there a way, though, to bring these two traditions together? Of course, there is no way to make a home both movable and permanent, but playing with the idea of environmental tradition—is there such a thing as an environmentally-friendly mobile home? Has anyone taken the same green pride in a mobile home that permanent homes have inspired? After a little research, I found some really neat green pre-fab, modular houses (and just now noticed the slideshow on this website), which are both physically and environmentally beautiful. I wonder, though about their implementation and popularity. They seem to represent great (and attractive) green design solutions, but (1) does the greater affordability and convenience of the existing mobile home support this slightly more expensive green conversion? And (2), even in their beauty, would people attach the present stigma of a “mobile home” to these great solutions? Hopefully these concerns will prove meaningless in the future, for there are over 35,000 mobile home parks in the U.S. alone—translating to a considerable amount of people and resources to whom we need to pay attention… Here is website I found which speaks to (affordable)green mobile homes… http://www.naturallyearthfriendly.com/top-5-eco-friendly-modular-homes-u...