Saturday, June 11, 2011

Cyberspace as a dwelling?

A summary of:
Papanek, V. (1993). The Green Imperative: Ecology and Ethics in Design and Architecture. Thames & Hudson, Ltd.: London.

It was interesting timing to read this while simultaneously reading Sherry Turkle’s Alone Together, because it sparked an epiphany about cyberspace as an architectural entity. Turkle’s work elaborates the extent to which we are living our lives in cyberspace, that cyberspace has become a kind of home, although she is the first to point out that this is an impoverished one, a lame substitute. Papanek writes, “I use the word (99) ‘dwelling’ to denote a living or working space that balances life and nature; it then indicates life in an organic harmony with environment and ecology” (100). Given this definition, it would be difficult to call cyberspace a ‘dwelling’. This made me wonder what it would take to make it more dwelling-like.

One point has to do with customization. Papanek writes, “Yet architecture can only flourish if the dwellings built are in harmony with the people who live in them, with nature and culture” (104). With the Internet, we have a one-size-fits-all solution. Clearly, as we can see with the previous post (the talk by Genevieve Bell), people will have very different needs for the Internet, and yet the Web is designed to fit a very particular person that everyone is expected to conform to. (Lanier might say that we have to make ourselves into this person in order to satisfy the Web.) The Web is about homogenization, not customization. It is about globalization, not localization. It attempts to make a virtual community to which everyone belongs. But Papanek references research by Professor George Murdoch of Yale University who has studied the ideal (‘magic’) number for communities and found it to be around 450 to 600 individuals, after which point the community tends to suffer. Further:

“Behavioural scientists consider that 250 people constitute a ‘small’ neighbourhood, 1500 a ‘large one’, about 450 to 600 a ‘social’ neighbourhood. / From these numbers we can go further. With our objective a benign, neighbourly way of life, rich in interconnections and cultural stimuli, we can say that ‘face-to-face’ communities will consist of 400 to 1000 people (the ideal is around 500), ‘common neighbourhoods’ will accommodate roughly 5000 to 10,000 residents (or 10 to 20 face-to-face communities), and the ‘ideal city’ will house about 50,000 souls (or 10 to 20 common neighbourhoods). Special functional reasons may decrease city size to 20,000 or increase it to 120,000 – byond that lies social chaos” (112).

Of course there may be a different ideal size for a virtual community… but clearly these numbers suggest there would be an ideal community size, and it wouldn’t be 6 billion. In order to satisfy the first condition of a social community, we may need to carve out little virtual cities, little pockets of socialization, or even different Webs. It might be that if we truly felt like we belonged to a community, rather than that we were tourists in cyberspace, we might behave more neighbourly to one another.

Papanek also references a study done in the 1950s by Dr Abraham Maslow to determine the effects of environment. “He built three rooms: one beautiful, one ‘average’ and one ugly (77)…. Volunteers were given photographs of people and asked whether these faces displayed ‘energy’ and ‘well-being.’ The volunteers were supervised by these examiners who were themselves unaware of the real objective of the experiment, that is, people’s reaction to work-spaces. The results reveal that in the beautiful room the volunteers found the faces energetic and happy; in the ugly room, they thought they looked tired and ill. The behaviour of the examiners also varied: in the ugly room, they rushed brusquely through interviews, exhibited ‘gross behavioural changes’ and complained of monotony, fatigue, headache, hostility and irritability” (78). Now, note the descriptions of the rooms: “The ugly room has a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling, an old mattress on the floor, battleship-grey walls, torn window shades, brooms, mops and a good deal of trash and dust. The beautiful room had large windows, a superb Navajo rug on the floor, off-white walls, indirect lighting, a bookcase, soft armchairs and a wooden desk, paintings, plants and a small sculpture. The ‘average’ room had ‘the appearance of a clean, neat “worked-in” office with grey metal furniture’” (77). Which description best matches the Web? I would argue that the ugly one does, because of the randomness, chaos, and trash (think of the unwanted advertisements that pollute every webpage). It certainly wouldn’t be the ‘average’ room, all neat and ordered. And it definitely doesn’t seem ‘beautiful’. But given this lack of beauty, what kind of emotions and behaviour and other responses does cyberspace evoke? Could the fact that it’s ugly be a contributing factor in the rampant ‘flaming’ we see online?

So what would be a beautiful Web? Papanek writes, “There is a point at which beauty and high utility through good design interconnect. If both conditions exist simultaneously in an object, and are furthermore clear expressions of the social intent of the people who designed it, it is possible to speak of the spiritual in design. We have seen that the old Modernist saying, ‘If it works well, it will be beautiful,’ is false. We are surrounded each day by hundreds of objects that nullify this approach. At the same time we know that the reverse, ‘If it is beautiful, it will work well,’ is ridiculously wide of the mark” (57). So obviously, just because the Internet works and we are mesmerized by it doesn’t make it beautiful. Papanek leaves some clues as to where we might find beauty.

1. “Ecology and the environmental equilibrium are the basic underpinnings of all human life on earth; there can be neither life nor human culture without it. Design is concerned with the development of products, tools, machines, artefacts and other devices, and this activity has a profound and direct influence on ecology. The design response must be positive and unifying. Design must be the bridge between human needs, culture and ecology” (29). This brings us back, once again, to the fact that in order to be beautiful, the Web would have to be customized to fit the user – not just the user generalized, but specific users in specific contexts for specific cultures.

2. “I firmly believe that it is the instinct of the designer as well as the intended use of the designed object that can yield spiritual value” (53). This suggests firstly that beauty is linked with the spiritual, and secondly that it is important that the designer consider his/her intention in producing the ‘thing’, in this case the Web. It cannot be a mindless production – every development needs to be for a purpose. This means asking him/herself questions like, “Will the design significantly aid the sustainability of the environment? Can it make life easier for some group that has been marginalized by society? Can it ease pain? Will it help those who are poor, disenfranchised or suffering? Will it save energy or – better still – help to gain renewable energies? Can it save irreplaceable resources?” (54). This is also captured in this handy list:

• When we become the hired guns of greed-driven corporations, we are driving to conform.
• If we generate status kitsch for a jaded élite, and allow ourselves to become media celebrities, we perform.
• When we twist products to reflect the navel-gazing of market research, we deform.
• If our products divorce appearance and other functions – a telephone that looks like a duck and quacks instead of ringing, a clock-radio that looks like a female leg – we misinform.
• When our designs are succinct statements of purpose, easy to understand, use, maintain and repair, long-lasting, recyclable and benign to the environment, we inform.
• If we design with harmony and balance in mind, working for the good of the weaker members of our society, we reform.
• Being willing to face the consequences of our design interventions, and accepting our social and moral responsibilities, we give form (53).

3. This also means that beauty is not to be found in appealing to the “fun”. Yes, the Web can be fun, but is it the beautiful kind of fun? Papanek writes: “When I use the word ‘fun’ in an almost pejorative sense here, it speaks to a passive experience, the sort of fun that has been pre-designed, pre-chewed and pre-digested by designers and corporate directors. The childlike in us is grounded in Earth and close to nature. It responds to beauty, to activities that help us use our body and mind by extending and challenging physical and mental powers, or that result in spontaneous laughter. It is when we have to rely on manufactured fun (theme parks like Disney World or Disneyland) or the specious amusement we might derive from a banana-shaped telephone that the hubris of the fake is breathing down our backs” (155).

4. Something that’s beautiful ‘fits’ its user and its use. Papanek bemoans design fashions that add nothing to the design, for example the ‘streamlining’ of objects like CD players, which hardly need to fly through the air at great speed (153). You might say that the Web also does this unhelpful ‘streamlining’, in that it forces us to move at breakneck speed, not because our brains actually work like this and need the Web to move us around this quickly, but because it is fashionable, i.e. it suits our current culture of needing to do things as fast as possible, to multitask, etc.

Now, back to this idea of cyberspace as an architectural space. Papanek writes: “Architecture has been called ‘frozen music’ since it brings this same sense of rhythm into play by the repetition and spacing of windows, floorboards, wall spaces. Frank Lloyd Wright would manipulate these signifiers of rhythm, as well as room heights, to ‘tune’ the design of his houses to his clients’ eye-height and provide a wholly new sense of psychic comfort from such visual modulations, best experienced in his Meyer May house” (90). What kind of music would the Internet be? When I think about this, it’s an incredibly rapid, monotonous, synthesized, high-pitched song that never ends. How might we go about changing the music of cyberspace? Yet again, part of this might be helped by varying it more, making it less homogenized. My favorite website is this. Notice that this space would be a totally different song? It would be a peaceful, cheery little ditty, free of annoying beeps.

Papanek makes the case throughout his book that it is the designer’s responsibility to pay attention to things that would make people happier and healthier in their spaces. For example, architects are familiar with this phenomenon and design for it (or at least should): “Behavioural scientists have found that a room with daylight flooding in from windows set at right angles to each other will increase serotonin levels and – in many cases – provide its inhabitants or users with a more positive attitude” (80). We don’t really know yet what the equivalent Web design elements would be that have a similar effect. Sherry Turkle shows that being “connected” increases dopamine levels, which effectively makes us addicted to it. This is NOT what we want. But how can we design the space of cyberspace so that it increases serotonin?

Similarly, Papanek mentions Japanese stepping stones: “The architect Gunter Nitschke has this to add: ‘We can find a presentation of space as a time and mood-structured process in the layout of traditional Japanese stroll gardens and, on a smaller scale, in the placement of tobi-ishi, [skipping stones] used to make garden paths. By a sophisticated placing of the stones, our foot movements can be slowed down, speeded up, halted or turned in various directions. And with our legs, our eyes are manipulated, and our visual input from spatial phenomena is structured over time” (84). Where are Web developers every tasked with this kind of thoughtful structuring of the space and the pathways that users take? And yet, as Carr and others would quickly point out, these pathways are structuring our brains over time in a very specific way.

I also liked the description of a traditional Japanese garden: “In the quiet of traditional Japanese gardens, one is startled about every fifteen minutes, by a loud clack, like the sound made by hitting two wooden blocks together. The sozu consists of a bamboo tube, closed at one end and balanced on legs so that it can tip. It is constantly filled by a stream of water trickling from a bamboo water-pipe. When the tube is full, it tips forward, empties and falls back to tits original position, loudly striking a rock. Originally these sozu or shishi-o-doshi were used to frighten away birds, deer and even wild boar that invaded farmland and gardens. Zen Buddhists, however, will explain that they were first introduced by the Zen mentor Rikkyu some six hundred years ago ‘to give a sudden “clack” a few times during each hour so that one can hear the silence more clearly’” (89). This really highlights the ways in which silence is not valued and therefore not cultivated (or even accommodated) in cyberspace. How would we, for example, even hear the clack over the other beeps and whistles and constant noise of life in cyberspace?

I want to end with this thought. Papanek quotes Eugene Raskin: “We are born indoors, live, love, bring up our families, worship, work, grow old, sick and die indoors. Architecture mirrors every aspect of our lives – social, economical, spiritual” (75). We are living online to some extent. What does it say about our culture, our values, that the Web is arguably devoid of beauty, and treated so carelessly? And what will happen to our Internet if we don’t begin to approach it from an ethical perspective? As John Vassos was quoted saying, “Design can only succeed if guided by an ethical view” (7).

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