The concept of full dedication to the presence of the Pacific Ocean conditions the architectural gesture to an attitude of simplicity and modesty in space and formal resources to let flow the previous landscape.
In this way, the architectural program resolves in basic and essentials volumes with, literally, longitudinal black containers sitting in the descending levels of the edge and unaligned to not alter or touch the endemic and centennial vegetation of Peumos, Boldos, Ulmos.
The volume set adapts and submits to the arboreal primacy of the landscape. From the way of arrival, the dark and tight containers transform into illuminated, open and transparent spaces towards the immanent sea prominence once you discover the home access point.
Therefore, the architectural program flows and spills by the North-East wing where the bedrooms are located or the North-West wing where you will find the social chambers; between them, only the intercommunication staircase. The open and continuous interior is modulated by the constant rate made of the repeated solid wood trusses. These are made of 8×8” Cypress’s logs as the columns and beams and configure large slightly inclined planes at the ceiling.
Ground Plan
Complementary materiality also refers to few items; Interior volumes in bare concrete, cement look floors or walls covered in wood, or black and white synthetic surfaces, denoting their status as living space accessory or complementary objects.
A version of this essay, originally titled “Rumah in the woods: Resurrection of the Nanga Sumpa Longhouse,” reached the top 8 in this year’s Berkeley Prize. It was shared with ArchDaily by the authors.
These bodies are perishable, but the dwellers in these are indestructible and impenetrable.
This verse from Bhagavad Gita (a Hindu religious scripture) speaks about the human body and soul. For me, even a piece of architecture has a soul which rests in its place. We can feel its presence even when the building is no longer there.
I stand now at the entrance of the rumah panjai (rumah means house and panjai means long i.e. a longhouse), looking at a line of dwellings, interconnected. The human skull looking down balefully at me through a wicker framework suspended from the rafters, the ruai (communal gallery) seems to stretch a long, long way to the far end. The slatted wooden floor is perched on stilts and the area below, glimpsed between the planks, boasts a clutch of hens and a vociferously crowing cockerel. As I walk further along the gallery, women smile as they carry out their daily chores, a granny flashes me a toothless grin, mothers rock their babies in little bamboo cradles and a small boy, absorbed in whittling a stick, ignores me as he frowns in concentration.
These statements are from the travel writer Margaret Deefholts, following her 2008 visit to the Nanga Sumpa longhouse. The longhouse is considered to be one of the oldest architectural forms in Sarawak and can be found throughout Borneo Island.
Picture this – as we drive outside the Malaysian city of Kuching towards the Indonesian border, the streets grow bumpy while rolling over hills and through valleys until we face a large lake. A pair of hornbills pass above and we board the longboat and cast off into the water. This lake was once a forest until the hydroelectric dam was built, flooding the forest and creating the lake. We weave through trees of the flooded forest until the lake gradually narrows into a river. The ride becomes rougher over the increasingly rocky rapids. We carry the boat over a small waterfall and push the boat up the river in shallow areas. The jungle is thick now and the sunny day has suddenly turned to a torrential downpour. All of us are laughing at how wet we are after travelling nearly 164 miles for eight hours from the nearby city of Kuching. We arrive at Nanga Sumpa village, meaning “mouth of the river,” a remote village belonging to the former headhunting tribe of Iban people, located in the Sarawak province of Borneo Island in Malaysia, amidst one of the few remaining virgin rainforests. Our first step off the boat is an entrance into an environment of different moods and smells. We walk to where the longhouse used to be.
Location of the Nanga Sumpa village. Image via Google Earth
Known as a “village under one roof,” a longhouse is a type of elevated communal dwelling comprising a series of interconnected apartments arranged linearly. Each apartment is connected to a communal gallery space on the side. On the other side of the apartments are kitchens and bathrooms. Longhouses are traditionally constructed of wood with a thatch roof, but more recently many have tin roofs.
Finally, we arrive at the longhouse site. All that is left is a grid of black charred posts, most of them burnt down to the ground. Realizing that most village life had once occurred right where we are standing, sadness fills me. A gathering crowd of laughing young women and men about fifteen yards away interrupt this feeling. Although the longhouse is gone, the people’s vitality was not.
On May 13, 2014, just before the harvest festival of Gawai, a small fire started in the dapur (kitchen) at an unmonitored lit stove. In minutes, the fire began to roar. The flames traveled quickly through the longhouse, growing to a spiraling vortex the size of the communal gallery. Flames erupted out of the longhouse making it appear like a fluttering red bird. Most people managed to get out but two lives were lost and many, injured. The villagers lost almost all their possessions, money, and ancestral heirlooms. Once it was too late to save the longhouse, villagers stood outside in the scorching heat of the flames, watching in horror and amazement as the shelter for more than two-hundred people shrank down to nothing. The Ibans were rendered homeless.
After the fire settled, the smell of charred wood hung in the air. The longhouse was reduced to mangled metal roofing, broken pottery and melted glasswares. People were in grief as they stared at the scorched earth where the longhouse existed. The feeling of loss surrounded them. The body was not there, but the soul existed.
The eco-tourism company Borneo Adventure has been in partnership with the Iban people of Nanga Sumpa village for 28 years, bringing tourists to the village so they may learn about the Iban way of life. The longhouse is located in a very remote area without any cell phone service or internet. When the longhouse caught fire, a Borneo Adventure employee ran to the closest area with cell phone service, a mountain overlooking Indonesia ninety minutes away, to make an emergency call to company headquarters in Kuching. Villagers stayed in the adjacent tourist lodging and Borneo Adventure trips and operations ceased until the local people could recover. The next morning, donated food, clothing, flashlights and other items began to flow into the village.
In the wake of the fire, villagers salvaged what materials they could from the burnt longhouse and began building individual temporary homes. These homes were built around the longhouse site and would serve as places of residence until the new longhouse could be built. Over time however, many temporary homes increased in quality and durability of materials, using concrete, cement-board and timber. This difference in material varies greatly from house to house; some having concrete foundations and walls and others using burnt steel roofing from the old longhouse. Living in individual homes has resulted in a more visible and apparent difference of income between families, a factor which was less visible in the old longhouse.
The jungle air is often quite still and the interiors of the temporary homes can become very hot and stale. The facades of each building have been patterned by the harsh jungle climate, giving each home a distinct appearance against the backdrop of the lush jungle. The ground is very soft and the village can become dusty and muddy. New homes have been built informally, each having a sewage drain leading to the river and a petrol-powered electricity generator, if the family can afford and wants one. The open-to-air sewage drains zigzag under and around the homes to the river, creating an unhygienic environment that risks the spread of disease.
The longhouse’s communal gallery (ruai) has been lost, resulting in a loss of communication. This weakens the community, hinders development, and gives no opportunity for greeting guests, an important part of Iban custom. It was decided that building a new longhouse would strengthen village society and community, and also generate income from tourist visits. Moreover, the longhouse is deeply rooted in Iban culture, encompassing many Iban traditions and values in its built form. Rebuilding the longhouse means rebuilding these traditions and values.
In February 2015, Josh Wallace (Josh meaning zest in Hindi), a 23 year old undergraduate of architecture from Canada and still a trainee, was introduced to Philip Yong, a Malaysian-born Chinese man who co-owns and operates Borneo Adventure. When Philip described the story of the longhouse and the need to rebuild, Josh offered to help. Philip asked, “Are you comfortable with staying in the jungle for weeks at a time?” Desiring challenge and adventure, Josh eagerly replied, “absolutely.”
After meeting the Tuai Rumah (the village chief), Josh became aware of the issues the village was facing. The village was divided on which features of the new longhouse design were most important, with competing ideas in relation to fire prevention, ventilation, convenience and tradition. In Josh’s own words, “what is more important, an optimal design made by someone else or the villagers having a sense of ownership over their own design? I decided early that I would not impose any of my values, ideals, or beliefs on their design. My goals were to (1) make tools that generate community discussion, (2) help bring consensus to the longhouse design and (3) produce drawings that aid the construction process.”
In the interest of fire prevention, the village agreed to separate the kitchen from the longhouse. Through extensive discussion and observations, Josh came to learn what design features were not agreed upon. They were (a) a closed or ventilated split roof, (b) ventilated or unventilated walls, (c) skylights, (d) a closed or ventilated kitchen roof, and (e) a raised kitchen with cement bridge or ground-level kitchen.
Generally, longhouse planning involves a verbal design discussion between villagers. This often leads to multiple interpretations of the design due to lack of shared spatial understanding. These multiple interpretations become built form and the intended uniformity is often lost, resulting in lower building performance or rebuilding of certain areas. To better plan the longhouse, Josh makes drawings to help develop a shared spatial understanding between villagers. The village chief and the Longhouse Committee, a group of elderly men, understand architectural drawings (plan, section, elevation), but other villagers are less fluent in these representations. To make the design understandable to everyone in the village, perspective and axonometric drawings are produced allowing for a more inclusive design process. After several attempts, the most effective approach is a “flipbook” of drawings that encompasses all options for the longhouse design. The flipbook, along with other standard drawings, is used in numerous meetings and village-wide discussions. When drawing each option, Josh uses construction details and knowledge that are already in use by the villagers. For instance, the split roof he draws used a detail similar to a tourist building the villagers had built two years earlier, making the option’s execution easier if chosen.
The village chief, the chief carpenter and the Longhouse Committee are Josh’s primary working team and friends. Together they develop a building code to ensure safety and function. The code dictates that (a) the kitchen wall facing the longhouse is made of fireproof material, (b) nothing flammable can be between the kitchen and longhouse, (c) each kitchen’s split roof opens away from the longhouse to control smoke, and (d) all kitchens are connected via walkways for travel when raining.
Eighteen families participate in longhouse construction and inhabitation, each having its own kitchen and bathroom. The longhouse has a traditional closed roof, ventilated walls and skylights. An eighteen-foot gap separates the longhouse and the “long kitchen.” The long kitchen has a ventilated roof that opens away from the longhouse to control smoke. Toilets are connected to a sewage pipe that leads to a septic tank followed by a leach field, a network of perforated pipes that filter waste before it enters the soil.
After going through so much turmoil and uncertainty about the future of their village, construction finally begins in October 2015. The village awoke at 4 am to bless the longhouse site before building. Women play gong music as the men begin raising the first posts in the middle of the building site, making the chief’s apartment. After every post is raised, cheering and clapping fill the air, while women walk through the crowd of builders, splashing water on them and laughing. Once the chief’s section is complete, the next family lay down their posts beside it and attach their section. Each family attaches on to the previous and the longhouse grows in both directions from the chief’s central location to the end of the building site. Each morning begins with a mix of animistic and Christian blessings before building the next family’s section of the frame. The entire village eats together when building the frame, always in a very good mood and in high spirits.
As of now, the frame of the entire longhouse and roof is complete. Each family builds its floor, walls, and ceiling at its own pace. The posts touching the ground are made of Belian wood as it is very resistant to water damage. The Belian posts were donated by Borneo Adventure and the steel roof was donated by a nearby church. Funding comes from the government, Borneo Adventure, and the families, the more prosperous ones donating more in order to create a better living environment for everyone. The longhouse is built formally and the individual homes informally.
Josh’s courage to work in a remote area with rare resources and stunted cooperation is an impelling story. Respecting others’ ideas, culture, and customs is often more important than designing using only one’s own ideas. When working with a large number of people, coordination is one of the most sought after goals. Using intelligent design tools to make the invisible visible can help people reach consensus. This limits the number of construction mistakes and revisions. Tourists have again begun to pour in. The longhouse now stands as a built symbol of community collaboration, economic revitalization and pride that has conquered homelessness. No longer do feelings of sadness about the village overtake a conversation. The Ibans have regained community, and the new longhouse, its soul.
Project Team: Nguyen Ha, Peter Bohlin, Kyle Boyd, Liza Cruze, Patricia Flores, Eryn Gaul, David Guthrie, Louisa Jauregui, Nate Lambdin, Steve Mongillo, Adam Petela, Kyle Phillips, Tak Stewart, Theresa Thomas
General Contractor: Homes by Shaw
Structural Engineer: PCS Structural Solutions
Civil Engineer: Schmueser Gordon Meyer
Mep Engineering: Gordon Prill Drapes, PC
Landscape Architecture: Bluegreen
Interior Design: Shelton Mindel & Associates
Lighting Consultant: Fisher Marantz Stone
Acoustical Engineering: The Greenbusch Group, Inc.
From the architect. The Independence Pass Residence is sited at the edge of a nature preserve in Aspen, Colorado with views of an alpine meadow, forests of evergreen and aspen trees, the Roaring Fork river and the Rocky Mountains.
Approached from the north, a driveway leads from the main road to a private parking court, sheltered from wind and weather. The house stretches between two existing hills on the site; forming a threshold to the views of the meandering river and nature preserve beyond. The lower level is expressed as a series of stone clad walls that extend into the landscape and the upper level is a sleek box with a metal roof that floats on slender columns.
A wall of black-stained cedar boards marks the main entry and extends through the house into a double-height space with a floating stair. Cantilevered wood stair treads lead to the upper level and main living pavilion where full-height walls of glass reveal panoramic views of the nature preserve and New York peak. The living room, dining room and kitchen occupy the center of the linear floor plan, with a master bedroom suite to the west and a family room and outdoor courtyard to the east. A fireplace clad in Vals quartzite forms the western edge of the living room with a large skylight above. A reading alcove with a bench of wood slats is lined with Douglas fir panels and stainless steel shelves for display of the owner’s photography collection. Sliding panels of glass open to an outdoor deck, further blurring the boundary between interior and exterior.
A second stair connecting all levels of the house is crafted of a one-inch-thick steel plate that is both structure and guardrail, slicing through the vertical space. Ground level spaces include three bedrooms with individual baths, a guest suite, mudroom and exercise room.
The Metropolitan Museum released a 360º video of their iconic Great Hall on their Facebook page, allowing user to immerse themselves in the building. Designed by Richard Morris Hunt in 1902, the Met’s Great Hall greets over 6 million visitors to the museum each year with its neo-classical design.
The video was shot with the use of two camera tracks: one from the main entrance to the balustrade above the staircase, and another set at 90º that follows the public up the stairs before lifting to an overhead view.
Following the uses of VR in architectural representation and presentation seen before, the new 360º video of the Met predicts a future of accessibility of architecture for the public with VR. With spectacular buildings readily available to be seen in three-dimensions – as they were intended – understanding buildings and their significance is slowly transitioning into further mainstream acceptance. Previously, platforms like Sketchfab have released monumental VR walkthroughs of famous buildings, and the Met itself has previously shot a 360º video of the Temple of Dendur in Egypt.
Over the past few decades, cities all around the world have undergone major changes as a part of global urbanization processes. More than fifty percent of the world’s population currently resides in cities, and by 2030, the world is anticipated to have 41 mega-cities with 10 million inhabitants or more.
With such large population growth, cities have likewise experienced unparalleled changes and development. In order to showcase the dramatic transformations of some of the world’s largest cities, like Paris, Sydney, Dubai, and Hong Kong, RENTCafe has compiled a series of Street View images that superimpose skylines of the past against what they look like today.
Find out how 42 skylines in 16 major cities have changed over time, after the break.
1. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – Centro Empresarial Senado
From the architect. During the nineteenth century Estonia experienced an ‘age of awakening’ with the spread of a national consciousness and the establishment of Estonian language literature, theatre and professional music, as well as the formation of the Estonian national identity. Estonia initially gained its independence from Soviet rule in the 1920’s, only for its parliament to be disbanded in 1938. During World War II, Estonia was occupied and annexed first by the Soviet Union and subsequently by the Third Reich, only to be re-occupied by the Soviet Union in 1944. War losses in Estonia, at around 25% of population, were among the highest in Europe and an estimated 90,000 Estonians died.
Estonia regained its independence on 20 August 1991 and joined the European Union in 2004. It has since embarked on a rapid programme of social and economic reform. The creation of the new Estonian National Museum, to be located in the city of Tartu, is testament to the quest for reawakening a pride in national identity and a unique cultural history. The international competition for the design and execution of the 34 000 m² building, housing a collection of 140 000 objects, was launched in 2005.
DGT’s proposal for this Museum challenged the competition brief. Instead of locating the building on the proposed site, DGT chose to reappropriate a nearby former Soviet military base as the setting for the Museum – a physically present ‘ruin’ of a painful history. They believed that the new Museum should play an essential role in the regeneration of the area and to do so it had to start by dealing with this heavily charged and spatially unique place. With a sensitive implementation on this site, the National Museum becomes a continuation of the airfield – its roof lifting and expanding towards ‘infinite space’ – inviting the visitor to enter into the landscape and into the heart of the museum. DGT’s design creates an open house for public activities – exhibition, performance, learning – a place of gathering and interaction, bringing people together to celebrate a rich, if sometimes painful, history.
There is an enormous intensity of information, knowledge and ideas on display at this year’s Venice Architecture Biennale, Reporting From the Front. With all the Executive Editors and Editors-in-Chief of ArchDaily’s platforms in English, Spanish and (Brazilian) Portuguese in Venice for the opening of the 2016 Venice Architecture Biennale—plus co-founder David Basulto and European Editor-at-Large James Taylor-Foster, who curated this year’s Nordic Pavilion—we’ve pooled together twelve of our initial favourite exhibitions and must-see shows.
Here, presented in no particular order, are some of our top suggestions from across the Biennale sites and beyond – there’s more to come!
Why? NLÉ have refined the design of their highly-praised Makoko Floating School and rebuilt it on the waters outside the Arsenale. Its presence at the Biennale gives us an unmissable opportunity to experience the ingenuity of the design, as well as to see and feel how it has responded to a unique programmatic challenge.
Why? For the introductory room of an exhibition which gathers the work of a large group of internationally operating architects from around the world, Alejandro Aravena reused 100 tons of “waste” material that had been previously used at the 2015 Venice Art Biennale. The recycling of 10,000m2 of plaster board and 14km of metal has set the stage for the process that Aravena, alongside his team from ELEMENTAL, hope to highlight in the exhibition itself: ingenuity and industriousness.
In Therapy in the Nordic Pavilion / David Basulto & James Taylor Foster
Where: Giardini
Why? In both built and conceptual form, this exhibition playfully asks some profound and necessary questions: among them, how architecture can occupy a legacy while still making progress – a matter of particular importance in the Nordic Countries (Finland, Norway and Sweden) at this moment. Plus, it’s curated by two of ArchDaily‘s Content Team!
Venezuelan Pavilion / Miguel Braceli, Rolando Carmona, Marcos Coronel, Alejandro Haiek, José Naza Rodríguez, Maximillian Nowotka, Gabriel Visconti
Where: Giardini
Why? Although it is not a specific request for National Participations this year (unlike Fundamentals in 2014), this Pavilion responds well to Aravena’s call—Reporting From the Front—by showing how a young generation of Latin American architects are basing their architecture on collective work and community management. It also provides the opportunity to revisit the only pavilion designed by Carlo Scarpa, whose building for the Venezuelan Pavilion has for many years been closed for renovations.
Neighborbood: Siza Meets Aldo in the Portuguese Pavilion / Roberto Cremascoli & Nuno Casagrande
Where: Giudeca
Why? The Portuguese contribution to this year’s Biennale is located outside of both the Giardini and the Arsenale – the exhibition begins, therefore, with the journey of arriving to and accessing the Pavilion which can only be done by walking through Alvaro Siza’s Campo di Marte (1985). The curatorial thread ties together Siza’s work on social housing in Porto, Berlin, The Hague, and Venice, with four documentaries and lucid exhibition texts contextualizing his work in today’s social themes: gentrification, community participation, and the integration of “others” (read: immigrants).
Our Amazon Frontline in the Pavilion of Peru / Sandra Barclay & Jean Pierre Crousse
Where? Arsenale
Why? This unexpectedly emotional, educational exhibit presents work that combats poverty hand in hand with the preservation of Amazonian flora. Anyone can participate in the “Plan Selva (Jungle Plan),” a large-scale program for reconstructing schools in hard-to-access regions of Peru’s Amazonía, which allows visitors the uniquely interactive opportunity to develop their own designs and submit the proposals via a QR code.
Australian Pavilion / Amelia Holliday, Isabelle Toland & Michelle Tabet
Where: Giardini
Why? The way in which the artistic directors of Australia’s Pavilion—only its second in its new “black box” home—have chosen to present a culturally significant aspect of urban design creates an immersive, sensory exhibition. From the changing reflections on the wall as you break the surface of the water, to the moving stories and accompanying soundtrack, the Australian Pavilion allows you to escape from the heat of the day and contemplate a faraway world which is, at the same time, oddly familiar.
Why? This Golden Lion-winning structure built from brick and cement appears to defy gravity while amplifing the power and meaning of these deceptively humble materials. With “Breaking the Siege,” Gabinete de Arquitectura (designed by Solano Benítez, Gloria Cabral and Solanito Benítez) presents a singular demonstration of the character of Latin American architecture.
Home Economics in the British Pavilion / Jack Self, Shumi Bose & Finn Williams
Where: Giardini
Why? One of the core conditions of human life—domesticity—is being challenged by the current condition of a globalised society and rapidly-increasing technologies. The curators display a powerful statement of what “Home” is today, presented as a carefully designed and holistic exhibition.
Unfinished in the Spanish Pavilion / Iñaqui Carnicero & Carlos Quintáns [Golden Lion]
Where: Giardini
Why? The Spanish Pavilion took on a strong theme based on how the global economic crisis hit Spain in a very deep way and, perhaps less clearly, in a very lasting way. The installation itself reflects upon this period of crisis, employing simple and carefully designed elements to display architectural projects in which Spanish architects have had to “do more with less.”
Why? The VDNH is one of the most unique places in the world – a must visit if you go to Moscow. It is a performance that has lasted for decades, displaying the evolution and pride of Soviet power. Now that Moscow City government has taken over its administration, their “front” is how they might transform a vast Soviet theme-park into a lasting piece of urban legacy.
Why? In 2000, a libel suit argued before the Royal Courts of Justice in London successfully challenged the false assertion by a revisionist historian and Holocaust denier that there had been no gas chambers in Auschwitz and that, therefore, the Holocaust didn’t happen. Central to the proceedings were the forensic interpretation of the architectural evidence of Auschwitz and the expert witness testimony by Robert Jan van Pelt. This installation consists of life-size replicas and casts of key pieces of architectural evidence from Auschwitz which proved beyond doubt that denial that a Holocaust in Europe happened, is futile.
The F&A House is located in a residential area on the outskirts of the city. Existing trees give real character and personality to the land so they are taken as the basis for the positioning of the project and the design and construction of the landscape.
Formally, we opt for a solution with a powerful and recognizable image like the “prototypical gabled house”, which we combine, functionally, with an organization in strips of the programme.
Low Level
We put in place a first strip connecting with the garden and swimming pool for public areas (entrance, kitchen and living room).;a second strip for more private uses and a third intermediate core of humid zones, service and storage areas, which separates and distinguishes public areas from private ones.
The volume is formed by creating porches, large eaves and courtyards that create shade and protect from the rain, as well as transition spaces between the interior and exterior that allow people to move through at different times of the year.
The house is formalized with an external thermal insulation composite system (ETICS) in white flexible stucco finish. Facing the garden, a second layer of white aluminum slats overlap it, acting as solar, visual and safety protection.
Elevation
White on white. In this way, the image of the project is built, it portrays and reinforces the idea of home and incorporates reflections, brightness and intensity of light as another construction element.
Damir Ussenov and his architectural firm “Lenz Architects” designed a villa in the foothills of Almaty. The main aim of the architect was to create a separate, isolated and safe space, while making it possible to enjoy the wildlife.
The unique metal framework allows natural light to enter the interior, bypassing the dense thickets and difficult terrain. The facade consists of dynamic aluminum panels which using an electronic mechanism can close windows and isolate the house from the environment, providing security and soundproofing.
Panels are treated with white plaster EIFS (Exterior Insulation and Finishing Systems) which have thermal insulation properties and sanitizers.
The house, which resembles a shell, includes a large studio with a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and a relaxation room. A spiral staircase leads to an open and comfortable guest bedroom.
Sky Garden is a suspended garden in Ortaköy Square which is one of the most touristic and busiest squares in Istanbul. Putting a garden on the ground in such a congested area would reduce the walkable surface and make the square even more dense. Instead, we proposed to hang the garden while keeping the ground still accessible. We used the existing slab in the square as a base for the new garden which will also serve as a canopy made of pots during sunny days.
This garden with assorted plants, provides seating and shadow as well, during the flower festival. Being suspended, the garden acts as a roof which people can stay under and watch Bosphorus. Just like a tree with different branches, the garden flies between the sky and the Bosphorus with each pot, while the pulley system lets the pots go down for a closer look of visitors.
The mechanism that lets the hanging pots move up and down, is a simple pulley system. Since the pots are equally weighted, they remain aligned when in balance. If a visitor pulls one of the pots to look at the plant closer, than the equivalent pot is lifted.
We consider public installations as a tool to question the architect’s power over design. When the visitor is being able to change the installation, architect is no longer able to control the form, up to a certain point. For us, it is a challenging experience to expand the borders of control even with small gestures like in this project, while the temporary installation urges to transform an established public space.
Sig Nordal 