With so many Apps and gadgets out every day, with a majority of them aiming at social/community based/local aspects, I believe there’s a huge demand for low budget, human, down to earth advertising.
Google has upped its game in the last few months. The celebrated google map on IOS recently, and now they provide indoor views to selective places in google view.
Only managed to find a few restaurants that have incorporated this new feature but more will come in the future for sure.
Just wondering how many more potential privacy issues will arise.
It seems that every big name in art and architecture in the 20th century got something out of Japan, Picasso, Monet, Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, and even, of all people, the voice of modernism Mies van der Rohe.
A detail account of this eastern influence in the western world would be a long documentation of an era of colonialism, warfare, technology advancements and political history, which is boring. But it suffices to say that there’s always something, then and now, to learn from the Japanese sentimentality of art and architecture.
If one takes a close look at this interior by the Japanese architect Ryue Nishizawa, she would likely to find NOTHING spectacular about this design. There’s no bold architectural statement, no strong colours or materials that jump out to your eyes, and there is almost no single element
There has been a discussion in the studio room about urbanism and the role of architecture in it. F couldn’t stress enough how strength-less architects are when it comes to urbanity. “Architects build buildings” Full stop. Urbanism, if it can ever be initiated by a work of architecture, must be as an included derivative but not the fundamental driver. To embed an architectural agenda in the systematic fabrics of an urban agenda, in an already developed city at least, is pointless, and dangerous.
I would probably go further. Everyone loves his profession, so whilst architects consider the city as a latticed web with buildings as its nodes, urban designers think that architecture is simply the solids that fills in the voids in the matrix of streets and roads, and landscape designers may just as well think that modernization is meaningless without the foundation of greens and natural colours. What if for a moment, we consider all these designers’ points of views to be complete fallacies, and that the city is merely the city. People goto work, go home, go to the park, to the ball games, to the concerts, to the barbeques, grow old, and die, all in the city, but nothing more than that. It is completely possible that urbanity does not exist for the individual except the absolute essentials that evolve around his limited scope of life. In that case a building, at best, can try to be a prostitute selling her flesh on the side of the street, desperately hoping to catch the pedestrians attention whilst at the same time smoking her thoughts away into some deep philosophical questions.
It all then makes sense, urbanism to architecture is that momentary glimpse into the prostitute’s cleavage whilst one walks past on that dodgy laneway; if he stops for the prostitute, they will be engaged in urban activities, and if he doesn’t, it would be as if she has never existed, disappeared into the crowd. So then, architecture is, to quote Che Guevera’s diary, from memory, “this is not some tale of heroic deeds but the story of two lives running parallel for a short period of time”
he had a dream last night. something about a murder.
a man walking down Collins Street at 8: 56pm, followed by a shadow for one block, then between the fantastically themed display windows of Hermes and the non inspiring leather bags of Bally he was knocked unconscious from behind.
Hermes has a taste for drama when it comes to their window display, this time is the story of ballerinas clothed in their signature scarves. Stupid name that nobody can pronounce with their fucking scarves, he thought.I’ll be late.
it didn’t even hurt. he felt a resonance in his head, maybe it’s coming directly due somewhere outside, far away from the depth of the oceans, but at the same time a sound so imminent and close that his ears fail to capture.
then he found himself awake in his own bed at 6:14 am, completely soaked in sweat. It was a comfortable moment, like that which immediately follows an orgasm.
Shit, I was murdered. he stared onto the white ceiling of his Dorcas St. apartment.
It felt great.