The sight of a half-naked male emerging from the shower came as no surprise. His hair was moist, while his torso glistened from his hurried bath. I paused to survey him. He is a stranger.
midnight mirage
The sight of a half-naked male emerging from the shower came as no surprise. His hair was moist, while his torso glistened from his hurried bath. I paused to survey him. He is a stranger.
ex libris
I dream of books. Of stack upon stack of printed page, whose stories and anecdotes await my perusal. Their narratives enmeshed in the frailty of paper – vellum, parchment, fine print, glossy, matte, cold-laminated, trade paperback, and so forth; each percolating amongst pristine shelves that line an off-white room. Clean but not spotless, warm, cozy, intimating walls that seem to caress the binding of these books, each kissed by the powdery texture of this protective surface. Wooden shelves whose grain and weave hint of their own stories untold, unknown, unread, unrejoiced, unfelt, unexulted carry these books like the cradling arms of a mother, delicate yet steadfast.
matryoshka
His smile was quickly-given. It was beaming, dentally-proud, overflowing like glinting shards begging for flesh. The knives were sharpened and ever-ready, to present, to perform for his captive audience. It was, after all, a Pan-American one. It may seem duchenne, but it is half-meant and wholly fallacious. Like a pat without pressure, or an embrace without pull. He knew this, and kept this knowledge akin to a trade secret.
His composure was perfection, his words precise, an ensnaring spiel practiced to every nuance, flection and manner. This was the only way he knew, to parade and haggle by the sweetness of his promises, through the cunning of his misdirections. He was singular in may respects, poised and elegant, with a slight awkwardness approximated for good measure.
His composure was perfection, his words precise, an ensnaring spiel practiced to every nuance, flection and manner. This was the only way he knew, to parade and haggle by the sweetness of his promises, through the cunning of his misdirections. He was singular in may respects, poised and elegant, with a slight awkwardness approximated for good measure.
fallacy of form - economics of creativity IV
[The Final Part of the Economics of Creativity Series]
Began with Fallacy of Form - Economics of Creativity I
Followed by Fallacy of Form - Economics of Creativity II
Continued from Fallacy of Form - Economics of Creativity III
This economics of creativity is an underlying force that could spell the solution to the puzzle of astute designing, by including the human condition as a factor in the process we can hope to inform and reform our design to suit more humane translations. Interpretation is always a subjective matter, but to totally ignore the epistemological would be looking right through the elephant in this room. Why can’t a space be both economical and efficient without it being boring and devoid of personality? Why can’t a form that’s emotional, distinct and exciting also be user-friendly and welcoming? Are the concepts of form and function too distant and antithetical that one has to forego the other to become complete? Or have we, as designers, simply become too egotistic and lazy to chip in the effort, dispensing one and never both?
fallacy of form - economics of creativity III
Began with Fallacy of Form - Economics of Creativity I
Continued from Fallacy of Form - Economics of Creativity II
These two trends; one being stale and has a predilection towards utilitarian lines and devoid of character or context, the other of an unquenchable thirst to assert deference against predecessors and continually challenging the capacity for alien forms and visions, are both equally valid and applicable in the milieu of our urban and non-urban realities. Where it fails and succeeds threads a fine line between respecting the previous or pre-existing vernacular, context, culture and prevalent esthetic, while providing for novelty, innovation and ingenuity, as well a suitable expression of creativity in solution and conception. Projects and developments of an institutional nature usually fall prey to this assumption of iconic corporately-driven ideological rendition of identity and enforced singularity. Whereas, commercial and retail spaces often become too occupied with finagling its users to purchase and spend that it becomes a claustrophobic orgy of mixed signals and self-promoting infatuation on all extant forms of commercialism. They are always striving to assert uniqueness against competition, becoming a laissez faire of line and form. But, when everything is unique, nothing is. When our senses are too overwhelmed, focus wanes and desensitization occurs. If either trend tips toward its more abstruse or extreme interpretation, what we’re left with is a space that is devoid of any relationship with the human scale.
