In 1992, Kaijima, along with her husband and collaborator Yoshiharu Tsukamoto, created the practice Bow-
Wow (a play on the peculiarities of translation—in Japan the dogs go “wan wan”). The firm rapidly gained a name for itself as an innovative practice that confronted the challenges of designing for the dense urban environments of Tokyo with eccentric uses of minimal space and an undying faith in the small scale as an arena for meaningful intervention. Their self-styled ‘micro-architecture’ tackles some of the most compact living scenarios possible while simultaneously addressing the wider urban context that establishes the
character of their work.

Presently Momoya is conducting a design studio at the Auckland University School of Architecture and Planning in her position as the International Architect in Residence for 2010. The programme is a new initiative by the school that “allows a wider national community the opportunity to interact with a globally significant architect,” presenting radically different approaches to the shifting role of the architectural profession.

Doctor Andrew Barrie, Professor of Design at the University of Auckland School of Architecture and Planning
says: “Atelier Bow-Wow have been globally influential in re-establishing the importance of small-scale urban patterns and daily life in architectural design.” Labelling them ‘rock stars’ in their field, Barrie praises the way the ouble act observe the city around them “using their discoveries to inject joy and drama into the everyday activities that take place in the buildings they design.”

Because picturesque pastoral landscapes are simply not possible in the large Japanese metropolis, architects
and designers must carefully frame fragments of nature and urban objects such as adjacent roof tiles in order to make something of a given situation. In their own house and studio (2005) an entire facade of the building is glazed, one metre away from the flat plane of a neighbouring concrete wall. Their justification for what would normally be considered a rather unsightly detail is that the glass wall ‘borrows’ the texture neighbour’s wall as ‘wallpaper’ while allowing indirect light to bounce off the rough concrete surface and illuminate the interior—talk about flipping the bird at a world of suburban real estate agents hawking taglines that promise ‘million-dollar views’.

Besides winning numerous accolades for some of their more adventurous projects, Bow-Wow has also contributed artwork to a number of famous biennales including Korea, China, Italy and Brazil. Their built work is heavily complimented by a significant research output as a result of the pair’s positions at a number of well-established architectural universities both in Tokyo and around the globe. For Kaijima and Tsukamoto the crossover between research and design is natural for the practice, with each aspect of their work often overlapping. Their research primarily addresses the urban conditions of Tokyo and the realisation of their projects provides a means of directly testing their ideas about hybrid conditions and small buildings.

Their two most well known publications Made in Tokyo and Pet Architecture Guide Book are ordered like guidebooks that re-present a new outlook on the city in which they live. From their adventures around the streets of their hometown they bring together examples of inexplicable combinations of function that are purely Tokyo. Take, for instance, the supermarket that has a driving school on its roof, the taxi stand which shares its spaces with a driving range or the ultimate in architectural
oddities—a rifle-range-cum-cemetery. Each of these are examples of the kind of ‘dirty realism’ the couple extols and their study of these hybrid forms and fragments presents us with a new way of thinking about the quotidian. Bow-Wow’s sense of humour and ability to find the illogical—inherent in their city—sets them apart from their contemporaries who are more inclined to look to the classically celebrated examples of modern architecture for inspiration.

Here in New Zealand, where space is still abundant, the practices of Japanese architects who work with conditions so dramatically different may appear to have little application, but to cast aside their insights as novelty would be amiss. There is undoubtedly something we can gain from the mindset of thinkers such as Kaijima and Tsukamoto whose work with modest means has presented exciting new ways of condensing and
hybridising space that will prove ever more useful as we continue to see an increase in our urban populations. Perhaps we aren’t quite conditioned for life in a three-metre-squared box but it is undeniable that there is significant scope for reducing our physical footprint.

Whether the admiration of small space is something grown out of the very real spatial restrictions in Japanese culture is uncertain. However, Atelier Bow-Wow is surely be a practice that will continue to surprise and delight with each project and we can only hope that Victoria has plans to extend invitations
to resident professors of similar acclaim in the near future.

Momoya will be speaking at the Victoria Architecture and Design Campus tonight at 6pm with drinks from 5.30pm. Cost $10 ($5 SANNZ members) Fundraising for Student Japan Scholarship.

What the maps show

Fisher’s image-maps show the locations of geographically referenced photographs in cities around the world, taken from the internet based photo-sharing platform Flickr. The ‘geo-tagged’ data is input to a computer programme which then categorises the information provided by members into highly complex visual models, such as the one shown here for Wellington. These ‘digital footprints’ by themselves are immensely complex and impossible to decipher, but Fisher’s project to visualise vast quantities of data presents us with a new means to analyse and understand the built environment.

The geo-referenced points show the activity of photographers around the city and are a fairly good representation of the image-ability of our city, or at least a measure of the most visually stimulating places to visit. Further to the distribution of photograph locations, the data has been has been grouped and colour-coded into ‘tourists’ and ‘locals’ through a system based on the time spent in any one location. Those who have uploaded geo-tagged photographs over a period of one month or longer are broadly categorised as locals and made blue, while those who have taken photos for less than that period are classified as ‘tourists’ and coded red. In addition to the polarisation of these two categories, a third colour, yellow represents photographs of unknown origin, where their author has no registered activity on Flickr in another city and is thus unable to be classified either tourist or local due to a lack of information.

Wellington City

It’s fascinating how the data begins to reveal an image of the city from the eyes of its spectators. All the main tourist attractions are there: from Te Papa (the largest patch of red) to Parliament grounds and the Botanic Gardens—the sites that ‘make’ Wellington are clear to see. Even the Cable Car can be made out as a continuous stream of yellow extending out perpendicular from the duotone Lambton Quay.

In addition to the intensely concentrated ‘hotspots’, the aggregation of thousands of points begins to visually describe the patterns of movement and usage throughout the city. In the Wellington example, there is a strongly defined axis of movement to the south and west from the intersection of Cuba St and Courtenay Place. While this distinct pathway might not present anything particularly groundbreaking in the way we already understand the city, it is immensely useful in allowing us to visualise a particular phenomenon and compare these areas to the less-traversed paths in a quantifiable way.

Data Visualisation

The field of graphic design has recently seen a rise in popularity of the data-visualisation, particularly in both newspapers and popular magazines. With the information saturation of the so-called ‘digital flood’, a large amount of data exists in the ether that is either totally incomprehensible or at least of little consequence in the way it is presented to us. Recent development in data visualisation has made it possible to manage large amounts of digital information or traces and re-package it as a ‘super-graphic’ (such as Fisher’s maps) that organise the data into a much more intelligible tool. By using computer programmes to group, simplify and then display data within the bounds of a manageable image, we are now able to make sense of some of the vast torrents of data that seem to assault our retinas with every click of the mouse.

While this new tool is pretty fascinating to your typical viewer, a particular criticism is that such a visualisation relies on technological means that undeniably disadvantages those without access to photo-sharing networks like Flickr. This effect becomes quite noticeable when one compares a similar map of say, San Francisco (with a relatively large number of Flickr users) with a city of similar population like Johannesburg (whose percentage of Flickr users is considerably lower). The impact of such bias is that the map of the latter becomes disproportionately sketchy by comparison and less accurate for that locale.

In addition to the bias created by the use of such programmes, the maps are created from photographs and the information they present is likely to give us an understanding of the visual quality of any one space as opposed to something potentially more valuable, such as knowledge of how the space is used and experienced. That being said, there is still a lot of valuable information buried in the images that is of particular interest to architects and urban designers as a new tool to measure and understand spaces in the city.

Applications

Looking at these images, it’s easy enough to be seduced by their visual appeal. The maps are, after all, incredibly graphically striking, particularly when viewed from a distance. The real question is whether such visualisations are contributing to our understanding of the built world, or merely an example of what is known as ‘data porn.’ While the maps may appear to only reiterate what we already know about the behaviour of both tourists and locals, the immense wealth of information presented in the data allows us to analyse behavioural patterns in much more detail and beyond the scope of traditional cartographic representation.

The dynamic nature of the data and its ability to be updated adds additional interest. By further classifying the data set by aspects of time and seasonality it would be possible to analyse how different conditions (such as weather and light) impact the behaviour of both locals and tourists as well as allowing for comparisons to be made over greater periods of time. This information could then be used to make useful predictions for urban designers and city planners to anticipate the growing requirements of different user groups and to make predictions about the future form the city may take. The question is, really, what kind of relationship we wish to develop between tourists, locals and the city.

Website: http://www.flickr.com/photos/walkingsf/sets/72157624209158632/

Of all my guilty pleasures, MTV Cribs is one of the worst. Sure, Cribs doesn’t quite hold the intellectual sway of Kevin McCloud’s Grand Designs or the emotional tug of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, but for an architectural afficionado with a soft spot for the exhorbitant elite, the ostentatious homes on show sure make for compelling viewing. Having recently encountered an hour-long special edition of the show, dedicated to family favourite silver-tounged rap impressario 50 Cent’s Connecticut mansion, you could probably forgive my excitement at the potentially beautiful collision of these two symbols of outlandish opulence. I felt assured my voyeuristic needs were about to be satisfied for a decent stretch of time, but boy was I surprised to discover that the $440 million man who began dealing crack at the tender age of twelve, now lives in a tawdry suburban McMansion in Farmington, Connecticut.

Originally built in 1987 by real estate swindler Benjamin Sisti (who was sentenced to prison for bilking investors of millions of dollars), the Connecticut castle was purchased by the one and only Iron-Mike Tyson, who decked it out to something closer to its present state. After an uneasy divorce, Fifty purchased the manor from Tyson’s wife in 2003 at the heavily discounted price of $4.1 million (down from $22 million). Fifty then pumped a further $6 million into tidying up the 17-acre estate and installing a few creature comforts such as his helipad, recording studio and indoor shooting range.

The tour of Fifty’s humungous home begins in an offensively banal foyer which features two oversized marble columns, and matching mahogany staircases winding their way up to the second floor and beyond. A grinning Fifty then takes us through the the formal dining room featuring a massive polished wooden dining table, hideous white pleather chairs (left behind by Tyson) and the absolutely nouveau riche Baccarat chandelier worth a casual US$80,000—the sheer lavishness of the room is only made more mind-boggling by Fifty’s ready admission that he is yet to dine here (having lived in the house for over seven years). As if an antidote to the rather conspicous display, Fifty excitedly points out his most prized possesion—a fantastically garish jar which depicts the proud homeowner as an Egyption Pharoah having been handmade by his uncle during a stint in the slammer.
After the dining room we are introduced to one of Fifty’s six blingin’ kitchens. Naturally, the kitchen features a soundsystem stacked to the nines so he “can jam while he cooks”. The suspiciously inauthentic kitchen also features a fridge which is conveniently filled to the brim with 50 Cent brand Vitamin Water, and the discerning eye will notice that the oven (not to mention the microwave) looks brand new.

After a quick wardrobe change and a peek at his excessively grandiose home-theatre system, 50 Cent leads us outside to his backyard where the rest of the tour plays out. Following the rapper in his decidely un-gangster-looking red golf cart we are shown his boorish infinity pool that comes complete with a fantastically unnerving 40-person grotto and a waterfall makeout pool that looks to be everything but a real ladykiller. After the pool it’s off to his acre-sized pond filled with schools of koi carp and his very own woodland basketball court complete with G-Unit insignia to hang out with the boys.

Other highlights of this self-defined “playboy mansion of the east” include a glass elevator which leads to the Gucci game room, lined with white leather and suede couches and equipped with a custom-made pool table. The dealbreaker however, and perhaps the only part of the house that sets its apart from the others is his piece de resistance—an in-house night club which boasts stripper poles, private rooms, a DJ booth and a giant swing. Cringe.

As Fifty melodramatically leaves his crib in a helicopter, one can’t help but feel a little suspicious as to the authenticity of what is presented in the hour-long special. Undoubtedly the house and its multi-million dollar price tag is very real and has a number of gangster-approved trimmings, only, when the cameras are gone and the rapper returns to ground I can’t help but picture a less than satisfied Curtis whiling away his time dreaming up obscene tweets and googling his name instead of hosting sexy parties and doing lines off his gold-plated cisterns. Then again, who would know?

It kind of grinds my gears a bit that these individuals, with infinite resources at their fingertips, constantly construct such offensively tawdry McMansions of the neo-shithouse school. Surely even the remotely creative celebrity is capable of a slightly more imaginitive aesthetic than the faux-Palladian palaces that continue to represent the wealthy elite? Fifty probably sums it up best when he describes his decorative ‘style’ as along the lines of the magazine Architectural Digest—a favourite of Martha Stewart-esque suburban housewives—and testament to the fact that, on the surface at least, Fiddy’s pimpin palace looks more akin to a Lemon-Pledged, middle of the range, beige business hotel than a gangster’s paradise.

Anyone who has experienced house envy as they flick through the pages of glossy interiors magazines such as Dwell or Wallpaper* has likely been consoled by the belief that the people who reside in those desirable, neo-modern mini-mansions are nearly always, at the end of the day, very lonely.

Providing compelling support for this idea is the website unhappyhipsters.com. The entertaining photoblog ‘borrows’ images of minimalist homes from the pages of design magazines and adds Twitter-esque captions to help convey the mirthless style of deadpan, design magazine photography, and the modern houses that are its subject matter. The photographs, pinched directly from the likes of Dwell, show the various models and homeowners skulking around their sleek, modern abodes without a single smile between them—their expressionless gazes lit by diffuse and slightly unsaturated colour.

Accompanying each of the image posts is a (sometimes) amusing caption, supplied by the site’s anonymous administrator, that adds a wry commentary to the lonesome scenes. One-liners like, “She hated the green felt. She was going to jump”, and the one above only serve to further convey the futility of the models’ existence, asking the question: Is there some truth to the blog’s subtitle “It’s Lonely in the Modern World”? Is it possible that the image of modern living forced upon us by these publications creates spaces that can make us feel downright blue?

The blog is appealing in the way it asks questions of the home environments sold to us by these magazines as ‘the most desirable’. On one hand, it presents a satirical take on the homogenity of so-called ‘modern’ design, while on the other it suggests (more ominously) that the architectural interiors—which we all seem to admire enough to continue buying these magazines—are deeply flawed. What it is exactly about these environments that gives off the ‘hopeless vibe’ is a source for speculation, however, some psychologists believe they have the answer—and apparently it’s all a function of our ancestral selves.

It is already widely accepted that our environments can have significant bearing on our moods and behaviour. Colours can both calm and enrage us, and certain shapes and arrangements can influence our attitudes and actions. The houses featured in Dwell are, more often than not, stark, minimalist creations with sparsely furnished living areas, a couple of designer-type objects and few traces of actual human habitation. The neutral, earthen tones of the spaces present a dispassionate backdrop to the recurring hard-edged, angular forms that are a common attribute of these foreboding atmospheres.

A 2007 study published in the journal Neuropsychologia revealed that boxy, angular forms can have an unconscious emotional effect on us. Apparently, viewing these shapes triggers activation in the amygdala, a small bit in the front of our brains associated with emotional memory and, in particular, fear. Although we may not consciously recognise this sense of fear, this triggering of activity can aid in generating any apprehensive feelings we might have towards these spaces. The standing hypothesis is that, in nature, angles usually suggest something to watch out for, like a tree branch or a sharp rock around which a heightened sense of attention and caution is necessary. Their translation into the home environment through the medium of advertising and the design magazine has left us all lusting after homes that are in actual fact ‘uncomfortable’ spaces.

According to evolutionary psychologist Steven Pinker in his book The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature, the “belief that human tastes are reversible cultural preferences has led social planners to write off people’s enjoyment of ornament, natural light, and human scale” effectively forcing “millions of people to live in drab cement boxes”, or at least aspire to, as is marketed to us by the vast majority of design magazines. The idea of a collective aesthetic conscience manipulated by these magazines and the notion that design could be responsible for much of the loneliness of our environments today is a truly disheartening thought, but all is not lost. Studies such as these also show promise that in the future we will better understand how spaces influence emotional wellbeing, and we can take heart in the idea that in the coming years we will have a better idea of how to design houses that make us smile. In the meantime, at least we can read Unhappy Hipsters in its fight against neo-modern doldrums.

Well Jimmy, to put it bluntly, rather than a pejorative term for a lesbian, a dyke is in fact an artificially-engineered construction that works to prevent flooding in areas of low-lying land. Usually earthen, these dykes (sometimes referred to as levees, from the French lever, “to raise”) run parallel to the course of a river or coastline. Dykes can also be used to confine the flow of a river, resulting in higher and faster water flow, as well as for the purpose of ‘empoldering’, or as a boundary for an area prone to flooding.

Dykes are usually built by mounding earth on a levelled surface. Broad at the base, they taper towards the top, where temporary embankments or sandbags, as well as the planting of Bermuda grass, can be used as additional protection. Often, due to the increase in land acquisition over time, a number of dykes are built in series. Because a dyke is only as strong as its weakest point, the height and standards of construction have to be consistent along its length, which makes their planning and maintenance vital in ensuring the success of the system.

Some of the earliest ‘dykage’ occurred in Pakistan and India from around 2600 BC. Levees were found to have been constructed in Ancient Egypt over 3000 years ago, where a system of dykes was built along the left bank of the Nile stretching nearly 1000 kilometres. The Mesopotamians and ancient Chinese also built large dyke-like systems.

Dykes au naturel

While dykes/levees are commonly thought of as artificial constructs, they can also exist naturally. When a river spills out over its banks, the water spreads out and slows down, depositing its load of sediment. Over time, the river’s banks are built up above the level of the rest of the floodplain, resulting in natural ridges. When the river is not in flood it may deposit material within its channel, raising its level. This can raise not just the surface, but even the bottom of the river above the surrounding country. Sand dunes can also be considered natural dykes for the protection they offer to the adjacent land.

Hurricane dykes

The devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 brought the words levee and dyke to the forefront of the public conscious. During the hurricane, the levees in place to prevent such a tragedy were breached at over 50 different points, submerging 80 per cent of the city. While most levees failed due to water breaching their tops, some failed when water passed underneath the levee foundations, causing the levee wall to shift. This sudden breaching released such high volumes of water that many houses were moved off their foundations and cars were tossed into trees like a scene from an apocalyptic blockbuster. The failure of the system put in place to prevent such devastation caused 1836 deaths and much of the blame has been placed with engineers, local contractors, and local levee boards for their lack of foresight.

Bikes on dykes

The modern word dyke (closely related to the English verb dig) is most probably derived from the Dutch word dijk, and it would be a gaffe of unforgivable proportions not to make reference to their clog-donning champions. The Dutch are synonymous with all manner of dyke-ery and they have used their extensive knowledge and skill to reclaim nearly 8000 square kilometers of land since the twelfth century. Currently, up to 60 per cent of the Netherlands is below the current mean sea level, and the population relies on this immense system of flood defence to stay dry.

Our very own namesake, Zeeland (or ‘sea land’) is a coastal province of Holland bordering Belgium, with a large part of its arable land a direct result of coastal reclamation. Much of the province lies below sea level, posing a considerable risk to its inhabitants. Historical breaches of the dyke system have taken their toll on the Dutch population.

“De Ramp” (the disaster) refers to a fateful breach which occurred in 1953. During the flood, many dykes in the provinces of Zeeland were unable to withstand the combination of spring tides and a northwesterly storm, eventually giving way to a torrent of water which took the lives of 1835 people, inundated 400,000 acres of land and decimated around 50,000 homes. The event boosted both research around, and the practice of, coastal engineering. It also spurred a rather drastic reaction in the form of the controversial Deltaplan, the implementation of which saw the almost complete closure of the tidal outlets of the rivers Maas and Rijn, and had significant ecological impact.

Local dykes

Closer to home there are a number of low-lying areas at particular risk of flooding. The Taieri plain (Otago) sits two metres below mean sea level. In May this year the plains were inundated after a considerable deluge. Other low-lying areas around the country are susceptible to occasional flooding, however most susceptible areas have a number of floodbanks in place that (usually) contain the overflow in ponding and drainage areas. Attitudes to flood plain areas have been criticised in the past, as a number of developers have undermined potential flooding risks by developing high-risk areas for residential subdivisions, such as that of Mill Creek in Otago. Fools.

It doesn’t take a wizard to know that rising sea levels are having a significant impact the world over. It is estimated that approximately 20 per cent of the global human population lives in coastal cities and of these, 100 million people live one metre or less above mean sea level. Here in New Zealand, this percentage is higher still, and with sea levels currently on the rise, we should be looking towards our namesake as a means to protect our precious landscape.

Unnatural dykes

Coastlines are often composed of a variety of rock and sediment types. From sheltered harbours, inlets and estuaries, long sandy dunes and exposed gravel beaches, to more pronounced rocky and cliffed coasts, they present us with a wide range of dynamic landforms. When left naturally, these environments have the ability to soak up vast amounts of wave and tidal energy. So why would we try to go against Mother Nature in the search for greener pastures?

When we reclaim land for development and roading we are interfering with the natural coastal system and the flow of sediments that nourish a coastline. Although reclamation has been managed sustainably in the past, there is a point at which the construction and maintenance of dykes becomes questionable in ecological terms. A growing movement called ‘soft engineering’ (again, pioneered by the Dutch) involves more ecologically responsible methods of protection from inundation, in stark contrast to the idea of erecting large protection barriers. By restoring marine marshes, growing trees and strengthening barrier islands, engineers are able to use strategies of protection that limit the need for bigger and badder dykes, following their adage ‘niet met fortsigheit maar met soetigheit’: not with force, but with sweetness.

Dykes against global warming

In 2008, two climate change reports released by the Ministry for the Environment that requested local governments consider hazards such as storm surges and high waves, and provided specific advice on sea level rise, particularly in regards to the Rongotai isthmus (Kilbirnie), which sits particularly low relative to sea level. Wellington City lies in a relatively well-restrained harbour, at about 2 to 2.5 metres above mean sea level, with a change in tide of, on average, just a little over one metre. In the event of dramatic sea level rise, we’re unlikely to ever try to ‘dyke-out’ by blocking off the entrance to the harbour with an engineering solution of Dutch proportions, however, in the coming years, protection may be required for the more vulnerable areas.

A five metre rise would inundate a substantial portion of Wellington’s central business district and all the low-lying parts of Eastbourne, Petone and Lower Hutt as far north as Avalon—although it’s worth pointing out that many experts have trouble with predictions of a one metre rise over the next century. A rise of one metre would probably flood some areas of Petone and Eastbourne, though it would have a minimal effect on the rest of the Hutt Valley, and the Rongotai isthmus would remain largely intact. In any case, it would probably be foolish to rush down to your local gondola dealer as the scenario of an antipodean Venice would be most unlikely.

Dykes are so ghey

So the jury remains ‘out’ as to whether attempts to contain and reclaim coastal areas through the proliferation of dykes is truly an effective means of managing the threat of inundation.Whether these rather drastic measures of ecological engineering are an efficient way to combat significant changes to the climate, or whether their impact will prove ultimately more damaging, is contentious and should be brought to the forefront of ecological discussion. At the end of the day, it no doubt all comes down to politics, and New Zealanders should be greatful our coastline can enjoy its current status as a dyke-free paradise.

The relationship between fashion and architecture may seem surprising to many, given the ephemeral (and somewhat superficial) nature of the former, contrasted with the percieved durability and permanence commonly attributed to the latter. Unlike a lot of clothing, a building is not easily tossed asunder when it shows signs of wear, nor is it as subject to seasons and the swift ascendance of new trends as is fashion. Rei Kawakubo however, an architectural enthusiast and the woman behind Japanese fashion heavyweight Comme des Garçons (CdG), has been looking into their commonalities as a means to challenge the traditional conception of fashion and architecture as separate disciplines.

Founded in 1969 in Tokyo, CdG’s designs borrow heavily from architectural materials and techniques to create intensely sculptural garments that consistently turn conventional notions of fashion and beauty on their heads. Kawakubo’s first showing in Paris in 1981 provided a dramatic contrast to the highly tailored offerings from other designers, with sculptural, asymmetrical garments layered, draped or wrapped in unconventional ways. The forms created by Kawakubo deviate from more orthodox fashion practices, and ranges such as Excellent Abstract (spring/summer 2004) use structural elements to manipulate the garment away from the body as a means of expressing the idea that a garment, much like a building is a spatial construction. In 2000, Kawakubo was honoured with an excellence in design award from Harvard University’s School of Design, and has garnered praise over the years from many of her contemporaries, including Alexander McQueen, who once cited her as the world’s most gifted designer.

In addition to subverting traditional techniques and treatments, Kawakubo’s personality presents us with a more humble front than some of the star designers and architects who often give convoluted and obtuse explanations of their work and practice. She rejects any fixed interpretation of her work and on the rare occasions she has spoken she has denied that her work should be considered art, insisting there is no hidden agenda in her design work. The very name of the company was chosen simply because she liked the sound of the words.

Brooke Hodge, in her book Skin and Bones: Parallel Practices in Fashion and Architecture, admits being interested in the parallels between the two disciplines following her work on an exhibition dedicated to CdG. During the course of her research she was “struck by the visual similarites between clothing design and architectural structure” as well as being fascinated with the aptness of “architectural terminology” for describing Rei Kawakubo’s garments.

This linguistic crossover is not confined to Kawakubo’s work and its influence can be seen in the exchange of vocabulary from both areas. Notable developments in materials and manufacturing processes have led to architects adopting sartorial terms such as wrapping, folding, weaving, layering, texturing, hanging, draping and coating to better express architectural ideas, while the fashion world has simultaneously been quick to adopt such terms as “architectonic”, “sculptural” and “constructed” to articulate a new-found appreciation of the body and its relationship to space.

Kawakubo’s architectural involvement is not limited to metaphor, however, and the formidable fashionista is extremely particular about the ‘total environment’ surrounding her label. In a way not dissimilar to the Bauhaus creation of Gesamtkunstwerk (total artwork), her desire for the completeness of experience requires her to take extensive control over the way in which her designs are to be encountered. She has worked with a number of high-profile architects such as Future Systems and Takao Kawasaki in the creation of around a dozen specifically designed CdG boutiques from Toyko to New York that dramatically contrast with more typical retail environments. In addition to these flagship stores, there are around 200 stockists worldwide whose stores must meet a certain level of architectural quality specified by Kawakubo herself, as well as innovative ‘guerilla’ stores.

In 2004 CdG initiated their first ‘guerilla’ store in Berlin in an “out-of-the-way” location designed to be open for the duration of one year only, and fitted at a minimum cost. The use of temporary structures to display and sell her garments through non-traditional means has had considerable impact on contemporary architectural practice by bringing the temporal quality of the fashion industry into the realm of a discipline with a tradition of durability and permanence. By suggesting that buildings need not be built to last, Kawakubo has opened the door to a whole new generation of architectural designers free from the immutability of traditional construction and a number of practitioners in the fashion world have since opened similar temporary outlets.

If the practice and influence of Rei Kawakubo gives any indication of the future direction of these two disciplines, we can be sure to see the boundaries between architecture and fashion to blur further. The continuing relationship between fashion and architecture is likely to produce ever richer developments in both fields, and the crossfertilisation of such practitioners as Kawakubo will see the development of increasingly hybrid practices that can reintroduce the emobodied and ‘lived’, sensory experience into architecture and unimagined architectural forms to the world of fashion.

Earlier this month, 35 architecture students (and one stealthy geology student) headed up to the UNITEC School of Architecture in Auckland to compete in the annual Superstudio competition. Organised by SANNZ (Student Architecture Network New Zealand), Superstudio is an international short-form ideas competition which sees students from the country’s three architecture schools come together to compete against students across Australasia in a 24-hour no-holds-barred contest. Designed as a chance to challenge the limits of what is normally a slow and drawn-out process, the event encourages students to push the boundaries and cast aside any technical favouritism in place of the creative, the imaginative and the plain bizarre.

What Went Down

On the Friday morning, a crew of bleary-eyed VUW students diligently set their alarms to catch the 7am train to Auckland. Thirteen hours, 352 bridges and 14 tunnels later, the southern rabble arrived at the UNITEC architecture campus in Mount Albert, where they were treated to a dinner of cold sausages and the announcement that their late arrival had already shortened the allotted time period—leaving them with just 22 hours to produce convincing architecture schemes for an esteemed judging panel. The assembly was then divided into teams of three across the schools, requiring each individual to cooperate with complete strangers as they hastily put together fantastical schemes for the scrutiny of their peers.

After a brief sleep (for some), Saturday saw most teams up and about early in the drizzly conditions visiting various sites throughout the city to locate their designs. Once back in the studio, the teams got down to some serious scribbling and squabbling as they started to push and develop their ideas, often to the consternation of the other team members.
Thankfully, a number of practising architects were on hand to offer support, and their advice was welcomed by the students as the realities of the time constraints began to take their toll.

After an intense scramble to the finish line, the pained cries of flustered students subsided and the group made their way back to the lecture theatre to present their proposals to the waiting panel. Disappointingly, the judges barely seemed to raise an eyebrow at the ensuing hilarity. Nothing seemed to be off-limits, as break-dancing brick walls and Justin
Bieber jostled for the top spot against some of the more macabre offerings that saw a dual-purpose drug rehab clinic and kindergarten occupying the same space.

Although one of the principal aims of the event is to encourage a collaborative atmosphere between the schools, it was hard not to be impressed by the dominance of the Vic contingent. Despite a home ground advantage for the two Auckland universities, the Vic group seemed to dominate the podium and represented six out of the nine place getters, the winning entry coming courtesy of a Vic-heavy team ‘Brotown’, who will now move on to compete against our Australian counterparts in a bid to win an all-expenses-paid trip to the Venice Biennale.

The closing of the competition coincided with the SANNZ AGM, which saw a number of promising young bloods elected to the exec for the following year. In addition to the new arrivals, current President Nicholas Leckie handed the reins on to fellow Victoria student Samantha McGavock, who will take charge of the organisation for the year to come. After sorting out the housework, a generous bar tab ensured that the event’s competitors were well looked after and a solid posse battled through the night, ending their festivities at Britomart station for the long journey home.

The highlight of the presentations came courtesy of Victoria’s own second-year ‘Maxwell’, who entertained the assembly with an award-winning display of comic genius and a seemingly endless draw of one-liners that had all present in stitches (minus the judges, of course). Overall, the quality of the proposals was truly inspiring, particularly given the
short amount of time taken to produce them, and the light-heartedness with which many approached the challenge proved a seriously refreshing antidote to what has traditionally been a stronghold of the super-serious.

Superstudio is a pretty fantastic platform for young students, and currently stands as the only significant point of communication between architecture students across the country. Most left the weekend feeling suitably invigorated by the camaraderie displayed by all the participants, and by all accounts this year’s event was a success which will
hopefully be repeated when Superstudio is hosted by Auckland University next year.

Props to Gordon Harris for supplying drawing material and prizes, and to KiwiRail for generously providing the Wellington contingent with the means to get there and back for bext to nothing. Chur.

North Korea fascinates me. A country of contradictions and frightful distortions of fact, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) is also home to the world’s largest display of coordinated gymnastics in the world. The Mass Games, or Arirang as it is locally known, takes place annually in Pyongyang’s 150,000-seat May Day stadium and sees more than 100,000 gymnasts and performers take to the floor for a 90-minute synchro-spectacular that former US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright once referred to as “an Olympics opening ceremony on steroids”.

Often referred to as “the hermit kingdom”, North Korea is one of the world’s least-known societies and is practically sealed off from all outside influences. As a single party state it is one of the last remaining Stalinist vestiges, and follows its own set of communist ideals called the ‘Juche’ ideology, developed out of reverence for the almighty Kim Il-sung, their Eternal President—a man who, despite passing away in 1994, remains its eternal Head of State.

Currently, the country is under the care of that lovable puppet Kim Jong Il, who has maintained a controversial ‘Military First’ policy that sees a quarter North Korea’s GDP spent on maintaining the highest percentage of military personnel per capita anywhere in the world. Controversial indeed, when you consider up to three million of North Korea’s 23 million inhabitants have starved to death while its authoritarian head continues to spend ludicrous amounts on nuclear development and the upkeep of events such as Arirang—which annually drains ridiculous amounts of man hours for what is viewed by many as an hour and a half of spectacular political propaganda.

The Arirang version of mass games has been practised more or less annually since its beginnings in 1946, and takes place during the summer months. The performances have grown ever more lavish and fiendishly choreographed over time, although occasionally political unrest and national emergencies have disrupted the proceedings. After six to eight months of intensive training and rehearsal (an estimated 100 million man hours) the games normally take place four times a week over an eight-week period in the summer months, when tourists from outside of the republic are actively welcomed to tour Pyongyang and its surroundings.

Historically, massive coordinated gymnastics displays have held pride of place in the communist calendar. Dating back to at least the 19th century, Czech nationalists observed a similar practice in Sokol Slet, and Eastern bloc nations like Romania found the tradition an excellent and demonstrative way of expressing and reinforcing their ideology. After the Soviet Union collapsed, many of these nations discontinued these practices, although their influence can still be seen today as many of these countries still hold unrivalled dominance in the sport of gymnastics. The North Korean version is the only ongoing event of such magnitude and, as such, offers a genuinely unique opportunity to witness the power of mass synchronicity.

The festival involves over 100,000 participants which includes about 80,000 interchangeable floor gymnasts who perform the spectacularly complex and impeccably choreographed routines to the sound of Korean orchestral classics. Without the aid of floor markings, gymnasts and acrobats dance, jump and tumble with unfathomable precision, performing wretchedly complicated arrangements from blooming flowers to intersecting shapes that swell, subside and flow into each other in perfect time with the group. There are no flailing limbs, no off-beat individuals or unbecoming breaks to divert your attention from the “patterns of perfection”.

In addition to this display of coordination, a backdrop is constructed from up to 20,000 young school students who collectively make what is (unsurprisingly) the world’s largest man-powered jumbotron. By holding up single colour pages from a 170-page booklet and coordinated by semaphore, the students are trained to alternate the pages of the book with exceptional adroitness to create moving animations across an entire wall of the stadium. Subjects for display include triumphant North Korean soldiers taking to their southern counterparts with bayonets, a flying kick from a Tae-kwon-do champion and a magnificently radiant image of “the Incarnation of Might Displaying Infinite Creative Ability”, himself, their almighty leader, Kim Jong-Il.

While it’s easy enough to be dumbstruck having witnessed this gigantic human TV via short clips on the interwebs, what struck me most was the incredibly saddening thought of thousands of schoolchildren holding up an image they can’t see. However, in A State of Mind, the seemingly well-balanced BBC documentary on the games, we are presented with a much more ambivalent stance which appeared to show that the mere participation in the world’s largest man-powered jumbotron is reward enough for the participants. A regime that can at times appear maddeningly sick to us can simultaneously appear infinitely wonderful to its participants.

But for those of us without the unwavering adoration for a 5’2” madman, exactly what is it about such large-scale and extravagant coordination that gets us all going? While it is easy enough for us to get lost in the incredible injustices that are occurring at the same time as this maniacal exhibition of power and discipline, perhaps there is something more to this decidedly false Utopian image of the DPRK that we can take away.

For those of us who have been raised in the western world it is easy to misunderstand or miss entirely the purpose of the Arirang festival without any explanatory context. Taken at face value the games are a perfect example of the state’s ideology: the subordination of the individual’s desires to the needs of the collective. The author of Korea Bug, J. Scott Burgeson, invites us to set aside the event’s authoritarian undercurrents and to consider Arirang as “a case in which the sum is greater than its parts”. He also calls for us to view the spectacle as an example of collective artistic achievement as opposed to a tyrannical display of order and submission. This ultimately fits well with the North’s desire to market the games as “A triumph of human creativity that on a purely aesthetic level trumps all political or ideological underpinnings.”

What can be certain is that the games, with their newfound position on the international tourism calendar, present those curious enough with a rare opportunity to travel to the heart of the world’s most secretive state.

Should you have any compulsion to witness such a spectacular show (as I certainly do), you can buy a ticket to the festival that will see you seated on the Dias reserved for the Illest dictator around for about NZ$600. For those of us without sugar daddies/mummies you can still get the economy ticket for around $150. As a side note, it is worth checking to see if you can actually get a visa before investing. If a trip to North Korea is a bit of a mission you can always just watch the watered-down version on Youtube or alternately buy a kaliedescope and attend a local gymnastics competition in the Hutt.

Get ready, so you’ll get through. We’ve all seen the ads and seem to know the story—we’re in for the big one, right? Within the space of a minute, the ground will split into a cavernous fissure, indiscriminately swallowing buildings and loved ones as the rest of us dive for the nearest school desk in the face of its tectonic fury. For those of us lucky enough to have “ducked, covered and held” without being crushed by flailing debris there’s also the slight matter of tsunamis, aftershocks and fires that should see the rest of us off—not to mention difficulties in supplying aid. Grim.

Is all this cautionary warning and general sloganry a way to generate an air of optimism in the face of such a cataclysmic disaster? Will fixing, fastening and forgetting really do the trick or are we well and truly fucked?

Scenario: The Big One

New Zealand experiences hundreds of earthquakes every year, but most of these are either centred very deep in the earth’s crust, or well offshore and cause little damage. In addition to their frequency, on average we experience an earthquake that exceeds magnitude 7 every ten years. Although these quakes rarely coincide with populated places, there is a recurrence rate of between 500-1000 years on the Wellington fault—the most recent having been hundreds of years ago.

Wellington city has already been subject to a massive quake in 1855. In this quake the Wairarapa Fault ruptured and the entire Wellington Region was tilted westward. In addition, around 5000 km2 of land was shifted vertically, with uplift of 6m near Turakirae Head and 1–2m in the Wellington Harbour, dramatically changing the landscape. There were hundreds of aftershocks greater than magnitude 5 in the following weeks. To put this in perspective, it is expected that at sometime in the future the city will have to deal with a sizeable shallow quake along the Wellington Fault. For the sake of establishing a likely scenario, the Greater Wellington Regional Council website estimates that such a quake (of around magnitude 7.4), could be expected to cause around 500 deaths, 4000 injuries and perhaps leave 1800 people trapped. If the quake was to hit at night, fewer people would be killed or hurt, but in either case we could expect about 2800 homes and other buildings to be destroyed and another 100,000 buildings to be damaged in some way.

Tsunami

In addition to the threat of the initial quake, there are also a number of other dangers that can cause even more loss and suffering. In their capacity as environmental scientists, NIWA (National Institute of Water & Atmospheric Reseach) have produced a simulation of the likely effects of a tsunami after an 8.2 magnitude quake centred in Cook Strait. Unfortunately for those living in the Eastern suburbs, the results don’t bode well. Populated areas on the southern coast, such as Lyall Bay and Island Bay, would bear the brunt of the wave as it made its way through Cook Strait towards the Rongotai Isthmus (the flat bit with the airport on it). Depending on the size of the tsunami, it is possible that this area would be covered by up to six metres of water as the tidal surge moved north through to Evans Bay. In addition, the relatively low level of parts of Miramar could leave this area as something akin to a saltwater lake, which could remain submerged for a significant period. While the impact on the waterfront area around the city centre would be somewhat destroyed, it would no doubt still be a dangerous place.

Materials

Contrary to popular belief, it is generally the flexible buildings that tend to perform better under earthquake forces. Rigid materials such as bricks, glass and unreinforced concrete might appear convincing in their weighty appearance, but under the intense earthquake forces they are much more prone to failure and subsequent collapse. In comparison, wooden framed houses (such as those you probably live in) are a surer bet. Their relative flexibility means that they will move consistently with the shaking of the ground as opposed to the rigidity of other structures, provided there is a strong enough foundation connection.

Shaky Foundations

In 1978, new housing design standards were introduced to ensure the safety of occupants in the likely event of another quake. The Edgecumbe quake in 1987 (magnitude 5.1) was the first significant test of new design standards for timber-framed buildings, and the initial results were promising. Post-quake inspections showed only negligible damage due to inadequacies in the structure and, as such, the compliance code for new buildings has only received minor amendments since this date.

The main issue found after the Edgecumbe study was problems with the foundation connections and bracing. In many cases, the connections were either not there at all or had corroded significantly to have impeded their performance. The corrosion of structural members is likely due to inadequate ventilation to the subfloor, which occurs when buildings have been built too close to the ground, or in some instances when gardens have been built up around the foundations.

Our Flats

New Zealand’s housing stock consists of mainly light timber frame dwellings which perform reasonably well in earthquakes due to their inherent flexibility, with wall linings and claddings which provide a high level of bracing. In spite of this benefit, a study conducted by Dr Geoff Thomas and J.D. Irvine in 2007 showed some alarming results. Based on a sample of 80 Wellington houses, the pair concluded that approximately “70 per cent of houses in Wellington City had foundations that would not be adequate to resist the design earthquake expected in Wellington”. In addition to this startling fact, a significant portion of these houses were in such a bad state they could be expected to fail in the event of a relatively minor earthquake.

With this worrying statistic in mind, the study also investigated the potential effect and cost of upgrading existing structures to approved standards against the costs of recovery if nothing was done. The results show that to upgrade the existing deficiencies it would cost around $15–$60 per square metre to achieve the required standard. Projecting the total cost onto the upgrade of all Wellington City foundations, the total cost would be in the vicinity of $250 million which, despite appearing an expensive amount, is relatively paltry in comparison to the expected $2.1 billion in damages that would occur in the event of a magnitude 7.5 quake if nothing were done. Even with these upgrades, however, the number of environmental factors affecting foundation capacity means that no foundation reaction can be fully predicted, or assumed to be safe.
The Safest Buildings

New requirements for seismic design established after the Napier earthquake in 1931 have led to a much greater consideration of the impact of seismic activity on our buildings. For the most part, this has ensured that all buildings built post-1975 are generally considered to be of sufficient strength to withstand a significant quake. In addition to meeting these seismic standards, there are a few exemplary structures in Wellington that shoot above and beyond the specifications and stand as examples of excellent seismic engineering. Locally developed ‘base-isolation’ bearings in Te Papa, the parliament complex and the new hospital in Newtown have been specifically designed to dampen lateral forces exerted by earthquakes and protect their precious contents.

The new Victoria student hostel, Te Puni Village, presents another example of the possibilities for reduction in earthquake damage. Large spring coils are located at the base of the buildings that absorb excess energy during the earthquake and greatly reduce the risk of collapse. The additional advantage of this system is that the spring coils can be retrofitted following earthquake damage in order to provide the same level of resistance as before, whereas other systems often render the structure useless following a significant quake.

Theory vs. Practice

These examplars of seismic design have generally been developed from proven models used elsewhere (Japan, California), but there still exists some doubt as to how they will perform in our conditions. One such concern is Te Papa having been built on the reclamation. The worry is that while the ground underneath the museum was compacted significantly during construction, there still exists the chance for liquefaction during a quake. Basically, this would mean the further settling of the soil which would cause the building to sink and potentially flood the ground floor spaces—a reason the museum does not have any permanent exhibits at this level. That being said, the broadness of the building would make Te Papa unlikely to develop any Pisa-esque leans if the subsoil were to liquify and even in the worst cases, movement would be greatly minimised.

Non-Fixed Objects

Another point to seriously consider when designing buildings is that structural concerns present merely a small portion of potential dangers during a quake. In reality, there is a far greater risk from household contents such as fridges and bookshelves which are particularly dangerous during ground-shaking. Most televised cautions do encourage fixing heavy items as a means of minimising this problem, but little can be done to prevent unexpected collapses such as items in supermarkets or books in libraries falling from shelves. Damaged electrical and gas connections present similar new hazards and can often result in large-scale fires following the initial earthquake.

Aftershock

In addition to post-quake fires, gas leaks, inundated buildings and further collapse, there are a number of further dangers that can develop. One of such is the occurrence of aftershocks, which can sometimes be of a similar strength to the main event. Generally these aftershocks can lead to greater losses of life, as the effect of any significant shaking on already weakened structures can completely reduce anything still standing to rubble.

Emergency Response

Should a sizeable quake hit tomorrow, the majority of our current building stock would likely be destroyed or damaged to the extent that they would be rendered uninhabitable. This would leave a large percentage of the population without shelter, awaiting emergency support that could be a considerable distance away. In the most likely post- earthquake scenario, landslides in the Ngauranga Gorge and along the Hutt Road would block road access to the city from the north as well as the possible raising of the seabed at the harbour entrance, restricting shipping traffic. If this were the case, aid would be considerably delayed, and many more people could perish from a lack of adequate attention. These additional ‘costs’ in terms of volume of evacuations and aid requirements are significantly difficult to predict and quantify, but would no doubt constitute a large sum of money.

Rebuilding

Once the need for emergency aid and healthcare has subsided, the next stage of earthquake recovery would be the restoration of physical and social systems damaged by the quake. This usually involves the implementation of emergency management systems, followed by a much more comprehensive reconstruction phase which can last for many years after the event of a quake until the city is able to function by itself once more. The failure of businesses and the resources required for this rebuilding effort can further inhibit reconstruction, and often there are a number of unforeseen issues that can extend the recovery period well beyond any prediction. The only small consolation to the restoration effort would be the opportunity to rebuild the city to a more efficient and potentially richer standard, as was the case with downtown Napier following the 1931 quake.

Fixed, fastened, forgotten

Of late it seems as though the plethora of cautionary TV adverts that assaulted our screens a few years back has subsided. Surely the risk is as great or greater—so what’s the dealio? Presumably, this is an important measure to avoid a boy-who-cried-wolf scenario by ensuring that Kiwis don’t become complacent in the face of too much exposure but, by the same token, the recent perceived lack of preparatory warnings could also lead to a false sense of security in the face of what is still a very real threat. This, coupled with the appalling reaction to the tsunami warning earlier this year which saw a large number of idiots flocking to the waterfront as though it were a spectacle to be observed, and you begin to see: we are quite dumb.

All said and done, the efficacy of any preparation pales in significance to chance, although it does vastly improve the odds. The only way in which we can truly count ourselves prepared is in terms of the quake’s aftermath and the provisions we would have to ensure our continued safety until aid is possible. Failing that, the next best strategy would be to spend as much time in the earthquake-strengthened Rankine Brown building as humanly possible. Avoid Hunter at all costs.

5 WORST PLACES TO BE DURING ‘THE BIG ONE’

1. St Gerard’s Monastery—a colossal brick structure precariously perched atop Oriental Parade…

2. In the Ngauranga Gorge—With a likelihood of large landslides this would be worse than running the gauntlet against Vulcan, Saber and Storm—on the best of days.

3. Lambton Quay—Watch helplessly as three-meter-high glazing panels fall from 10 storeys up and cleanly slice through the suited throngs of the corporate world.

4. Anywhere along the Tinakori Road (Wellington Faultline) —the classic ‘swallowed by the earth’ scenario. Coincidentally, this happens to be where the chairman of the Earthquake Commission lives. His wife’s decision, so I’ve been told. Hmmm.

5. Chaffers New World—In spite of the fact the relative shelf-height makes it more safe than the bulk force of Pak N’ Slave, the threat of tsunamis and settlement, coupled with their inability to keep shelves standing during more peaceful times makes this one a sure-fire danger zone.

The concept of ‘urban agriculture’ as a means of encouraging sustainability has been floated around in architectural circles for a number of years, and remains a favourite buzzword of many an Urban Designer. But is it really possible to kerb our environmental ills by planting a few potatoes in the backyard? Salient’s Stuart Taylor talks to comedian and self-styled opinionist Te Radar about his latest foray into self-sufficiency, Radar’s Patch, to discover whether it is indeed possible to survive off a typical quarter-acre section.

Firstly, what happened to the house and section you worked on once filming came to an end?

It was leased and went back to its landlords, who had bought it with the lease in place. They will no doubt do it up a little and then sell it and attempt to make a profit. Living the Kiwi dream they were.

And how does the project section compare to your usual abode? Has it changed the way you now live?

My house is in a bit of a better state, in fact it’s an old state house I believe. It hasn’t really changed the way I live. I potter about a little but I’m away so much that I don’t have a big garden, as it would simply die or become overgrown. And as far as being aware of products, food choices etc, I’ve always been pretty conscious of that.

How possible do you think it is to live a similar lifestyle in an urban situation where perhaps the sections are commonly subdivided and bare land is at more of a premium?

Space utilisation is what people make of it. I know people who grow vegetables in the tiny space between their house and the fence. People can grow a considerable amount in a tiny space. In fact I think the more space people have the more difficult they might find it. Less is more, as they say, and a small space, well used, can be hugely rewarding for little effort.

An interesting by-product of self-sufficiency is the emotional connection that one can develop with the process or product. How did you feel about leaving your quarter-acre paradise and its bounty?

This time round I didn’t mind, as I wasn’t as attached to the property as I was in the first series. But I do miss the chickens, and certainly the livestock from the first series. You can get quite attached to animals, even those you intend to eat. And there is always something a little frustrating about leaving somewhere just as you start to get things right.

With global trading, the seasonal variation in produce becomes less significant—that would be, certain vegetables can be bought year-round as opposed to earlier days when produce would fluctuate from scarcity to abundance as per the seasons. How do you deal with this disparity that at times could be used as an excuse against the idea of growing for oneself?

I guess it is what people are willing to do, or put up with. It’s also to do with where they shop: supermarkets or a local orchard or greengrocer? Many people might not have the time nor inclination to preserve, bottle, stew, pickle or freeze in times of plenty, but others do and love it. It’s really a personal decision as to where you will put in your effort in being a little more eco-aware. Do you buy locally produced tin fruit or bottle your own? Do you attempt to eat just those crops in season? While it is lovely to have a pantry full of home produce, the reality is for many people that it’s just not an option.

Something really positive to come from the series was the sense of community you managed to achieve with all of the characters who you met over the six months. Do you see projects like this as a means to reconnect people and to encourage active participation in the community?

I think that at the heart of both series was not a message of sustainability, but one about the importance of community. Participation in aspects of community life is essential for many, be it from sports clubs, to schools, to groups with similar interests. It’s a sharing of skills, using your money to reinvest in your community, in the form of supporting local small business, butchers, bakers, greengrocers, brewers, cheese makers, and so on. They are all a part of what makes a community a rich and vibrant place.

For me, the final real estate evaluation of the property was something of a disappointment, at least in that it perhaps represents New Zealanders’ core value system as being financially driven—‘useable space’ being declared as more economically valuable than anything put into it. What were your feelings about their reluctance to attribute any worth to the oven and chicken hutch, etc?

People buying property seem to like a blank canvas apparently, or at least something they don’t have to do too much to in order to achieve their dream. I was a little surprised that the thought of a place being set up for an eco-aware type wouldn’t have commanded a better response, but then having said that I guess she knows the market. I am sure that for someone it would have been ideal. But then again, people do paint their walls that weird off-white when selling to create the bland appealing-to-all look.

Another focus for you was the economic potential for such a lifestyle—both in terms of whether it is cheaper to live by producing for oneself and also in terms of potential income, particularly—with surplus yield—would you consider this one of the biggest hurdles for those interested in doing something similar?

The actual cost of producing some of the items didn’t strike me as being all that cheap, and was certainly time-consuming. However, many people do make a tidy sum from doing so, whereas others do so as a lifestyle decision, liking the fact that they can have a stall at the local markets, meet people, and make a little extra.

One great advantages of a supermarket lifestyle is the time-saving benefits. In your experience, does the sense of reward that comes with self-sufficiency equate the time input? Or is this perhaps something that would become more true over a number of seasons, etc, at least once you have the initial setup required?

Ah yes. Being time poor. We spent a lot of time just getting the basics set up, so each season, once you have that done, you can refine and improve. However, some things do take time. Killing and prepping chickens, for example. It’s a fair amount of effort, but again, something that you improve with over time. But, is the result worth it? Sure, it’s something you grew, but the chances of it being as fleshy as a nice free-range store-bought one may be slim, and then, given the time and money invested in rearing and butchering it, is it worth it? Again, this may be down to personal taste and pride. But, once you have systems in place, it should get easier. After all, you only have to build a raised garden plot once, then you move onto something else, while it enriches itself over the year with compost, etc.

In terms of New Zealand, one of our greatest agrarian pursuits is the use of vast swaths of land for dairy farming—do you think it is possible to meet some of our dairying needs in close quarters? Or is rearing livestock and the like perhaps a step too far?

If you mean people having a small holding and raising a cow for milk, I think for most it’s not practical. Again, it has to do with looking at the economics and your personal philosophy and practicalities of TIME. Rearing and milking a cow is time-consuming. It’s an everyday thing. And, arguably, much less cost effective. However, again, some people prefer it. The other option is small farmlets selling milk to locals direct, but there are a few laws about this.

What is your take on the difference between personal efforts to become sustainable versus the wider efforts required? Do you think this kind of grass-roots approach can ultimately lead to a change for the better?

I’d like to think so, but the reality is it’s a little bit greenwashy. Most of the refuse, resource use, and pollution comes from industry, and simply stopping the use of a plastic supermarket bag won’t change that. Again, it depends on your notion of sustainability. If it is a community thing where you support your local businesses, this is an excellent way of approaching it. Having said that, there are many great grass-roots ventures. Wastebusters, enviro-centers, resource pooling, shared allotments, are all vital and very good.

What is your take on greenwashing and voodoo marketing strategies that give consumers a false sense of satisfaction that they are doing their part?

Most people simply don’t have the time or the resources to fully investigate every aspect of their purchasing. But I think many are being hoodwinked. The belief that all free-range chickens, eggs come from happy chickens mooching around a field is a classic example. I think though that there is a huge difference in production techniques here than there are in the food industries in the US, and many people may not realise that. There was a recent furore over the chemicals in supposedly natural washing detergents, for example. Just because it’s labelled organic doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

A caution from the wise then… thanks a bunch for your time, Radar!