Two years ago, last weekend, a sweaty Asian climbed into the backseat of a Broad company car. After a day, literally, of traveling from JFK to Changsha, a drenched and hyper Bizhou was less than desirable to a tired, equally sweaty from the 100 degree heat, me.
Fast-forward 700 days, how could I live without this girl?!
Equally obsessed with cutting edge news and design-y websites, we feed each others’ hunger for knowing the newest best thing on the block.
It is only fitting that I mention her, on this almost anniversary of us meeting and falling deep into friendship (after requisite showers and naps), since the newest, most poured-over website on my endless bar of browser buttons was a gift from her: Lost At E Minor.
This site is not intended for those prone to seizures.
The blog-style format is packed with ads, what look like ads but are actual posts, and visual noise that is at once exhilarating and annoying and time-zapping, for sure.
Stealing from the about us section, Lost At E Minor is, “an online publication of inspiring art, design, music, photography and pop culture. We take our low brow sensibilities and mash them up with the grittier elements of high brow culture to shine a discerning light on the exciting expressions of creativity that our team of writers discover. The site was founded in 2005 by brothers Zolton and Zac Zavos, with Andy Howard joining the team in 2007.”
Although, what I truly want to share is a find I unearthed all on my own, deep from the days of April 2011, when this post was first shared with the world via E.
The beauty of the sunlight slicing through what is otherwise a mundane barn, apparently on the brink of destruction, is gorgeous, and to me, is the natural iteration, and essence of what the seed pod of the 2010 World Expo achieved through fiberglass rods. Here, acrylic rods were likewise inserted for color in select locale, but this minimal intrusion, by Hutchinson and Maul, can be forgiven.
It’s true, what the author notes in his opening line, architects rarely give thought to the in between stages of buildings – they exist on paper and in completion and in destruction. While a half finished building certainly turns on a true architect (oh! the possibilities!), the span of time after a building has outlived its purposefulness (programatically, structurally, aesthetically) is generally neglected by all humans (and loved by mice).
The temporal quality of architecture is not explored nearly enough, in my opinion; not all constructions should be for the ages.
What if more architecture were like your family’s tent in the woods on a weekend camping trip? For 48 hours you craft the perfect bedroom, open-air kitchen, bathroom with the world’s largest bathtub, and living room and then it’s gone, preserved only by memory – but in a waste-less way, for all these “rooms” can serve the same or a new purpose for you, for others, whenever and wherever.
It’s not about portability, but adaptability, of resourcefulness, of treating time and light as actual building materials.
The pinnacle ephemeral quality of this holey architecture, or installation art, or whatever you are so inclined to title it, is that while most buildings unfortunately exist for people as photographs (due to the lack of funds or desire to travel), this, very shortly, and perhaps even now, two months after the original post, will forever only exist as a perfect moment in time captured by through a lens.
Now that’s a Kodak moment.