I try to consciously limit observations of those that could be nominally termed public (which means they are reasonably accessible, and require no fee for entry), but occasionally there is an odd confluence that seems worth sharing. I recall a conversation I had about the role of proportion in design with a former professor, then employer, and now friend (which is a great progression for being able to challenge your elders) who wasn’t the source of, but enabled the focus of my intellectual discontent (which of course meant the attendant intellectual laziness justified by half-baked critiques) as it ranged through the ravages of lit-crit solipsism enabled by an academically suspect institution, while skipping over more ‘traditional’ methods and standards.
He managed a more thorough progression using the reverse track, so when it came time to test a design thesis, or apply some order, he was very quick with most of the traditional methods, and adept. I was surly (mostly out of jealousy), but had what I thought was a salient point: the rigors of harmonic proportion, based in math and music, were necessarily hard to test in the lived experience. If a room some 70 feet to a side (or better yet, a freestanding structure) was not quite a golden section, off by six inches, say, how many people could discern the error? Anyone who has fought with actual building design (real walls, real budgets, etc.), knows the complexity that can mount trying to instill this level of order.
It was a convenient way to be a little lazy (as I said) when resolving dimensional issues, and, were it to be assailed, there was the handy intellectual progression from harmony into dissonance and, say, Glenn Branca (who my boss was fond of as much as he was Kurt Weill). But my own personal journey from Dave Brubeck to Albert Ayler wasn’t simply an excuse for not knowing the golden ratio off the top of my head, and but was as much a journey of understanding and discernment (and its own sort of snobbery, sure) as it would be to study Pythagoras. And I tend to be fussy about alignments and precision, so it was partially being a smart ass, and partially a true question about perception and absurdity.
I also tend to be fairly skilled at estimations of measure: passage of time, distances, and the like. Knowing construction standards over time certainly helps, but I always struggle with defining the experiential concept of space as it extends beyond requirements to comfortable to grand, to overwhelming. It is a crucial consideration in design: When you draw a room that is twenty feet to a side, it is grand? Sure, it depends on the furnishing (and the prior experience of the inhabitants), but the space itself will impart an impression, informed by finish, light, and, yes, Dan, ratios (it must be equally pleasing for the mentor to watch the juvenile petulance give way to a nuanced search for the ideal). And I can never quite reconcile the gap between a generalized concept and the actual.
But I got a very good schooling on what big can feel like last evening, having attended the New York Theater Workshop’s ‘revival’ of Hedda Gabler.
I know little enough about Ibsen to comment on the particulars of the production in the context of his body of work (and its traditional staging), or really even enough of theater in New York generally, to say much beyond I found it very compelling. Of course, having been educated by friend on the value of it, I tell everyone I can that seeing theater in New York is precious opportunity that fortunately shows no signs of abeyance, at least in my relatively short experience.
I’ve been a regular attendee at the NYTW over the past few seasons, and their work is uneven, in my estimation (with the complex qualification that ‘average’ theater in New York most might still find exceptional, and the first performance I attended there was Caryn Churchill’s Far Away, which ranks as one of the most visually stunning — to say nothing of the terrifyingly brilliant script — events of my life, and a high water mark to subsequently crest). Their staging, however, always impresses me, with a wide range of approaches, and in what is a good, but not ideal, theater space. A testimony to their effectiveness is that I have never been able discern exactly how large the space is.
Thanks to this performance, I can report that theater proper is around 2800 square feet, easily calculated by the stark sheets of drywall that cover the auditorium, neatly stacked in five columns across the stage and seven deep to the rear wall. It is a commanding effect, not quite construction rough (the drywall tape is rather fussily applied in neat lines), but it is certainly raw. The stage is kept spartan for most of the performance, and then it is downright stark. With about ten minutes before curtain, I found myself relating all sorts of measures to this corner or that: my current apartment would fit there, would be this wide. My first bedroom (eight feet by seven) in NY would be there. And, obviously, a open living space forty feet wide and some thirty deep would be a very pleasant way to utilize a mere 1200 square feet (less than half the size of the average home constructed today). At least to a New Yorker.
That I would spend those minutes in such a way attests to the particulars of my mania, but one that I am sure would find great sympathy with most who have sought living space on this island. That I did not know anything about the play before walking in made the experience all the more the perverse. If you aren’t familiar with the play, I’ll not go into detail (if you are as much a cultural philistine as I, see this link for a more detailed synopsis and review), but I can say generally that a key plot point is the acquisition of a large house had somewhat dearly, which, rendered abstractly as a commanding singular space by the staging, must resonate quite acutely with the lusting hordes of loft-seeking Manhattanities. Given our conditioning in the current market, it reads as expensive in a way that no amount of cluttered granduer of a more text specific staging could.
And, no doubt, it’s a nice room. A lovely room. Again, a particular mindset must be had to find unfinished drywall, albeit rigorously applied, viscerally appealing, but good light and room to walk (and run) illustrates just how little may be needed to live a robust life. Worth seeing, because this innocent vista will no doubt crumble (how much Chekov do you need? there are two guns on the wall), and in a way that should expose just how bankrupt our pursuit of the real estate mirage truly can be.
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Size Matters.
I try to consciously limit observations of those that could be nominally termed public (which means they are reasonably accessible, and require no fee for entry), but occasionally there is an odd confluence that seems worth sharing. I recall a conversation I had about the role of proportion in design with a former professor, then employer, and now friend (which is a great progression for being able to challenge your elders) who wasn’t the source of, but enabled the focus of my intellectual discontent (which of course meant the attendant intellectual laziness justified by half-baked critiques) as it ranged through the ravages of lit-crit solipsism enabled by an academically suspect institution, while skipping over more ‘traditional’ methods and standards.
He managed a more thorough progression using the reverse track, so when it came time to test a design thesis, or apply some order, he was very quick with most of the traditional methods, and adept. I was surly (mostly out of jealousy), but had what I thought was a salient point: the rigors of harmonic proportion, based in math and music, were necessarily hard to test in the lived experience. If a room some 70 feet to a side (or better yet, a freestanding structure) was not quite a golden section, off by six inches, say, how many people could discern the error? Anyone who has fought with actual building design (real walls, real budgets, etc.), knows the complexity that can mount trying to instill this level of order. It was a convenient way to be a little lazy (as I said) when resolving dimensional issues, and, were it to be assailed, there was the handy intellectual progression from harmony into dissonance and, say, Glenn Branca (who my boss was fond of as much as he was Kurt Weill). But my own personal journey from Dave Brubeck to Albert Ayler wasn’t simply an excuse for not knowing the golden ratio off the top of my head, and but was as much a journey of understanding and discernment (and its own sort of snobbery, sure) as it would be to study Pythagoras. And I tend to be fussy about alignments and precision, so it was partially being a smart ass, and partially a true question about perception and absurdity. I also tend to be fairly skilled at estimations of measure: passage of time, distances, and the like. Knowing construction standards over time certainly helps, but I always struggle with defining the experiential concept of space as it extends beyond requirements to comfortable to grand, to overwhelming. It is a crucial consideration in design: When you draw a room that is twenty feet to a side, it is grand? Sure, it depends on the furnishing (and the prior experience of the inhabitants), but the space itself will impart an impression, informed by finish, light, and, yes, Dan, ratios (it must be equally pleasing for the mentor to watch the juvenile petulance give way to a nuanced search for the ideal). And I can never quite reconcile the gap between a generalized concept and the actual. But I got a very good schooling on what big can feel like last evening, having attended the New York Theater Workshop’s ‘revival’ of Hedda Gabler. I know little enough about Ibsen to comment on the particulars of the production in the context of his body of work (and its traditional staging), or really even enough of theater in New York generally, to say much beyond I found it very compelling. Of course, having been educated by friend on the value of it, I tell everyone I can that seeing theater in New York is precious opportunity that fortunately shows no signs of abeyance, at least in my relatively short experience. I’ve been a regular attendee at the NYTW over the past few seasons, and their work is uneven, in my estimation (with the complex qualification that ‘average’ theater in New York most might still find exceptional, and the first performance I attended there was Caryn Churchill’s Far Away, which ranks as one of the most visually stunning — to say nothing of the terrifyingly brilliant script — events of my life, and a high water mark to subsequently crest). Their staging, however, always impresses me, with a wide range of approaches, and in what is a good, but not ideal, theater space. A testimony to their effectiveness is that I have never been able discern exactly how large the space is. Thanks to this performance, I can report that theater proper is around 2800 square feet, easily calculated by the stark sheets of drywall that cover the auditorium, neatly stacked in five columns across the stage and seven deep to the rear wall. It is a commanding effect, not quite construction rough (the drywall tape is rather fussily applied in neat lines), but it is certainly raw. The stage is kept spartan for most of the performance, and then it is downright stark. With about ten minutes before curtain, I found myself relating all sorts of measures to this corner or that: my current apartment would fit there, would be this wide. My first bedroom (eight feet by seven) in NY would be there. And, obviously, a open living space forty feet wide and some thirty deep would be a very pleasant way to utilize a mere 1200 square feet (less than half the size of the average home constructed today). At least to a New Yorker. That I would spend those minutes in such a way attests to the particulars of my mania, but one that I am sure would find great sympathy with most who have sought living space on this island. That I did not know anything about the play before walking in made the experience all the more the perverse. If you aren’t familiar with the play, I’ll not go into detail (if you are as much a cultural philistine as I, see this link for a more detailed synopsis and review), but I can say generally that a key plot point is the acquisition of a large house had somewhat dearly, which, rendered abstractly as a commanding singular space by the staging, must resonate quite acutely with the lusting hordes of loft-seeking Manhattanities. Given our conditioning in the current market, it reads as expensive in a way that no amount of cluttered granduer of a more text specific staging could. And, no doubt, it’s a nice room. A lovely room. Again, a particular mindset must be had to find unfinished drywall, albeit rigorously applied, viscerally appealing, but good light and room to walk (and run) illustrates just how little may be needed to live a robust life. Worth seeing, because this innocent vista will no doubt crumble (how much Chekov do you need? there are two guns on the wall), and in a way that should expose just how bankrupt our pursuit of the real estate mirage truly can be.