Pauline Acquard en Naissance des Pieuvres (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

Pauline Acquard en Naissance des Pieuvres (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

nantes: Romanian Pavilion at Venice Architecture Biennale 2010Interior Explores the essence of space by designing an inhabitable object that defines (almost violently) two different worlds: the first being communal, exterior, profane, public, tense, dense and real; the second, having characteristics of the individual, interior, sacral, private, calm, rarefied and abstract.

nantes:

Romanian Pavilion at Venice Architecture Biennale 2010
Interior

Explores the essence of space by designing an inhabitable object that defines (almost violently) two different worlds: the first being communal, exterior, profane, public, tense, dense and real; the second, having characteristics of the individual, interior, sacral, private, calm, rarefied and abstract.

mrstsk: One of the things I love, moving around in a Japanese city, is to glimpse semantic and semiotic combinations that wouldn’t really happen elsewhere. Take this barber sign, for instance. The script is Gothic, but the image above it is Cubist. Now, sure, you might glimpse, on a German street, an old alehouse sign next to a poster showing a Modernist painting. You might even get a self-consciously postmodernist juxtaposition, as for instance in the Olivia Tremor Control album title Dusk at Cubist Castle. But in Japan the juxtaposition is both willed and harmonious. No clash is intended, because from the perspective of Japan there’s no disharmony between Gothic and Cubist styles. They’re both imports, both decorative (stripped of their history, ideology and metaphysics), both distant. They become a sort of “accidental postmodernism”, and finally evoke — like the weird alpine Mitteleuropa in Miyazaki’s animations — something unmistakably Japanese.

mrstsk:

One of the things I love, moving around in a Japanese city, is to glimpse semantic and semiotic combinations that wouldn’t really happen elsewhere. Take this barber sign, for instance. The script is Gothic, but the image above it is Cubist. Now, sure, you might glimpse, on a German street, an old alehouse sign next to a poster showing a Modernist painting. You might even get a self-consciously postmodernist juxtaposition, as for instance in the Olivia Tremor Control album title Dusk at Cubist Castle. But in Japan the juxtaposition is both willed and harmonious. No clash is intended, because from the perspective of Japan there’s no disharmony between Gothic and Cubist styles. They’re both imports, both decorative (stripped of their history, ideology and metaphysics), both distant. They become a sort of “accidental postmodernism”, and finally evoke — like the weird alpine Mitteleuropa in Miyazaki’s animations — something unmistakably Japanese.