One of the major drivers behind this new endeavor is to do more physical work. To bring the work of modeling and materials into how we talk about technology, how to surface the analogue and the real world – its people, and places – as central to any discussion of applied computing.
I’m craving this kind of physicality, and my instinct is that many of us are. In conversations with others it sure seems so, but this is spotty and anecdotal. It was neat to see an article this morning about the use of physical models in the world of architecture – thanks to Shannon Mattern for the share.
From the article: “Most architects will have to slog through foam and cardboard in a studio at some point, but once they enter the professional world their work will happen entirely on a screen. Now, however, some architecture firms are reinvesting in physical models.”
I spoke at a landscape architecture conference earlier this year, and some of my remarks were about the visceral and physical nature of process – of writing, of note-taking, of summarizing. This was in the context of talking about automation and how the profession was responding to generative AI and the like. After my talk, I spoke to the principal of long-standing Toronto firm, and he shared his feelings about the necessity of physical drafting, while also sharing that their new office didn’t have drafting tables.
Within certain professions – architecture, landscape architecture, engineering – there is a long-standing history of the use of models. And it’s fun to be engaging with how to bring some of these (and other sectoral approaches to modeling) into how to better talk about computers with each other.
The question on my mind today, however, has more to do with time than space. I was thinking about how we model time. The objects I relate to time on immediate thought are about increments of measure – clocks, time-keeping, etc. I know there is so much here, and it’s new territory for me as someone that has not spent much time in the language and workings of physics. My relationship to time – and philosophy of time – has recently been so tied to experiencing the present more carefully. Any method of assigning equal value to time in surgically precise ways doesn’t feel like it captures things appropriately. Which also speaks to a feeling of our need to get more comfortable with imprecision in our lives.
Recently, one of my kids was assigned a project where they had to make something out of recycled materials. We settled on an hourglass, with two bottles attached to each other at the spout, and sand flowing in between. We didn’t use sand that was consistent in size, and I’m guessing this was one of many reasons that it did not keep time consistently. One turn of the bottle was ten seconds, the next twelve. We didn’t chase the physics of this effort with research, and enjoyed the wonky outcome a lot. To me, it seems more fitting than the uniformity we attempt in our increments. The more I look at and write about time, the more I’m convinced that how we approach time is one of the most powerful tools we have to use in this political moment. Shorthand: sand in the gears.
This month I’m thinking somewhat about modeling time, and how time relates to process. Time is the first of two parts of the handbook I’m writing, the current chaptering of which looks like this:
Introduction
Part I – Time
- Past
- Present
- Future
- Cadence
- Timing
- Timelessness
- Other?
Part II – Space
- Place
- Roots
- People
- Systems
- Seams
- Wayfinding
- Other?
Not here but involved:
- Increment
- Rhythm
- Pattern
- Other?
It was really interesting and generative to catch up recently with friend of the studio Zaid Khan. He gave this excellent talk, Thinking with Time – long one here, short one here – about the use of time in design. Highly recommend!
Zaid’s thinking about working with time before space – in terms of linearity – confirmed an ordering that seemed intuitive to me when getting things off the ground here. I have long struggled with linearity in narrative, but in process it becomes a bit easier to assert the necessity of looking to the past before launching headfirst into the future. And perhaps more importantly, as pointed at in Zaid’s talks, the hardest work of sitting still in the present, non-action with intention.
Happy to share that we’ll have some more insights from Zaid soon.
a small set of clay objects from summer camp, including a small green snake, a marshmallow, a mushroom, and a volcano.
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