Hasta La Ideas

Ever since its renaissance in 2011, Shinola has become synonymous with exceptional American design. And with bicycle culture rising in popularity throughout metropolitan areas across the country, it’s no surprise that Shinola has committed itself……

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Talwst, un artiste canadien, sculpte et peint des petites scènes dans des boites à bijoux. Les écrins pour bagues et colliers servent de dioramas pour mettre en scène des tableaux classiques, des images célèbres et même des oeuvres de street-art. Une sélection de son travail est disponible en images.

Opinion: Dutch architecture firm OMA was among 74 entrants for a competition to design a new footbridge across London’s River Thames – but its entry was more about making a statement than trying to win, explains practice partner Reinier de Graaf.

Last month our office took part in a competition for the Nine Elms to Pimlico Bridge in London. We did not win this competition and, funny as it may sound, also did not expect to.

For decades, bridges have been used as a pretext for architects, engineers, and sometimes even artists to demonstrate their virtuosity – making the line-up of recent bridges a vanity fair, much like the line-up of recent high-rise buildings. In this respect, a simple glance at the picture above makes sufficiently clear that we did not stand much of a chance, not least because we refused to play.

Our entry was (and is) a statement, and by being a statement, its main aim was (and is) to turn the tables: it pre-emptively passes judgment on the other entries and therefore on the competition as a whole. Our entry served as much as an evaluation of the competition as it would be evaluated itself in the competition.

The call for submissions had been open to everyone. For the sake of fairness, to shield smaller firms from the reputation of larger ones, entries were guarded by strict anonymity (more about that later). Seventy-four entries were submitted, each one labelled with a code – the only way to eventually match the design to its author. Ours was #043. In a strange way this code, merely a dry number, went together well with the abstract, “anonymous” aesthetics of our proposal. This work could stand on its own, independent of the presence of an author.

The competition brief had called for “the design of a landmark”, which, given the fact that bridges are “landmarks” by definition, seemed strange. The essence of a bridge ultimately resides in what it enables (a shorter journey from A to B), not in the way it looks. Its beauty is more likely to be found in under- rather than overstatement, but clearly not all see it that way.

Two weeks before the deadline our team went to work. We opted for simplicity: a single Vierendeel truss spanning the distance between the north and the south bank of the river Thames; foot and bicycle paths organised on either side to create a symmetrical cross section that was logical in terms of structure. Rather than adding a new structural “tour de force” to London’s increasingly virulent townscape, this bridge, almost like a series of picture frames, would capture and re-frame the existing and emerging context of London.

Upon public release of the 74 entries (still known only under their code names at that point), CityMetric, a London-based blog, featured a list of “the 12 most ridiculous designs for the new Battersea Bridge“. Ours was firmly ranked number one, described as “The one that is definitely not a bridge”, followed by “a helpful tip to architects: you can’t just draw squares on a photograph and call it a design.” In terms of sarcasm, we were in no way singled out – English humour is wonderfully indiscriminate in that respect. Considering the comments made about other entries: “The Millennium Bridge with sprinklers” and “Why cross straight, when you can go on a 200 meter detour?” we considered ourselves lucky, even encouraged by how apparently well our intentions had been understood.

A radical proposition forces a radical outcome. There are two possibilities: categorical rejection or unconditional embrace. The verdict of blogs such as CityMetric was clear, and although the jury was prohibited from informally sharing its deliberations, we can also make a fairly educated guess there. The elimination of the second possibility – we did not win – leaves only the first. As such, an all-or-nothing approach to competitions also renders unnecessary any form of jury confidentiality: praise or scorn, in either case, no further knowledge of detail is required.

Should we have won, or even made the shortlist, an interesting situation would have arisen. Because the design’s intentions were so emphatically stated from the start, picking it as a winner would have implied an equally emphatic endorsement and, since the proposal promotes a break with a prevailing trend, also a rejection of the city’s recent past.

The design’s radical aesthetics almost call for a radical form of politics, challenging a system that notoriously thrives on compromise and caution. Time inevitably creates space for second thoughts – there’s nothing more certain than doubt. Politicians, prone to “weak knees”, get cold feet, and weaselling public officials are all too happy to convert these doubts into a form of permanent stagnation.

In these murky waters any form of eye-catching design almost acquires the status of a contract, which, through the sheer power of its imagery, constitutes the only notion of a binding agreement between otherwise disparate parties, in a way written contracts (there’s nothing more ambiguous than British English) never do.

When it comes to realising competition designs, the unravelling usually starts immediately after a winner has been announced. This case was even more extreme. Hours after the competition entries had been made public, Westminster City Council publicly announced it did not want a bridge. They never had.

The composition of the jury, with representatives from Wandsworth and Lambeth Councils on the south side of the river, but not from Westminster – the authority responsible for the land on the north side – should have given everyone some indication of that.

Having launched into major new real estate developments at Nine Elms, Wandsworth, the competition’s initiator, had more to gain from a connection to the north than vice-versa. It was only a matter of time before the proposal for a link between a conservation area in the north and a new development area in the south would run into a stand-off between progressive and conservative views.

Shortly after Westminster’s public statement, the announcement of second-round candidates was postponed (appropriately rescheduled for Friday the 13th). Then, the need for complete anonymity was revisited. While in its earlier stages the competition had suggested a selection driven by the quality of the design proposals, the emphasis was now on choosing “the right team”.

Let’s look forward to London 2020: after a long period of political opposition, dragged out procedures and public opinion serving as a permanent alibi not to move forward, Pimlico and Nine Elms are as disconnected as ever. For cyclists and pedestrians, Vauxhall Bridge, 800 metres up the road, remains the nearest crossing. Why go straight, when you can go on a two kilometre detour?

Meanwhile, the image of our bridge, having gone viral after its publication on Dezeen in 2015, has become a reality in its own right, there for everyone to see. Abstract and serene, undisturbed by the bickering and petty concerns that have come to surround the impasse around the eventual winner. Its crisp virtual presence is strangely at odds with the struggle it would have taken to realise. It is what it is; definitely not a bridge.

Reinier de Graaf is a partner of Office for Metropolitan Architecture (OMA) where he directs the work of AMO, the research and design studio established as a counterpart to OMA’s architectural practice.

The post “Definitely not
a bridge” appeared first on Dezeen.

It’s not often that we get to see a new form factor evolve before our eyes, but with the impending release of the Apple Watch, it’s happening. We’re not talking about the watch itself; design intricacies aside, its overall form factor is the same as for all wristwatches. We’re talking about the charging stands, which a plethora of designers are undertaking for the aftermarket.

We know that the Apple Watch combines their MagSafe connection with inductive charging, and that single point of contact leaves plenty of room to design a form around.

What should it look like, how will people use it? Should the watch be elevated or lay flat? How will the cable be managed? Where does this object “live,” on a desk or a nightstand? How much space should it take up? These are the questions designers have to answer, and we thought we’d take a look at some of their approaches:

Dodocase has opted for the elevated approach, choosing handsome Californian Walnut as the chief material. The magnetic contact nests into a cavity, and the cable exits via a channel routed in to meet it. We’d like to see the back of this thing, to see what happens to the cable between the stand and the outlet, but there’s no image of that.

The base is a small chunk of solid steel, with its weight intended to prevent tipping.

The designers envision the case being toted along on trips, so the space beneath the charging surface and the base has been sized to fit the plug block. The cord is then meant to be wrapped around the entire thing, holding the plug block in place, though I can’t see it looking this neat in reality.

Pad & Quill’s Luxury Pocket Stand is also going with wood, in this case American Cherry or African Mahogany. They also envision the device being traveled with, and in the interests of keeping it slim, they’ve gone with a folding design. [Note: The copy on the photos are the company’s words, not ours.]

With this one we’ve got a rear shot, so we can see what happens to the cable.

The slimness is certainly less chunky to travel with than Dodocase’s design, but we don’t see any provision to hold the USB end of the cable in place, nor is the attendant plug block accounted for in the design.

The arch-like design of Calypso Crystal’s Timeless Moment perhaps uses less overall material than the previous two offerings, but takes up more space; with the orange leather, this object is apparently designed to be more of a focal point that a background object.

The cable is meant to ride along a channel inside the arch and defies gravity, we imagine, via a friction fit.

This object is apparently not meant to be traveled with, though they’ve designed this attendant case to carry the watch and, we assume, the loose charging paraphernalia in the side pockets.

I initially thought this strange because I assumed one would travel with their watch on their wrist, but this product is presumably targeting the luxury market, i.e. people that own multiple watches.

Rest’s Composure Dock has the most simple design of all of these—and in the unlikely event they can consistently find chunks of Walnut as striking as the one in the photo, I think the prettiest.

A steel base fitted into the underside provides the weight to keep it in place on a table and houses the cable, which sneaks discreetly out of a little mousehole in the back.

What I find most appealing about Rest’s approach is that they’re thinking of this as part of a system: The rectilinear shape is meant to jive with a forthcoming phone charging tray and change tray.

There’s no provision in this design to travel with, but frankly, I don’t think I’d travel and lug a charging base along with me, just as I don’t travel with my phone’s dock; that just becomes one more thing to carry when the cord itself will suit me fine on the road.

Of course it’s subjective, but in terms of solving a design challenge, which of these four approaches most appeals to you? I think the Rest team has got this one hands-down.

The very first editorial guideline from the American Society of Magazine Editors is “Don’t Print Ads on Covers.” Seems pretty straightforward. And yet Marie Claire has decided that there’s some room for interoperation there. The magazine’s subscribers will receive the April issue with one giant ad on the cover.

The ad was purchased by Stuart Weitzman and will be seen by all 877,000 Marie Claire subscribers. The Marie Claire on newsstands features Kerry Washington on the cover.

At least the Weitzman ad is nice looking. However, don’t be fooled — we are steadily approaching the day when magazine covers are much more NASCAR and much less art. Ads on ads on ads on ads.

Time placed a tiny ad on its cover in May. Forbes then took things a bit farther with a sponsored ad on the front. Marie Claire threw two middle fingers in the air, said “F*ck it all,” and made the entire damn thing an ad.

As for that ASME guideline? Marie Claire editor Anne Fulenwider issued a Kanye shrug. “Before we did this cover, we read through the guidelines of ASME, and we felt we were in the clear” she told WWD. Huh.