Notes and Notices

Urs Fischer: A kid's dream, a guard's nightmare

2013-05-08T16:25:00.002-07:00

Urs Fischer has upended the Museum of Contemporary Art in downtown Los Angeles. The first survey of his work in the United States, the show brings together a few favorites, which combine ghoulish and glam in one strange brew.

Every piece Fischer includes in the show is designed to make one take a second look. The show, which encompasses 38,500 square feet of the museum's two locations downtown. Right at the entrance of its Grand Avenue location, Fischer puts a gaping wall that allows visitors to see through to the other side, where skeletons in various states of distress play. "That looks like what I feel in the mornings," remarks the party-hearty person beside me. One look at the skeletal figure sprawled on the sofa and I have a fair inkling of how much fun my erstwhile companion indulges in every day.

"Portrait of a Single Raindrop" allows visitors to peek through holes on the walls of the museum.

"Undigested Sunset" feels like the morning after some serious partying.

But perhaps the biggest question on the mind of visitors the day I came was this: how will the museum guards handle the exhibition, especially when throngs of kids come through?

It's not the usual concern that would come up, but with nary a rope or glass box in sight, and with a plethora of ghoulish creations on view, children would be hard-pressed to control themselves. Museum guards, I imagine, would have a devil of a time keeping a modicum of control.

As I walked through Fischer's imitation rainfall installation, "Horses Dream of Horses," I could just picture children running and entangling themselves on the hardly visible nylon string. Then there is the bread house, which visitors can enter at will. How much of that would be left once the exhibition is done?

"Horses Dream of Horses" was a beautiful but worrisome piece held up by nylon string

"Untitled (Bread House)" is a temptation for children of all ages.

The question is only amplified as I enter the Little Tokyo location, where the artist worked with 1,500 volunteers molding a wonderland of clay, which surround a 20-foot copy of Giambologna's sculpture, "The Rape of the Sabine Women." There was no clear path in the Geffen Contemporary. Visitors weaved in and out as they pleased.

"This is like finding a long-lost civilization." I overheard another visitor say and it wouldn't be too far off. Within the clay molds, a diversity of voices emerged, from the playful to the earnest. I was surprised I did not see more names carved into piece of a clay, a veritable "I was here" opportunity that not took advantage of.

The Geffen Contemporary was turned into a maze of clay, each hardly guarded by the museum. I can't blame them. It would be impossible to keep your eye out for every warm body that moved through the gigantic space.

"We're just trying to get through the this," says one of the guards good-naturedly. A few minutes speaking to them made it clear they knew what the challenges were, but accepted it anyway. They did not seem resigned, but perhaps challenged or amused by the prospect of children run amok in the museum.

If anything, Fischer's retrospective was an exercise is fun and imagination tinged with dark mischief. It is a place where Hansel and Gretels of the world would delight, even though they were in danger of losing themselves in the forest or falling into the clutches of a wicked witch. The guards have my sympathy.

All photos by Carren Jao. Urs Fischer runs at the MOCA until August 19.

Excavating LA's Recent Past

2013-04-30T12:08:00.002-07:00

It is sometimes the small shows that shine the most. At the Hammer Museum, a small gallery on the first floor is occupied by the "archeological excavations" of the mixed-media artist Cyprien Gaillard.

Walking around the city as we do every day, we hardly think of Los Angeles as a place where history happens. To us, it is where every day unfolds continuously, where the now happens. But in Gaillard's hands, Los Angeles is recast as subject for historical scrutiny.

The exhibit is dominated by bright yellow mechanical parts carefully stored in glass cases, mirroring the ancient tools that we could usually find in natural history museums. If these tools were prehistoric man's way of survival, then these yellow tooth-like objects are what we use to build our cities today. Suddenly, without much effort, visitors are transported to a possible future, when construction parts like become objects of curiosity. Decades from now, what types of mechanisms would we have to build?

Installation view of Cyprien Gaillard: The Crystal World at MoMA PS1, January 2013. Photo: Matthew Septimus/ MoMA PS1.

Gorgeous purple photographs adorn the walls, framed meticulously as if prized possessions in a home. Upon closer inspection, we find the photographs are polaroids of the cracks along Wilshire Boulevard. Rather than bleak gray, we are surprised by the beauty of color Gaillard manages to eke out of photograph. He did so by dunking polaroids in cold water before the chemicals could fully process on the sheet.

12 Polaroids with mats and aluminum and Plexiglas frames. 40 1/8 x 28 3/8 x 1 5/8 in. (103 x 73 x 4.5 cm) framed. Copyright Cyprien Gaillard. Courtesy Sprueth Magers Berlin London.

In the same vein, Gaillard found time to take a second look at the manhole covers that pass unnoticed everyday. By framing these etches of manhole covers, the artist brings out the strange beauty of these city seals embedded into our urban infrastructure.

In this small but precious exhibition, Gaillard succeeds in elevating the negligible into something noteworthy. In so doing, he challenges us to take a second look at our immediate surroundings to find the beauty in even the grayest, most forgotten places.

Cyprien Gaillard runs until August 4 at the Hammer.

Enough

2013-04-08T17:19:00.002-07:00

Satisfaction is a difficult thing to gain (as the Rolling Stones have so memorably immortalized in their song). Everywhere around us, we are constantly reminded to be more, strive more, or just have more. As a result, we slowly, but surely come to want well...more--to the detriment of our finances, health and environment.

Over the last month, there have been small reminders to take a step back from all of this. Last March, Graham Hill penned his New York Times op-ed piece on why he lives in a 420-square-foot studio, despite being able to afford a larger space. He writes:

I have come a long way from the life I had in the late ’90s, when, flush with cash from an Internet start-up sale, I had a giant house crammed with stuff — electronics and cars and appliances and gadgets.

Somehow this stuff ended up running my life, or a lot of it; the things I consumed ended up consuming me.

Then, I came across essayist Anne Taylor Fleming's wonderful piece in the April issue of Los Angeles about her "starter" home in Brentwood, which Fleming and her husband have occupied since the 70s. Fleming lives in a clapboard box home with a pepper tree in the back and a lemon tree in the front. Her home has no granite countertops, nor does it have walk-in closets. It only has one bathroom. But from the way Fleming writes about her home, it is clear that those extra cherries on top don't really matter in the long run. She writes:

From the outside our city can look like a place where people show off, where they attempt to out-stuff one another. There are plenty of ridiculous mansions and sleek, privileged-looking people. But I have always thought about this is a city where you don't have to compete, where the quality of life can be high without all the trappings.

Hearing Hill's and Fleming's take on their homes are a wonderful reminder that one's quality of life cannot be pinned down by what kind of flooring you have on your foyer or which designer furniture graces your living room. Their essays instead point to a greater wisdom: that of reaching for satisfaction by slowly molding a lifestyle that reflects who we truly are. It doesn't mean we shouldn't aspire to great design, but instead of asking "Who designed this?" or "What brand?" we should start holding ourselves to a higher standard and ask "Why should this furniture/clothing/random object have a place in my life?"

Soda War Storefronts in San Francisco

2013-03-28T16:03:00.002-07:00

While preparing for a friend's wedding, I got a chance to visit up north to San Francisco. This time, I was quite fearless walking the streets, armed as I was with a Google Maps app. Unlike the previous years where I stuck mostly to taking the BART, I took the Muni all over the city.

What I found was a strange thing: soda signage. There are so many other things in San Francisco to look at, you say, and I would agree, but I was taken by how often I'd see corner stores with either a Coca-Cola or Pepsi logo emblazoned in front. It reminded me of the many small streetside stores in Manila hawking their wares under a soda sign. (Just do a Google Image search for, "sari-sari store Manila" if you don't believe me.)

Spotted North of the Panhandle.

I worked in retail in another lifetime and I know signage like this was a tactical thing for the softdrink makers. The more often you see their logo, they reasoned, the more you would trust their brand. Competitive streaks eventually overtook the practice and, in the Philippines, representatives would dutifully make sure as many stores carried their logo.

Years later, in San Francisco, that marketing tactic returned to me as I kept on passing these soda branded-signs. The soda wars were played out all over the world, it seems, from the streets of the Philippines to the sunny corners of San Francisco.

On Mission Street.

On Guerrero Street.

On 20th Street.

Found: Malibu Hindu Temple

2013-03-11T20:17:00.004-07:00

What I love most about living in Los Angeles is the element of surprise. You think you know Los Angeles, but baby, you don't.

While driving through the canyons on my way back home, I happened upon this gem. Despite its size in the photographs I took, the temple was actually obscured by large mounds of soil that faced the busy road. I had only glanced outside my car window just in time to see a tantalizing glimpse of temple's gorgeously fashioned facade.

The Malibu Hindu Temple is a temple of the Hindu god Venkateswara. When the Hindu Temple Society of Southern California built it, they certainly did a supreme job of it. The temple had a serene air about it. Its white face was clean as fresh, fallen snow, while hints of gold glinted in the cool winter sun.

I walked the temple grounds, but first, I had to remove my shoes. Feeling the cold floor under my feet outdoors was a new experience. That strangeness heightened my senses, allowing me to take in more than I probably would have.

Despite the temple's relative isolation at the time. It was evident people used the space regularly. A few relics were left here and there. Little bits of incense were still lit. A small drawing made from chalk dust was stark against the black floor. Here was a world I couldn't even begin to understand, but I was fascinated.

I do love temples because by their being, they are rooted in something much, much older than anyone living. Find out more about the temple here.

Moby for LA Architecture

2013-02-15T16:04:00.003-08:00

"LA is baffling, byzantine, fantastically incohesive." Those are the opening lines to Moby's cheerleading of Los Angeles architecture. The musician has been making waves in local architecture ever since he moved to town and started his Tumblr on LA architecture.

The Tumblr is not what you would normally expect from an architecture site. It's free of a lot of jargon the industry tends to use (not to mention capital letters), but there is a lot of love for Los Angeles's strangeness. Modernist homes, old LA theaters, strip clubs , empty rooms and all.

The York Boulevard Parklet in Progress

2013-02-02T11:59:00.002-08:00

I was early for the York Boulevard parklet opening. In fact, one whole day earlier. "The opening is tomorrow," Cathi Milligan, owner of the Glass Studio told me. I took heart knowing that she says I wasn't the only one to be so mistaken. In hindsight, it was also a blessing in disguise; it gave me an opportunity to take a look at the parklet taking shape without the usual throng of people.

As the name implies, the parklet is a micro park designed to add life to the streets. Often incorporating seating and a safe place to stop and linger, the parklet allows pedestrians to rediscover the joys of watching their neighborhood go about its business.

This particular parklet is set on the main drag of Highland Park, York Boulevard. Twenty feet long by six feet wide, the York Boulevard parklet covers not much more than a parking space, but it made use of all that it got. Wooden planks added warmth to the space while curvy concrete seats add some style.

The best part of the parklet for me were the colored glass tiles that decorated the main seating and the additional "stool" seating in the middle. That detail is what captures the community's spirit.

Bright, bold and colorful, the tiles trace out playful patterns that are a delight to any passers-by. (I know I stopped to take lot of pictures.) A closer inspection of the design shows that "community" was a big theme that played into the design.

Fun tiles representing the York Boulevard residents and small businesses could be found. Here, a tile showing the Mayor of York Boulevard's son. There, a silhouette of a measuring tape. And there, an Instagram-style photo. Eastsider LA says some of the tiles depict scenes from "Reservoir Dogs," which was filmed in Highland Park.

While Cathi and Zoey (an artist helping out with the project) were adding tiles to the seating, I saw neighbors honk their horns in greeting or stop by and chat. Even Frank Vuoso of the LA Conservation Corps and Carlos (his young assistant) took time to update me on how the project is going. Unlike the cool, reserve of most anonymous city projects, I could tell the whole neighborhood was happy to get an extra place to hang out.

Small as that parklet is, it wasn't easy getting it all together. The process, outlined in this article, took years of planning and a lot of community input. It was a project well-conceived and obviously loved, which is why in a few hours, I expect to hear a lot of rave reviews.

Sinking into the digital experience

2013-01-17T09:00:00.000-08:00

After a decade of analog connectivity, I finally caved and "upgraded" to an iPhone 4. (Yes, I know the iPhone 5 already came out, but for me this is a big upgrade.)

I've only had the phone for about three days but I can already sense my phone habits changing. Where I used to look at my phone only when it beeps or rings, signaling text messages or incoming calls, I now find myself getting fidgetal.

Shutterstock/Alan Poulson Photography

I could literally tweak a million tasks remotely from the iPhone's many apps. On a bus ride to and from the Capitol Records building, many others were similarly afflicted. Everyone had their hands on their phones: listening to music, playing the Simpson's Tapped Out, or just plain old fiddling. I personally was thinking of ways I could better re-arrange the icons that appear on my dashboard.

The time when phones were just convenient communication devices has long past. And, along with it, I find that some of my sentimentality is oozing away too.

I started with a simple Nokia 6150 during my senior year in high school. Then, I moved on to a 6210, a nice cherry red 8210, and finally a Sony Ericsson K750. I took care of each phone I had, knowing there was some kind of continuity from one phone to another.

In every case, I only had to change up the SIM card in the phones to transfer all my contacts and saved messages. I was so sentimental in fact that I would often keep messages from loved ones in the Inbox indefinitely. Yup, ask any high school or college girl at the time and you'd probably come across the same phenomena. Despite being increasingly digital, we still enacted the equivalent of keeping old love letters in our phone.

I continued to do the same even in 2009 when I first moved to the US and bought a really simple (and cheap) Samsung T239. Messages, sometimes years old, could still be squirreled away.

But, once I upgraded to the iPhone, I found I couldn't do that anymore. First, I had to switch out my SIM card to a smaller, micro SIM. Effectively wiping out my little "inbox of letters." Then, I can't really even save certain messages. The iPhone texts in chat-style, prioritizing person over singular message. It's undoubtedly more efficient, but it makes it more difficult to find just that right message you were looking for.

The more digital this world becomes, the more I expect my sentimentality to wane even further. Or perhaps, they'll only make really great handwritten messages even more special. I don't really know. For now, I'll wade into this new digital dimension with caution. This new world has great benefits no doubt, but at the very least, I don't aspire to obsessively fidget with my phone whenever the mood strikes me.

LA: An Ongoing Architectural Experiment

2013-01-15T13:51:00.002-08:00

Yesterday was a fun day. I don't usually find myself saying that on Monday mornings, but a rare treat was offered to the city's architecture and design writers in the form of a press launch inside the Capitol Records building.

The Welton Becket-designed building is a gem of Los Angeles architecture, which is why there was no better place to launch Pacific Standard Time presents Modern Architecture, a survey of the city's great experiments in built environment. (Read more about it in this LA Times article.)

A not so usual view of the Capitol Records building.

The studio was packed and, thankfully, warm on that blustery day. As we all jostled for space, speakers came up to talk about the effort--which isn't a repeat of the much larger Pacific Standard Time initiative--but a smaller, but more architecture-focused endeavor.

Hearing the various speakers take the stage, I was once again reminded of the wonderful freedom of living in Los Angeles. "Many of us moved from other cities to be part of the ideal that is Los Angeles," said Michael Maltzan, whose work at the Carver Apartments and Inner City Arts are a rare combination of serene and surprising.

Maltzan emphasized the strange paradox of LA-life where "individualistic impulse" is precisely the trait that everyone here shares, making you instantly part of the group. "It's the best of both worlds," the architect comments. Best of all, LA doesn't adhere to ossified ways of doing things. "Anyone is welcome to participate. The only entrance needed is ambition."

Eric Owen Moss, who spoke before Maltzan, certainly does have a lot of that, as well as some perceptive things to say about the initiative. Moss challenged what it now means that the experimental history of LA architecture is being presented under the auspices of the Getty Trust. In effect, "LA is now a place of history. It now has a pedigree," says Moss. What was once speculative architecture--in that projects may work or may not--has now been included in the canon. What a strange predicament.

Moss goes on to make a wonderful analogy using Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, which he had been reading to his son. "Sancho is everyone else," he says. The challenge for architects in LA is to "see [a project], build it as you think it should be...and to hell with Sancho Panza." With such fire, no wonder SCI-Arc's exhibition is called "A Confederacy of Heretics."

In the end, Moss does reconcile the tension between now and then presented by the Getty architecture initiative. He says, "We will write history and we will continue to write it, until we re-write it." Hear, hear.

As we contemplate LA architecture's past and future, Alissa Walker also have some tantalizing photos of the Capitol Records.

Doesn't it feel like the 60s all over again? :) See more over at Alissa's Flickr stream. She talks more about it over at Gelatobaby.

A history of home

2013-01-09T17:01:00.001-08:00

We are often entrapped in the world of the now. We hardly ever look back, but it is surprising to find that once we do, we find the past is still lingers in every object around us. After having read Lucy Worsley's "If Walls Could Talk: An intimate history of the home," I look at my current spartan surroundings with a new appreciation.

Did you know that today's open planned home has more in common with the medieval hall? Both emphasize flexibility and adaptability. One can re-arrange the room as the need arises. Guests would sing and play in medieval halls, only to sleep in the same floor after the celebrations are done.

The sofa itself isn't European, but really of Arabic origin. It was furniture where one could lounge and converse on equal footing with a friend. A stark contrast to the lonely dais occupied by aristocrats.

Kitchens were separate structures in grand houses of medieval England run by a multitude of servants. Only after the First World War, when the abundance of cheap domestic labor dwindled, did kitchens enter the home manned by the mistress of the house. Of course, the wonders of ventilation did much to welcome the kitchen into the modern home, while expelling the odors of cutting and cooking.

"If Walls Could Talk" is filled with these strange threads of history, whose influence we still see today. The author even gives tantalizing hints as to the origins of the terms "lousy" and "burning the candle at both ends." Chief curator at Historic Royal Palaces, a charity that looks after the Tower of London, Hampton Court Palace, Kensington Palace and other British gems, Worsley has an understandable European bent, but then so does the usual home.

"If Walls Could Talk" takes a long view of the history of the home. Worsley goes centuries back to the medieval times and compares the home (and practices within it) then and now. Along the way, the author explains what really happens in bedrooms, kitchens, living rooms and bathrooms.

Sounds mundane? Just think about the social drama that unfolds within those quarters: sex, religion, gender roles, occupational power plays. Imagine the drama "Downtown Abbey" played out through the centuries. The wealth of information may get overwhelming, so I'd suggest reading in small doses. In the meantime, here's a clip of Worsley's findings:

A Public Fruit Park Opens in LA

2013-01-04T15:34:00.001-08:00

How does edible nature change the urban context? No one would know more than Fallen Fruit, a collaborative that uses "fruit" as a way to think about urban space and community building. Ever since they put their public fruit jams and published maps of fruit freely hanging around the neighborhood, I have been intrigued.

Now, Fallen Fruit is working in El Segundo to produce L.A.'s first fruit park in Del Aire Park. It includes "27 fruit trees, ranging from peach to plum, 8 native grapevines and edible herbs — all of which will be harvested freely by the community."

via Fallen Fruit

It's a simple idea perhaps, but on closer inspection, changes the dynamic in the park. Instead of buying fruits from a grocery, I can easily imagine parents teaching their children about food straight from the branch. I'd also wager families would be more sensitive to the passing seasons given that plums and peaches will ripen in the summer, pomegranate and persimmon in the fall, and lime, lemons, oranges and kumquats over the winter and spring.

Join the park's opening tomorrow at 10:30 am at Del Aire Park.

Dawn

2013-01-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

I love seeing the sun rise and set, but I'm hardly up during the former and too busy during the latter. The picture below was taken at Wrightwood, right before going on an admittedly dreaded ski trip.

The last time I had attempted to ski, only bruises and pain were there to greet me. I remembered the cold air, how it seeped into every seam. Surrounded by snow, there was no escape from it. I left the first time with a vow to detest the cold and the thought of skiing.

Life such as it is offered a second chance. Despite my misgivings, I took it. For the second time, I had heavy, painful plastic boots on my feet and sturdy skis attached to them. Instead of pain, I found to my surprise that I actually got it. When the instructor said to dig in my heels, I did. When he said to put my weight forward, I did. Magically, I didn't stumble (although I did eventually.) I found myself on a gentle slope and gliding down. Oh yes, I definitely panicked at some point, but a part of me remained calm and carried on. I fell, but at least this time I did it from a slope rather than a puny hill.

Looking back, I realized there were many things that were different from the first time I skied. When before, my mind was gripped with panic, now a bit of reason wedged in. I learned to listen to my body more, learning where my weight was actually placed. Most of all, I learned not to be paralyzed by "what ifs." What if I fall and break a bone? What if I go too fast? What if I fall out of control? All what ifs that have yet to come true.

Like in life, when we think too much about "what ifs," we stunt possibility. Instead, there is now, where nothing has yet happened and the past has already slipped away. While preparing to thrust my body downhill, I thought, "Just let nature do the work, and you'll handle it when something arises." It's a good reminder for the start of the year.

2013 is still young, fresh and new. Yes, there could be a lot of hardships ahead, but that day is not yet here. Instead, there is today, a new day. Dare I say it? A new dawn.

What will the New Year bring?

2012-12-21T15:47:00.000-08:00

As the -ber months come to a close, I always find myself looking back to see what a difference a year makes and look forward to the new year ahead, wondering, "What will this new year bring this time around?"

Much to my delight, my questions were somehow echoed by this GIF greeting from the New Museum. It asks all the questions just lingering in the corner of my brain. Who will we meet? Who will we love? What will change us?

The answer lies only in the next 365 days. There aren't shortcuts to discovery our futures. All one can do is to send those questions out into the world.

The act of wondering is exactly what artist Anna Lundh brings about in "Q&Q 2022." It's a digital message in a bottle if you will. Lundh is asking anyone with an internet question to ask the world to ponder what the future will be like by submitting a series of questions.

Lundh's project is a modern-day and ultra expanded version of "Telex: Q&A" where telex machines in Stockholm, Tokyo, Ahmedabad in India and New York, sent questions around the world in 1981. Instead of just asking people in those four cities to participate, Q&Q 2022 now allows the whole world to participate. What a difference a decade makes, doesn't it?

Wondering about the future yourself? Add in your question or browse other peoples' questions on Lundh's site. Some of my favorites:

Will we still have ice cream and junk food?
Will we be able to garden on our rooftops all year round with seeds that can reproduce?
Is Korea united?

What are you wondering this end of the year season?

Crafting Cures Cynicism

2012-12-14T11:52:00.001-08:00

In this Etsy age, "handmade" and "crafted" are terms we easily take for granted, I think. At least, I have. Now, whenever I hear both terms, my cynical mind almost always whispers conspiratorially, "You know that's just a marketing gimmick, right?"

Yes, it could have been made with hours of painstaking care, but after being inundated with the seemingly monotonous marketing spiel, one does start to wonder, "Am I being duped into paying too much?"

Well, after a day at Knowhow Shop, I might have been partially cured of such cynicism. Two weekends ago, I spent a long day in the Highland Park woodworking workshop to make some wooden spoons.

Does it look like I'm going into a disaster zone? I hope my soon-to-be made spoon wasn't going to be that, a disaster.

Somehow, in the midst of the seven hours I spent mostly sanding and refining my wood plank into a sensuous spoon, I recovered my sense of wonder at the handiwork of a single creative craftsperson and I picked up a few things along the way.

I learned that it is hard work to coax a smooth, even curve out of wood. Machines can only go so far, only hand sanding can really smooth the small, rough edges off.

Be careful not to cut your fingers off. First try at the power saw.

Kagan at the belt sander.

Hand sanding even if our body complains! Photo by: Meena Natarajan.

I learned that not everything beautiful is planned. I planned as much of my cuts as possible, but I couldn't avoid my mistakes. It was part of the process and, surprisingly, it was part of the beauty of my final spoon. Though my spoon (and pie cutter) weren't perfect, I knew by the little cuts in the corner that they were mine.

Finally, I learned that sometimes it's not how fast you get there, but how fun it was to do so. I went with my husband and four friends to the class. After long hours on our feet, our clothes and hair were orange with saw dust, our body ached and our hands were tired, but that's one adventure we wouldn't forget. It's better than dancing in some overpriced club anytime.

Dust all over me. Photo by Meena Natarajan.

Knowhow Shop will be hosting more workshops in 2013. Check out their Tumblr for updates!

Read: The Hidden Brain

2012-11-28T09:00:00.000-08:00

All human beings suffer from hubris, that we alone have the capacity to think and to be logical. René Descartes famously said, "Cogito ergo sum (I think, therefore I am.)" Thus, he pinned his very existence to the fact that he is able to feel himself think. But what if, our brains aren't always the transparent thought process we've always thought it to be?

Science writer Shankar Vendantam sheds the light on some of the brain's hidden corners in "The Hidden Brain." Appropriately, I chose this rather at random while browsing through my library's digital ebook collection. What I read inside was surprising, riveting and disturbing.

The book's subtitle is: "How Our Unconscious Minds Elect Presidents, Control Markets, Wage Wars, and Save Our Lives." Indeed, the book clearly and engagingly uncovers the many ways our brain shortcuts to give us solutions, subtly affecting our everyday decisions.

"The 'hidden brain' was shorthand for a range of influences that manipulated us without our awareness," Vendantam writes. It is the silent part of ourselves that help us make the mundane of decisions, which is why we hardly ever notice them. "The job of the hidden brain is to leap to conclusions. This is why people cannot tell you why one politician looks more competent than another, or why one job candidate seems more qualified than another. They just have a feeling, an intuition."

Some of his findings are lighthearted in nature (such as the discovery that people give larger tips, make more aggressive investments, are more optimistic about their chances on bright and sunny days as compared to gloomy days; that largely anonymous IPO companies with more pronounceable names outperform companies with hard-to-pronounce names by 11.2 percent on their very first day of trading; that waitresses that echo back a customer's speech received 140 percent larger tips as compared to those who didn't), but other discoveries are darker in nature.

For me, one of his most worrisome findings, showed that in a Montreal day care center, children as young as three years old associated white faces with positive attributes and black faces with negative attributes. The children were obviously too young to be called bigots, but where did they get this obviously discriminatory associations from?

Vedantam says it isn't biological, but the effect still comes from a child's culture and upbringing. Though we often talk about racial equality, the hundreds of implicit racial baises we unconsciously show end up seeping into our children's brains. The stimuli can come from television, books, or even the attitudes and reactions of adults and other children around them. After some thought, I'd have to concur. After all, how many villains have we seen whose faces were covered in shadow? Who wouldn't associate evil with darkness (even of skin)?

What then is the solution? Not to brush racial inequality under the table, but to bring it out and talk about it. In an NPR Morning Edition interview, he says:

"Our hidden brains will always recognize people's races, and they will do so from a very, very young age," Vedantam says. "The far better approach is to put race on the table, to ask [children] to unpack the associations that they are learning, to help us shape those associations in more effective ways."

This is only one of the book's revelations. Vendantam also investigates how group behavior can sometimes lead to tragic consequences in disaster situations (as in 9/11); how suicide bombers are slowly manipulated; how exaggerated attention to a single issue can skew our view of the world and affect our national budgets (as in the US's hyper-inflated defense support). By studying the career trajectories of the transgendered, Vendantam shows readers that yes, indeed, gender bias is insidiously at play, to the detriment of women.

In "The Hidden Brain," Vendantam uncovers our brain's tendency to influence our decisions. With a myriad of cases and actual research, he pokes at our inflated sense of self and asks us to be more wary of ourselves. Though we will always live with this hidden part of ourselves, Vendantam writes, "Good people are not those who lack flaws, the brave are not those who feel no fear, and the generous are not those who never feel selfish. Extraordinary people are not extraordinary because they are invulnerable to unconscious biases. They are extraordinary because they choose to do something about it." Reading this book is part of doing something about it.

Find out more about the "Hidden Brain" on Vedantam's website.

The Grudging Masterpiece

2012-11-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

This is the 500th year of the unveiling of Michaelangelo's Sistine Chapel, an unequivocal masterpiece of Renaissance, but strangely not a willing creation by Michelangelo, more known for his marble sculpture pieces.

Sistine Chapel ceiling via Wikipedia

Forced (or convinced strongly) by the Pope, he eventually undertook the task of painting the ceiling, but not before protesting, "painting is not my art." With the help of a dozen painters and craftsmen, Michaelangelo took up the task, "hauling water up 65 feet of treacherous ladders, slaking lime for plaster, grinding and mixing pigments, pricking and transferring preparatory drawings, and painting miles of architecture and ornament."

He did the work with complaint, specifically a sonnet which still survives today. He writes, "My beard to heaven. My chest bent like a harp. The dripping brush making a rich pavement of my face. My loins have been shoved into my guts, my butt is ballast." At the bottom of the sheet, Michelangelo complained: "I'm not in a good place, nor a painter."

Michelangelo's sketch illustrating a sonnet describing the arduous position painting of the Sistine Chapel via Wikipedia

Complaints and all, he still produced a gorgeous work that's still admired by millions today. I suppose willingness is always an ideal component of a project, but it seems like it is not a necessity. A good reminder when I'm restless and wanting to leave my station while mired in a writing project. Even unwilling, a masterpiece can happen. I suppose one just has to be present to the moment.

h/t WSJ

The Dino in the Room

2012-11-22T09:00:00.000-08:00

Those of us old enough to remember Jurassic Park remember the scare we get whenever those mean-looking velociraptors get some screentime in the movie. Now, thanks to an All Things Considered episode aired two days ago, I'm reminded that may be handing out some payback of our own, every time we eat a our thanksgiving meal.

Robert Siegel sits down to speak with Dr. Michael Ryan, discoverer of a new dinosaur species discovery, the Xenoceratops. While winding up, Ryan reminds listeners that every bird is a dinosaur, though not all dinosaurs alive were birds-- and that every thanksgiving, we're having a big dinosaur to eat.

He goes on to make the comparison between velociraptors and turkey bones:

...if you're lucky enough to have a nice, big turkey and you totally consume it, as most families would do, so you've got a table full of bones, if you pick up one of the leg bones or one of the ribs or one of the vertebra and you hold it in your hand, it's about the same size and shape as something like velociraptor, those little carnivorous dinosaurs you see in the movies all the time. And I would bet that if you took your upper leg bone, the femur from a turkey and held it beside a velociraptor femur that's been fossilized for 70-plus million years, you'd have a hard time telling which one is which if you didn't know which one was fossil.

Mmmmmmmmm.... revenge never tasted so good!

(On a side note, Jurassic Park velociraptors may not have been velociraptors at all, but a different dino species. Link here.)

Happy thanksgiving everyone!

Beautiful Structures for Underserved, Under $15k

2012-11-19T09:30:00.000-08:00

My inbox is often filled with photographs or renderings of glitzy new developments, glinting under the sun. Of course, it looks great, but lately, I find myself tiring of hearing multi-million budgets, LEED ratings over again. I absentmindedly wonder, "How many of these buildings will truly be assets to their community long after these stats are lost in the ethers of the Internet?" (Can you really count something as lost in the Internet, anyway?)

I found my appreciation for architecture re-kindled with an introduction to the work of this year's European Prize for Architecture winner, Norway’s TYIN Tegnestue. The duo was established 2008 and made their name designing community-sensitive structures in underserved areas of Thailand, Uganda, Sumatra and Norway. Theirs is an "architecture of necessity," where beautiful form serves a true purpose.

TYIN involves the community in the design and building of their work and their materials are sourced nearby or from local merchants. Many firms follow these processes, but the product speaks for itself. TYIN's structures are warm, appealing and feels organic. Here are some of my favorites.

Old Market Library in Mini Buri, Bangkok, Thailand
cost $4,500

The library was built in a 100-year old market building over five months. Built in Mini Buri, an area that's become almost slum-like, the library was designed to strengthen the sense of community. Regular community meetings helped designers figure out the real needs of the neighborhood, but also allowed neighbors to help by drawing, building models and even clearing garbage.

The project used local and re-used materials. Bookshelves were wooden boxes from earlier projects. The cladding used old, decayed wooden pieces from the surroundings. Internal structure was made from a local second-hand shop. I love the use of color and fabric to soften the space.

Safe Haven Bathhouse in Ban Tha Song Yang, Thailand
cost $3,800

Bathrooms are invariably the place where people most vulnerable, and thus, need more sense of comfort. This new sanitary building was made to meet the needs of orphans. It included toilets, personal hygiene facilities and laundry. The original structure was narrow, dark and had concrete flooring that accumulated water and dirt. TYIN strived to create a more dignified alternative. I don't know about you, but that's one bathroom I would prefer rather than a dark, smelly outhouse.

Soe Ker Tie House in Noh Bo, Tak, Thailand
cost: $11,000

Everyone always imagines their own little place. Perhaps harking back to that impulse, TYIN designed these structures with the children of the Karen refugee tribe in mind, so they could have place to call home and play.

Due to its shape, it was called “Soe Ker Tie Haus” or "Butterfly Houses." Its form (specifically the shape of the roof) isn't just design fancy, it promotes natural ventilation within the sleeping units, at the same time it allows rainwater to be collected. The homes feature bamboo weaving technique that can be found in local homes and crafts. Bamboo used in the homes were harvested from within a few kilometers.

All photos via TYIN.

Holi in Slow Motion

2012-11-16T11:21:00.001-08:00

It's just Friday, but I feel like it's already the weekend! It must be Thanksgiving holiday cheer sneaking up on me.

In celebration, I just stumbled across a beautiful short of Holi, the Hindu festival of color where thousands of revelers throw scented powder and perfume at each other. I've always wanted to experience this; in fact, it's on my haphazardly kept bucket list. I have no idea how, but one day, someday soon I hope I will get to see all the tumult and experience the childlike pleasure of it all :)

The short was created by a New York-based production company and creative collective, Variable. The team went down to India with a borrowed Phantom Flex High Speed Digital Camera and captured all the euphoric craziness in slow motion.

Every particle was captured in-camera, no additions were made post-production. Oh, and if you're wondering, the kept that camera lens clean by creating a custom glass lens filter that they could swap out quickly, if needed. "We also used a dust cover and lots of garbage bags to protect the camera. Let's just say there were a few close calls...," writes Variable in response to a comment.

h/t The Fox is Black

Salon-Style Display and Growing Public Opinion

2012-11-14T12:17:00.001-08:00

Art critics (really, critics of all sorts) often worry about the democratization of opinion because of Tumblogs, blogs, vlogs, or logs of any kind. The advent of technology has really burst open a dam of public opinion that makes it more difficult for critics to make themselves heard over the din, but I was surprised to find that the Digital Age wasn't the original culprit, but the hot interior design trend of frame clustering.

Frame clustering, you say? Yes.

Source: housetohome.co.uk via Zesty on Pinterest.

Frame clusters, or the more accurate term, salon-style hanging means filling a wall with framed works of art. We often see such interior design treatment in lofts or other such fancy places whenever we take virtual tours of apartments. But it's origins go way back to 17th century France when the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculptured mounted semi-public exhibitions showcasing the work of recent graduates. To fit all the graduates' work, the school would hang their work one atop the other and side by side, producing the hot trend we know today. Their works were displayed at the Salon Carre, a room at the Louvre.

he Salon of 1699, not yet open to the public, and not yet taking place in the Salon Carré, engraving by A. Hadamart, Bibliothèque nationale de France, via SFMoMA blog.

The rest, Anna Hoffman explains:

In 1737, the Academy opened the exhibit up to the public. This had two significant results: not only was this a place where the social classes mingled in considerable quantity and proximity, but now the culturally important act of having an opinion was open to the rabble. And the rabble made themselves heard, often through the publication of pamphlets where members of the audience would record their thoughts on the event, picture by picture (pamphlets were huge in 18th-century France, a cheap and accessible mode of mass-communication, kind of akin to blogging). Suddenly, art was being consumed - not purchased, but visually and culturally consumed - by a different audience, one that was not bound by etiquette or friendship or tradition to the royal artistic agenda.

Enlightening isn't it? Who knew that what we take for granted as a hot interior design trend was once a catalyst for public opinion? I'll never look at frame clusters the same way again.

More details (including source lists) over at Apartment Therapy.

Read: Steal Like An Artist

2012-11-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

We've been raised to think that "stealing" isn't right--and in most cases, that's accurate. But artist-writer Austin Kleon makes a case for "stealing"ideas--that is, paying attention to what's great in the world and incorporating it in your work.

I had heard of the book for a while now. It had made its way around the blogosphere and of course I was intrigued. Like many good things, the knowledge that a book like this was floating around was tucked in the back of my mind, filed for future reference as it were.

Thanks to my newfound Kindle-amazingness, I got a chance to crack open Kleon's wonderful read. The book is a quick overview of what it takes to live a creative life, the way he's done it over the years. He says he wrote it for the 19-year-old him.

He condenses the book into this quick bullet-pointy poster, but the read is so much richer.

Advice such as "Don’t worry about unity—what unifies your work is the fact that you made it. One day, you’ll look back and it will all make sense," particularly rings true because I constantly worry about making all of my work add to some grand scheme.

He makes a compelling argument for me to get up from my desk, "The computer brings out the uptight perfectionist in us—we start editing ideas before we have them."

He even reminds me that boring is a-okay. "I'm a boring guy with a nine-to-five job who lives in a quiet neighborhood with his wife and his dog," he writes. "The whole romantic image of the creative genius doing drugs, running around and sleeping with everyone is played out...The thing is: it takes a lot of energy to be creative. You don't have that energy if you waste it on other stuff." Score one for routine.

Every chapter is filled with Kleon's casually disarming voice, plus lots of back-up from creatives such as Salvador Dali to Jay-Z to his own mom.

Kleon also uses his artistic skills by giving words new life by actually drawing them. I had forgotten the charming, warmth of handdrawn (albeit digitally rendered) letters. His figures combined with words of creative wisdom bring home the message that either cannot do adequately by itself.

Definitely feel this way sometimes. :)

While reading "Steal Like An Artist," I had the urge to take out some pencils and find some small index cards, just for me to actually "play" with ideas floating, immaterially in head for a while. I also had to fight the urge to raid the nearest bookstore for a nice blank page sketchpad. (Side note: where would one find a bookstore nowadays?)

I exhausted my Kindle's highlight function. Now, I'm kind of itching for a print version. Uh oh.

If you need a little inspiration or some direction, this is a great place to start. Get it here. Outtakes from the book seen here.

A Private-Public Affair

2012-11-06T14:13:00.000-08:00

"Do you realize that there hasn't been any public spaces done by the government since the time of the Marcoses?" Asked an architect friend while visiting Manila a month back.

In fact, I hadn't. With all the construction going on, only then did I realize that none of it was really meant for the public at all. Sure, it was meant for consumers and target markets, but none of it was meant for the pedestrian passers-by.

Now, that is a shame.

One Central Park West, a POPS in New York City via POPS@MAS.

There's a lot of work to be done when it comes to urban design in the Philippines, but as I wrote a few weeks back, the main thing to keep in mind is how to build for the benefit of the bottom 70 percent.

In Manila, there are many places one can go to for entertainment, but they all fall under one category: consumptive diversion. Whenever I have guests coming to Manila, I invariably take them out to dine or to shop. It is Asia's shopping capital, home to three of the largest malls in the world. We received the honor about two years ago, but I have no doubt we've built larger shopping complexes since then.

Others might take pride in the designation, but I really don't. Whenever I hear that, I wonder how many other things we could have built in place of these modern-day temples. Manila's shopping malls are designed to keep you in. On Sundays, church services and family activities are held there, just to lure even more people in search of something to do.

I know the government can't really be counted on to help build public spaces, but perhaps the private sector can. In New York and San Francisco (mostly), there is something called a Privately-Owned Public Space (POPS, for short). As its name suggests these spaces are meant to be public areas a developer has agreed to build in exchange for building concessions from the city.

590 Madison Avenue in New York City via APOPS@MAS.

Though some of the earlier New York POPS have fulfilled their expectations, the city's planning website admits:

The results of the program have been mixed. An impressive amount of public space has been created in parts of the city with little access to public parks, but much of it is not of high quality. Some spaces have proved to be valuable public resources, but others are inaccessible or devoid of the kinds of amenities that attract public use.

In San Francisco, these spaces exist but no signs inform the public of their presence, resulting in posts like Curbed SF's map of San Francisco's secret gardens.

But lately, more scrutiny has inspired a new wave of awareness and interest in ensuring well-designed POPS. A new interactive mapping tool launched by Advocates for Privately Owned Public Space at the Municipal Art Society of New York (APOPS@MAS) allow users to visit these sites and get information about privately owned public spaces throughout the city. The site also enlists citizens to help police these POPS. Do these spaces fulfill their stated objectives? If not, APOPS@MAS, "promise to review such discrepancies and get to the bottom of them."

Though the Philippine government has yet to act on something like this, Manila's developers are slowly (very slowly) realizing that there is a need to provide more than just air conditioning to keep their customers.

Fort Bonifacio's High Street is an open air mall with a great expanse of playspace integrated onto it. Ayala Land's malls usually have nice fountain areas and plazas tucked in the womb of its malls. It may not be the High Line but it's a good start. It's enough to show developers and citizens, there is more to life than malling.

Now, I just hope more developers see the triple bottomline benefit of providing a relaxing ambiance, or the public stops settling for the endless rows of shopping stalls and starts asking what else can be done to improve public life in Manila.

A Weekend in LA

2012-11-05T12:24:00.002-08:00

National tour of "Book of Mormon" at Pantages.

Picnic at the park

8-month old Mina.

Ruby red pomegranates, grown on a family farm in San Diego.

Doheny Library is USC. That's Shakespeare and Dante guarding the door.

Who can resist arched colonnades and elegant structures by an expanse of greenery?

Self Help, A First Look East of LA River

2012-10-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

A week before Dia De Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead celebration, I found myself with an excuse to stop by the east side of the Los Angeles River. I had never been there before, I've always braked at Arts District or Little Tokyo.

Right off the Gold Line station was Self-Help Graphics, the venerable art institution that incubated much of the Chicano Arts Movement. I admit, 80 percent of the reason for my being there was because of this community arts center. I was curious to see what kind of place could foster such life.

Colorful Self-Help facade. The neighborhood might be intimidating, but at least this isn't.

After a bit of trepidation upon entering the door, I found out. I wasn't shooed away after poking my head in. Instead, I was nonchalantly showed the main gallery. I apparently found my way to the back office.

I wandered around as skulls and skeletons greeted me. Since I had never really known a Dia De Los Muertos celebration, much of its symbolism escaped me, but I loved the color and vibrancy in each of the works.

A pile of skulls.

I suppose he has a good view.

This is a very large Mother Mary. Now this symbol I can understand.

My favorite print of the gallery.

It was quiet in the gallery, which I'm sure it isn't on regular community events, but it was nice to see this place finally.

As I wandered outside, I walked through rows and rows of industrial buildings, wondering who were its tenants. The place was like a shabbier version of the Arts District, both raw, edgy, but the other one just a smidge of hip (or is it gentrification?).

Corner lot right under the bridge.

Bridges flew over the streets and underneath them was a parking lot for cars. Trucks, old cars sped past me as I walked, but even here in this real gritty part of town, there's a bit of tongue-in-cheek art plastered on the walls. I suppose you can't get a good artist down, wherever they may be.

Now go call mom :)

Build for the bottom 70 percent

2012-10-22T11:27:00.001-07:00

Cranes, scaffolding and gigantic buildings. That's what Metro Manila was during my last visit.

In the four years I’ve been gone, the metro’s skyline has lurched upward. Where SM Megamall was once the largest building I could think of, now its feats of colossal construction are being rivaled everywhere else in the city.

In San Juan, where I grew up, the tallest structures aren’t the mid-size condos or tall tri-level homes anymore. The honor now belongs to towering new buildings. Behind my childhood home, I couldn’t miss a looming new building planted on Xavier and Gen. S. de Jesus streets. On a little known byway I use to avoid traffic in Gilmore, another sign proclaims the rise of a "horizontal" development by Rockwell Land costing anywhere between $450 to $730-thousand, the price of a good-sized home here in California. The trend continues wherever I go: in Bonifacio Global City, Pasay City and Makati City.

America's celebrities and Europe's design houses have even gotten involved in the real estate fervor. Donald Trump has put his name on a $150-million, 56-story Trump Tower with each unit in it priced at an $1.86 million each. The curtain glass-walled building threw me off as I was scraping my memory to recall the way to Mandarin Oriental hotel. Paris Hilton meanwhile lent her appeal to a nine-building, $144-thousand "urban" resort development. European design brand Missoni is designing the interior for a $316 million six-tower project.

As these projects lumber along their development stages, fueled by the nine million Filipinos abroad sending approximately $22 billion in remittances, my friends and I wonder, "Is this bubble soon to burst? Will anyone ever really live in these fancy condos?" Based on the 2009 Family Income and Expenditure Survey, Filipino families earned just under $5,000 a year. Even the upper 10 percent earned just under $11,000 a year. As urban planner Nathaniel von Einsiedel rightly points out to me over coffee, with all of these high-rises, multi-use complexes geared toward the upper 30 percent of the Filipino market, who's looking after the bottom 70 percent?

In a recent address by von Einsiedel at the Housing and Urban Development conference in Baguio October 12, he outlines a worrisome trio: First, inner-city housing for the poorest of the poor is possible only with massive subsidy. Second, government resources for housing subsidies are very limited. Finally, private developers do not find affordable housing to be sound investments.

With the rise of these multi-million peso projects, what kind of metro are we building for future Filipinos? The foundations are laid for a terribly unbalanced living situation, where there is room for the richest of the rich, but none for anyone else.

As the poor are being priced out of living spaces, they nevertheless continue to flock to cities in search of better lives causing an increase in informal (and even dangerous) settlements, unless the country is able to provide a more dignified alternative.

The Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism has a great graphic illustrating the quick urbanization of the Philippines. In the 1960s, only a third of the Filipino population lived in the city (or 8 million people). In 2010, that number has jumped to about half of the current population (or 46 million). That PCIJ article concludes with the words: "Official estimates show that 3.7 million houses are needed to close the gap in housing needs in the Philippines. Metro Manila, the country’s largest urbanized area, has a total backlog of nearly half a million."

Source: UNICEF, NSO Census Data, and Human Settlement 2004-Philippines via PCIJ

As most national problems go, this one likewise has no easy answers.

One would need the government’s participation: both on the local and national levels. Von Einsiedel recommends actual city planning to be done by local government units. He points to proactive land banking for socialized housing and creating a Shelter Plan and Urban Redevelopment Plan with teeth that outlines housing sites, implementation strategies and actual, viable financial schemes, as possible places to begin.

Developers should look beyond all-consuming return on investment numbers while implementing plans. Profit is undeniably part of the equation, but so are consequences to people in the community and the planet (the Triple Bottomline, so to speak). Gawad Kalinga’s Community Infrastructure Program provides an interesting model. Not only does takes into account the actual structure of homes, but engages residents to build the holistic community they want to live in.

It would be a boon to add a soaring tower to one’s resume, but architects and designers should challenge their craft beyond these big-budget developments. Across the Pacific Ocean, socially conscious developments such as David Baker + Partners’ Tassafaronga Village and Richardson Apartments and Michael Maltzan’s Carver Apartments in California show that tight budgets can lead to imaginative and news-worthy architecture that provide dignified homes for those in the low income bracket.

If the Philippine economic boom were really a boon, then it should benefit not just the upper echelons of society, but everyone else as well. It would be all too easy to build lofty residences and turn a quick profit, the more difficult challenge is to lay the foundations for a vibrant economy where everyone is afforded his right to a standard of living.