Prominent projects conducted thus far include a complete digital recreation of the Battle of Gettysburg, as well as of Salem, Massachusetts during the witch trials. Studying Salem from a spatial humanities approach revealed never before realized facets of church affiliation, judge behavior, courtroom habits, types of evidence admitted, and more that contributed to the hysteria of the time. David Bodenhamer, a historian at Indiana University, says that GIS technologies “make it possible to analyze complex and changing patterns of political preferences, religious affiliation, migration and cultural influence in fresh ways by linking them to geography.”

Others have chosen to use spatial-humanities to create maps on globalization and trade, urban studies, and even digital musicology, in which scholars create spatial representations of harmonic form.

The Scholar’s Lab at the University of Virginia Library has created a website to give access to the new field of spatial-humanities, including current projects, readings and research and how to get involved. Projects and groups abound in diversity, including architecture, anthropology, archaeology, literary space, political science, psychology, linguistics, geography, environmental history, and more.

So where does this come into play for architecture? Uses abound, as many existing projects demonstrate. Hypercities explores the historical layers of city spaces in an interactive and hypermedia environment, allowing users to see where cities have been, how they have gotten to where they are, and where they may be heading. Imagine being able to create a digital map, complete with layers including the previous 20 years of population density and demographics, changing shape of public and private space, successful and failed development, as well as up-to-the-minute information of numbers of people checking in with foursquare, local ticket sales, apartment vacancies, daily traffic density, etc. This would not only reveal tremendous depth of information about the ephemeral city, but also how people use and interact with the city, and how the culture and dynamic of a neighborhood has metamorphosed over time. Further, this would all be a presented in a spatial and digital manner, allowing users to turn layers on and off to see different spatial and cultural relationships in the city.

As a tool for anthropologists, sociologists, architects, city planners and more, there is tremendous potential to understand the city and its inhabitants in new ways, which can only lead to new methods of collaboration and new ideas for how we design and build for ourselves.

Strolls through these parts of the city are always awash with life. Wafting, blowing, hinting and delighting, smells abound in the air of the city, the air of the harbor and canals, the bakeries, cafes, sidewalks, gutters and garbage. A cool breeze brings warm smells of rolls and coffee, chills from the water, and the premonition of rain from the skies, from the clouds, grey canvases creased with strokes from the wind, laden and permanent over the land, cloaking the sun and damping out precious hours of daylight. Already the shadows of the passages seem to darken. The nose awakens, ancient olfactory machinations, aware of more in the air. Damp, moss covered corners, dusty crevices, sharp tinge of urine, stale smell of spilled beer. Echoes, reverberations, vibrations, clues, phantoms fill the auditory space of our worlds. Painting a three-dimensional panorama invisible to our eyes we understand more of the physical world and spaces we occupy. Sounds from the street recede, replaced by strengthening echoes from our footsteps, our conversations, our belts of laughter and hushed whispers. Under echoing footfalls, old and worn cobblestones greet the feet. Thin shoe soles do not impede the nerves and skin from contouring, tracing the outline of each cobble, worn corners, imperfect gaps of patterns and intervals that never repeat, lain with the uniquely creative and imperfect laboring hand. Fingertips are reassured by rough brick sliding coarsely by in the darkness, scraping fingernails add to the acoustic space while imperceptibly being ground, filed, shaped. Minute imperfections unable to hide from the sensitive skin, acutely aware of even the slightest deviance from perfection, appreciating the endless story told upon the face of brick after brick. A gasp, a rush of blood, flush of the face, pulse quickening step into the abyss. A loss of repetition in the footfalls, a dislocation of the ground plane, hands flinching to seize the unseen for support. Laughter and apologies from nearby friends and classmates, forgot to the mention the step down, won’t happen again. Winding down a street, feeling the shape of the city, the shape of the constructive forces of centuries past, cross streets and alleys signified by the opening and closing of sounds, bikes bells, conversation, echoes, distant sounds barely able to address us. A bustle is approaching, sounds of commerce, rush, heavy pedestrian traffic, walking faster, energizing the air, feeling the space of the city, the crush of the crowd. Cobbles smooth out underfoot, pace quickens, less to feel here on the recently lain cobbles, full of intricate tone and pattern (or so your friend tells you). Conversations from passerbys, sounds of transactions and inquiries, cinnamon roles, hot dogs, ice cream, meat, coffee and more roll in wave upon wave across the nose. Strangers unseen brush by, bumping shoulders, rustling coats, fragments of words bounce away in the turbulence, light smells hang ephemerally in the air, sweat, stress, masks, memories, desires. Seated upon a bench, feet value the rest from labor, leg and back muscles relax, re-adjust as they feel out the contours of the bench, the chill of metal, the spacing of the slats. Light rushes in as the blindfold is removed, squinting, blinking eyes welcome the contraction of the pupil, a return of focus to the scene, a return to the dominance of the eye.

Simple outings as powerful reminders of the deep and envoking world enlightened by the senses. A chance for a retrospective on the ocular-centric culture of our day and lives, and the archaic, embedded, indescribably rich experiences open to us if we close our eyes. Considering how much our senses contribute to how we feel about a place, how we define a place, as well as remember it, ample energy should be given to address all of our haptic system in our designs, large and small.

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• Zoned Out: Boredom In A Digital Age (3quarksdaily.com)

His project, a richly complex narrative of architecture, energy, empathy and ecology, addresses layer upon layer of historic and modern societal issues, including energy flows, infrastructure, power hierarchies, resource and labor exploitation, globalization, empathy, decentralization, individual subjectivity, technology and open-source networks.   For anyone interested in these topics and the possibilities of radical architectural and ecological shifts, I highly recommend you browse his writings, illustrations and animations.

DAYglo

For further insight into a piece of his project, watch this video summarizing Jeremy Rifkin’s “The Empathic Civilization.”

RSA Animate – The Empathic Civilization

Related articles

• Using nature’s genius in architecture: Michael Pawlyn on TED.com (ted.com)
• Open Source Ecology (susansayler.wordpress.com)
• Architectural Potential Energy (bldgblog.blogspot.com)

Google Earth is a wonderful tool for seeing and understanding the earth from a vantage point we can normally never attain. And until the advent and expansion of the program, it was only a limited audience that saw what many of us are now familiar with. Google Earth allows us the view the natural landscape and built landscape from an entirely new perspective. This bird’s eye view can show us patterns and relationships in the built environment that may not be apparent or discovered through other means.

The views captured from the software are also a valuable graphic and presentation tool. Many posters for architectural projects contain at least one Google Earth image, which precisely, and often creatively, shows exactly where the site is in space and geography. Different scales of photos reveal different things about the conditions of the site. One photo may illustrate that the project is sited near the water in a large harbor. The next may show that the project is near a pier and other public space on the edge of the urban fabric. The last may show the site and its immediate surroundings, as well as how the building or project is laid out on the site. These three views, as well as other derivations, present valuable information about the site and project in an attractive visual format. However, this is, I feel, where the benefits and strong points end and where I will become more critical of widespread application of the program.

Fundamentally, the bird’s eye view is completely different and at odds with the street level view and human scale. For all the information the satellite view can give us, it can tell us little if anything about life and conditions and the human scale on the site. The excessive use of satellite views puts an emphasis on where the site is in space and geography as opposed to what it is. The what entails all of the qualitative factors of the site that relate to the human experience of the place and project. The culture, demographics, history, population trends, traffic patterns, wind, sun, noise, microclimates and more all contribute to one’s experience and understanding of a place. These factors should be understood, valued and promoted to help promote a positive qualitative experience on the site for the users and passersby.

The serpentine and pedestrian streets of medieval Copenhagen

One example that quickly comes to mind is a case study an urbanism class did while I was studying in Copenhagen. We compared the medieval part of the city to a new development in an outlying area, Ørestaden, and noted the difference from both the bird’s eye and street level experience. The two areas of the city differed greatly in both regards. The former area was a dense labyrinthine network of streets and alleys, as well as buildings tightly packed into the fabric. The latter was a typical grid pattern, with large block buildings and nothing much else to note. The street level experience differed drastically. The medieval part of the city is a delight for one to walk through. The serpentine streets and serial views always draw your feet and curiosity around the corner; the variety of shops, sights, sounds and smells engulf the senses and engages the mind. Further, the scale was appropriate for the user, from the width of the street to the façades of the storefronts; all were in tune to the human scale. In contrast, the new area featured large and wide avenues, much more suited to the car than the pedestrian. The storefronts lacked and buildings lacked an appropriate scale, far overwhelming their human users. The street was much more devoid of life and sensory interest, and the wide avenues encouraged the wind to sweep through the area.

Google Earth has its place to be sure, but it should not be too heavily used or leaned upon during the design process. Beginning the design process in Google Earth creates a foundation of detachment from real time, real space, and real people. It is a static view that does not change with the seasons, the time of day or anything else. It is immune to the inputs of people, conversation, commerce, sounds, textures, smells and other forms of urban delight.

“You take delight not in a cities seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives you to a question of yours. Or the question it asks you, forcing you to answer….”

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

Reyner Banham, in his 1968 series collectively known as “Four Pieces on Los Angeles,” addresses this condition on multiple fronts.  He compares the topological organization to that of London, in that both cities are agglomerations of smaller towns that have come to fall, more or less, under some civic umbrella.  After admitting to an initially unpleasant experience with public transit upon his arrival in LA, Banham declares the city to be a rather mature and distinctively modern metropolis.  He claims not only that the failure of the railways was a natural occurrence brought on by the inferiority of the Pacific Electric Railroad when compared to the much more comprehensive and freely-flowing highway system, but that the railroad company was to blame for the crime and poverty of the Watts ghetto by having effectively used train tracks to inhibit its residents from circulating between their own neighborhood and the rest of the city. He celebrates the prevalence of libertarian individuality in the citizens of LA, and embraces the fetishisation of the automobile and the rejection of civic responsibility as an extension of the art of doing one’s thing. Perhaps one of the most interesting things Banham said was that the lifestyle of Los Angeles was one that appealed most, in Europe at least, to middle-aged professionals seeking a renewed sense of freedom and excitement that could not be found on either side of the Atlantic seaboard.  That is to say, Banham wrote with a half-admission that the attraction he and others of his demographic felt for Los Angeles was a desire to spin a mid-life crisis into a Wild West adventure.

What Banham was unable to foresee was the astronomical increase in traffic density that has since become the most widely and bitterly held criticism of Los Angeles.  In the four decades that have passed since he wrote these pieces, the population of Los Angeles has outgrown the capacity of its motorways, thus making it much more difficult to maintain the lone driver motoring lifestyle.  Traffic no longer moves reliably, and many people are commuting daily from places as far away as Ventura.  The solo commute, once a symbol of glorious independence from public transportation, has become a tedious and time-consuming battle against far too many other people who also happen to be celebrating their independence.  Indeed, the highway just ain’t big enough for everyone.  There are simply too many people doing their thing over too large and dense an area that the encapsulated lifestyle so easily and romantically manifested in the middle twentieth century has proven gravely unsustainable.

image courtesy <a href=”http://philip.greenspun.com/”>Philip Greenspun</a>

What Banham described as a freewheeling aversion to government oppression may be retroactively and conceptually reassessed as a refusal to accept the terms of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s liberal republicanism, which has long been the overarching standard of American social contract.  The longstanding Angelino illusion that one may escape society by moving to a major city is not one whose irony goes unnoticed, and it is genuinely impressive that so many people have been living this illusion for so long without having some revelation as to its progressing eclipse.

Perhaps it is not too late.  The real problem with ensapsulated transportation at this time is one of congestion and fossil fuel consumption.  People operating as individuals do not possess the collective mind necessary to allow a smooth flow of traffic.  Deficiencies in driver reflexes and lapses in concentration cause traffic jams, collisions, and infuriatingly long travel times, while idling motors waste energy and emit noxious fumes even while standing still.  In this new century though, Los Angeles has a truly profound opportunity to be, as it once was conjectured to be, the most uniquely modern city in the world.  As technology allows, the city could become a large-scale experiment for infrastructural swarm intelligence.

Let the people keep their capsules, but make those capsules subservient, on certain roads at certain times, to algorithms that will allow high densities of private capsules to efficiently flow between destinations.  Fuel emissions and expenditure will no longer be in vain, and Angelinos, if they so desire, will be able to maintain their sacred private interiors, isolated from the forced company of other people that admittedly make many traditional forms of public transit disgustingly unpleasant.  At times of day and in areas where congestion ceases to be a problem, private vehicles will be released from the swarm algorithm and the control of the journey will shift seamlessly back into the hands of the occupant.  A commuter will be able to cruise up to his or her guarded suburban sanctuary in full control of his or her capsule, bringing home none of the stress or anxiety that would have resulted from a long traffic jam.

While it is easy at present to deny Banham’s relevance, to demote his essays to the status of period pieces, there is something unique about the idea of Los Angeles that is worth preserving, worth fighting for.  The first experiment for the City of Angels may have ended with disappointing results, but just as every laboratory must move past its failures toward new endeavors, so too must Los Angeles explore new opportunities in radical individualism.

Coney Island Then - Luna Park by Night

According to Koolhaas, Coney Island always existed in binary opposition to Manhattan. At the beginning, Coney Island was a natural landscape with quiet beaches; a relief from the congestion of Manhattan. As the island became more popular and more crowded, it could no longer exist in its current state and had to swing to the opposite binary, one of extreme artificiality and urban intensification. Mutating the island into a city of lights and artificiality, a place where pleasure was created and consumed, required technology. To borrow from Koolhaas, technology of the fantastic was used to create a synthetic reality. Technology of the fantastic was used to create an urbanism and social environment that the public demanded and consumed, one that became a laboratory for Manhattan.

A bizarre landscape of theme parks evolved on the Island, each trying to outdo the last. Dreamland was home to over 1,300,000 electric lights, creating a second city of lights that was the advent of the 24-hour metropolis. Attractions like Fighting the Flames, The Fall of Pompeii, Barrels of Love and Lilliputia developed in line with the public’s demand for the fantastic and bizarre. Each relied on technology to create and sell a synthetic reality to be consumed by the public. Further, cardboard was a predominant building material, resulting in many impossible spires and useless space. However, the architecture was convincing enough to support “the formula: carboard + technology (or any other flimsy material) = reality.” Coney Island’s extreme artificiality and wonderland of lights and attractions prompted some critics to call the place “The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium.”

These factors of technology, synthetic reality, urbanism and the bizarre served as a laboratory for Manhattan, creating a new urbanism and consumer culture to go with it.

That was Coney Island then, but what about now? What is it and how does it function in the metropolis?

To me, it seems like it is caught between lives, between what was then and what it is now. It was interesting to see how my preconceptions of the place both aligned and strayed from what it actually is. It is still a weird outpost at the end of the line, but it is not the abandoned landscape devoid of life that I imagined. In fact, it still seems to be quite popular among the public, offering a unique blend of attractions amid the fading glory. Some of the old attractions, or remnants of them, still exist. You can eat a hot dog at Nathan’s hot dogs, home to the world’s first, ride the old Ferris wheel and other carnival rides. Coney Island retains some its old former weirdness, with fading signs and structures from the previous century, as well as attractions like Shoot the Freak. “Come on up, ladies and gentlemen, shoot the freak and the rest of your day will be gravy.”

Coney Island Now - Boardwalk and old tower

Pier and housing blocks

Image via Wikipedia

The urban composition of the area is quite unique, a blend of carnival, relaxing boardwalk, fenced off fields, housing blocks and an aquarium. It is in this new composition that the weird is preserved. Such a diverse landscape attracts a varied social conglomeration: carnival goers, aquarium goers, tourists, residents, photographers, artists, addicts, etc. The people watching, particularly against the background of Coney Island, is worth the trip out there. Then there are those like me, hunting for the remnants of the Coney Island that used to be, and still exists in our imaginations. I can still drift into the synthetic reality of what I want the place to be, of what it means to me.

Coney Island has certainly changed, but it still exists in binary opposition to Manhattan. Once an intensification of urban pressure, it is now an exhale from the pressure and crowds of Manhattan, a world apart from the museums and fashion of the other island. The attractions and landscape of the island have changed drastically during its lifespan, but the motivations to go have not. It is always has been, and still functions as, an escape, a chance to find, and even temporarily live in, a different reality.

Related articles:

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• The New And Improved Coney Island (perezhilton.com)
• Coney Island Comeback (neatorama.com)
• This spring at Coney Island (boingboing.net)

The problem with this reality of D.C. is illustrated by several references in the article, most-pointedly the city clinging to the grandiose visions of the 20^th Century as opposed to leading America in a new century of urbanism; and the large, often hot and empty spaces that cannot be utilized easily by the public.

Proponents of changing the mall cite a desire of many Washingtonians for a streetcar system, and for returning the mall to a state of civic usefulness and enjoyment, a “Central Park of Washington.”

The issue of monumentalism presented in the article brings up several interesting facets of human behavior as it relates to architecture and the built environment. The first is the determination to preserve the mall as it is, a “grand and imperial city that overawes tourists.” I cannot explain this, but perhaps a century of collective memory has generated a vast cultural value for the mall. We all know what the capitol looks like and stands for, and perhaps there is the implication that changing the physical structure of the city will change the non-physical status and values of the country and people it represents.

What is also interesting is the idea of postcard D.C. being placed above human D.C. This notion reinforces current trends of our society’s obsession with the image and the belief that the way things look is more important than the way they actually are. As technological development has accelerated, this trend has become more prevalent. The camera is often viewed as an infallible observer, the only device capable of capturing the truth. Further, these images can be transported far greater distances and to greater numbers of people than raw experiences can. Even if one has never been to D.C. or the mall, they are likely to have seen dozens if not hundreds of images of the capitol.

This value placed on digital tools and images over experience and real space extends further into architecture and urbanism. Many new developments are planned from a birds-eye view using aerial images, a position that could not be further removed from the people who walk the streets. Architectural projects are often sold on the merits of the rendered images, 2D graphics of the way something may look, but not how it will actually be for users to occupy.

I suppose what is most interesting about monumentalism is the idea that the value of a city can be contained in, and defined by, images. This absurb, but not impossible, proposition reminds me of Colonel Korn in Catch-22 who is perpetually obsessed with aerial photographs of tight bomb patterns. The photographs, in fact, are far more important that if the bombs even hit the target.

Perhaps preserving the monumentalism of D.C. helps to preserve the grandiose ideals and optimism of the 20^th Century, an attempt to counterbalance the turmoil and schizophrenia of the modern world by seeing a different, and familiar, built reality. What do you think?

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The following paragraphs will seek to shed some light on the anthropological drivers of this behavior and the role it plays in architecture.

One of the effects of this trend seems to be the artificial creation of inaccessibility; a divide between architects and the public, particularly in academia. Architects build for people and the public, generally speaking, but use language as a social tool to elevate themselves above those they build for. Why might this be?

In regards to communications between architects and the general public, the use of language may be a costly display to advertise their own knowledge and intelligence, to inspire, and to concretize their place as a trusted builder. On the level of the profession, jargon may serve to establish the profession as a social group with its own social norms and traits. Similar to how different dialects are one defining element of different peoples and cultures, language used by architects may set them apart from other professions and peoples.

If we assume the profession of architecture can be classified as a social group, several other social and selective factors come into play that may contribute to the prevalence of jargon and superfluous language.

The first that comes to mind is conforming to social norms. According to the article “The Evolution of Ethnic Markers” (see Conforming to Social Norms),  adapting to marker traits, such as dialects, increases one’s own reproductive success and helps to ensure one’s place in a given social group. In the profession of architecture, adapting this marker trait may help architects to be more socially accepted and respected by their peers and support the success of their careers. If the profession as a group has certain social traits that define it, conforming to these norms will benefit all members according to anthropological theory.

Further, architecture is a very competitive profession and as with any group, status is of utmost importance. Language may be used as a tool, or costly display, to advertise intelligence, ideas and education in an attempt to elevate one’s own status and increase one’s own success.

As I mentioned earlier, I observe this behavior more in academia than anywhere else.

Academia, for the most part, places far more emphasis on theory than on practice. Theory, both spoken and written, relies more on language than the physical practice of architecture. With nothing physical to see, occupy, or touch, words become far more important to convey ideas and establish validity and status. As a result, jargon may be far more valuable among academic theorists to establish and define themselves among their peers.

Of course there are exceptions to this trend. In the fall of 2007 I saw Cecil Balmond of ARUP lecture at the Danish Technical University in Copenhagen. He was a clearly brilliant man but was able to deftly and beautifully present his ideas and projects in a manner, and with language, that was accessible to all. This made such an impression upon me that I have remembered it ever since. In my opinion, this did not detract from his brilliance, respectability or status in any way. If anything, it was impressive that he was able to communicate such complicated ideas in a simple way.

So where does this leave architecture? This trend surely affects the social aspect and habits of the profession, but does it also affect what is actually built and the public’s opinion of the profession and built work? This seems plausible. As far is what is actually built and current direction of trends in the profession and academic realms, language and status could play large roles. Architects and theorists who can effectively use jargon and language to convey their ideas and elevate their status may become quite influential. Once their status reaches a certain point, others may copy or emulate their behavior in hopes of increasing their own status and success. Therefore, language and communicative skills may be more important than ideas and more indicative of the direction and trends of the profession, and thereby the built environment. “Good” ideas presented poorly will fail while “bad” ideas presented brilliantly may thrive. Similarly, ideas and communication strategies that are accepted and rewarded in the social environment of architecture will become more successful, common, and popular.

Taken as a whole, language seems to have the power to play a huge role in architecture and the built environment, and jargon may be an adaptive trait to establish a social group, conform to social norms and increase status.

I am very curious about this behavior and the reasons for it, and welcome any thoughts and ideas you may have.

Related articles:

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Image via Wikipedia

Articles with positive themes were emailed far more often than negative or downer articles. After noticing that science articles received a surprisingly high rate of email shares, researchers concluded that articles that inspired awe were the most popular and most likely to be shared.

“More emotional stories were more likely to be e-mailed, the researchers found, and positive articles were shared more than negative ones…They used two criteria for an awe-inspiring story: Its scale is large, and it requires ‘mental accommodation’ by forcing the reader to view the world in a different way.”

Determining the root of this behavioral trend was somewhat trickier. Ideas of reciprocal altruism came up, meaning offering something of value and counting on a return favor in the future, as well as the possibility of status and competition, trying to elevate or maintain social status by portraying oneself and well informed. However, researchers concluded that people were actually seeking “emotional communion”

“Emotion in general leads to transmission, and awe is quite a strong emotion. If I’ve just read this story and that changes the way I understand the world and myself, I want to talk to other about what it means. I want to proselytize and share the feeling of awe. If you read the article and feel the same emotion, it will bring us closer together.”

– Dr. Jonah Berger

Can this research indicate anything about how architectural projects or ideas are valued and shared? I imagine that sharing awe-inspiring experiences or knowledge holds true for architecture. There are many projects – modern, classic and ancient – that we hold in our collective consciousness as being awe-inspiring. The Taj Mahal, Machu Picchu, The Acropolis, Therme Vals, The Alhambra, The City of Arts and Sciences, etc, etc. These are projects that, whether we have seen them or not, we understand to be awe-inspiring and value them accordingly.

What makes us want to tell others about architecture we have seen or (preferably) visited? From personal experience I only share projects that seem to hold a connection to the land, people and environmental forces in creative ways. Others, while I may find them interesting, radical, good or absurd, I do not often find them worth passing on. Of the projects and cities that I remember best and tell people the most about that I have visited, it is always ones that carefully, brilliantly or perhaps subtly addressed the human.

Does the potential for people sharing and spreading the word on architectural projects influence the projects? For example consider the Burj Khalifa and the never ending race for the world’s tallest building.  Its seems that the power of awe is being used in a big way; it is difficult to imagine a building reaching half of a mile into the sky. Is it possible that awe is created but also used as a mechanism to ensure that everyone tells everyone and thereby validates the existence of the tower and concretizes Dubai’s prominence? I am also reminded of the building boom in Beijing prior to the 2008 Olympic Games. The projects were, in their own right, revolutionary, a testament to the building boom and the times, and successfully generated a lot of attention. Now, however, many of the projects and planning schemes are facing criticism for being empty, and for not considering their use and value after the Olympics. These two articles, one by The Architects Newspaper and one by the New York Times, look further into this issue and compare Beijing and Vancouver Olympic construction.

Awe is powerful and probably often overlooked, but research shows that we connect strongly to it and that it influences us to share the experience in order to connect to one another. What types of stories do you share? What architectural projects generate the most awe?

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–      Herbert Simon, Recipient of the Nobel Prize for Economics, 1978

Information has never been more abundant than it is today, and it seems as if the trend will only proliferate in coming years and decades. More information and more outputs and means of absorbing information are inevitable developments. But what will be done with this information. Excesses of information have already begun to show potential drawbacks and weaknesses, such as the attempted Christmas Day bombing in 2009. Authorities asserted that they had all the information, but failed to connect the dots because they simply had too much information to act on (see The Blindness of Surveillance).

As of January 2009, Technorati was had indexed 133 million blogs. As of this writing there have been over 8.4 billion tweets, many of which link to other sources of information. The unprecedented plethora of information is astounding.  Even by only seeking and absorbing in a specific range or niche, the available information is overwhelming. How much information do you absorb each day through various media? How many tweets do you read? How many links do you follow? How many blogs do you read or follow? How many websites do you visit? And don’t forget books, magazines, newspapers, TV, podcasts and conversation.

I personally learn, or at least come in contact with, far more information each day than I can possibly act on. Take this post for example. The stimulus to write this came from one page from one book. Through Google Alerts I found at least half a dozen things more I would like to have done something with, and through twitter perhaps a dozen more. In addition there are easily dozens of more things that I learn, think about or otherwise strike my interest each day.

The point of all of this lead up is where is the line drawn? Or how is information best filtered and utilized? Failure to do so could lead to a paralysis from information overload, or the spiraling habit of gathering information for information’s sake.

Author Timothy Ferris proposes trying a “Low-Information Diet” and “cultivating selective ignorance”, the goal being to eliminate interruptions or distraction that are irrelevant, unimportant or unactionable. He argues that the decreased input frees time and energy for increased output. He encourages readers to only seek and consume information that is directly relevant to what goals they are pursuing and the next steps to be taken.

Can architecture and design suffer from information overload? I think it is entirely plausible that projects, both academic and professional, could sink into stagnation. Case studies, new technologies and materials, systems integration, energy, BIM, statistics and theory could weigh projects down. The balance of research and design could be thrown askew; energy far more concentrated on the information and technology of the project than the people they will house.

However, information can be integrated into architecture in creative and interesting ways that address the people and the city. The Polis Blog has a recent post about Urbanism in the Information Age. Citing the Zero Energy Media Wall project, they highlight the possibilities that thoughtful integration of systems could lead to in terms of information display, communication and social interaction in the city.

“Such possible transformations move beyond communicating building/urban data or displaying art installations to a fleeting audience, instead hinting at the reality of a responsive city that has the potential for self-correcting measures.”

–      ­Andrew Wade

Information, whether input or output, influencing or distracting, is something to be intelligently used.

Related articles:

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• [2b2k] Clay Shirky, info overload, and when filters increase the size of what’s filtered (hyperorg.com)
• Collective knowledge systems (cdixon.org)