FERN HOCKLEY-TELLES
N0483444 - Interior Architecture + Design
‘We trace the density and texture of ground through our soles. Standing barefoot, on a smooth glacial rock by the sea at sunset…is a healing experience.’ (Holl, 2007, p.33)
At Therme Vals, Zumthor has used natural stone which goes far beyond its typical abilities or expectations to be textured, cold and hard; he places it amongst such a contextual, atmospherically-lit setting, that it takes on its own character and becomes an integral part of a poignant spa experience. In understanding material compatibility, how one surface will react against another, and the deeply ritual notion of bathing, the architect is able to heighten stone’s ‘primal and as it were ‘culturally innocent’ attributes’ (Zumthor, 2010, p.31) to create an incredibly invigorating, grounding environment, which ‘sets out from and returns to real things.’ (Zumthor, 2010, p.32)
To further validate the importance of a material’s setting and presentation, we can also examine Steven Holl’s architecture that uses man-made, transient architectural surfaces such as glass and painted-plaster. Analysed individually as samples, or even as applied in practical environments such as hospitals, these may seem rather unremarkable: too bright, too sterile and lacking in emotive attributes. However, using these in the correct setting and context, Holl manages to craft similar Phenomenological experiences.
THE ROLE OF MATERIALS IN EXPERIENCING:
Can a material evoke a particular emotion and if so, how does this differ from others?
Having realised the convolution of elements involved in how we interact with our material environments, it is necessary to look at materials in their most simplistic form, their natural properties and character, in order to establish the emotional impact they may have on our experiences.
Whilst we may perceive architecture as a whole, in an instant ‘impact that precedes all definite recognition’ (Dewey, 1980, p.145), there is still evidence that each individual detail contributes to the level and nature of the impact that we feel. Phenomenologists often relate this to art, particularly in Impressionism which radiates atmosphere, and where ‘the formal and structural ingredients in the works of these artists are deliberately supressed for the benefit of an embracing and shapeless atmosphere…’ (Pallasmaa, 2014, p.234) – yet we still read the individual brush strokes, the colour of the paint and the texture, so the material is inherent in our perception.
Considering a building as ‘an anatomy…a bodily mass, a membrane’ (Zumthor, 2006, p.23), materials are like the skin that touches us and so in sensing them, we must surely associate specific ideas and feelings to their physical or mechanical properties. Studies carried out to investigate the human perception of specific materials through interaction with samples, such as ‘Touching Materials Visually’ for the International Journal of Design, confirm this:
‘In all test conditions brickwork was associated with rough, blue stone with cold, steel with glossy, and wood with warm…Participants described expressive characteristics and associative meanings of the materials throughout all sensory test conditions. Examples of expressive characteristics are cozy, industrial, or modern.’ (Wastiels et al., 2013)
When examining the result of these studies, combined with further reading on architectural experiences, it is possible to predict simple connections between a material and the kind of impression it will create. For example, pine panels, smooth to touch, with a light aesthetic tone and a subtle aroma of a wood, is the embodiment of warmth and calm, and will have an equally relaxing effect on a person. Whereas, a space hollowed out of rough, cold stone and sharp angles will be less comfortable, intrusive, even fear-provoking.
However, linking a material to how we sense it at a very simple level, i.e, ‘brick is rough’, is not enough to understand how it will create an atmosphere, or how it will have the capability to deeply move us in a phenomenological way; especially since one material can take on such a variety of appearances, ‘Material is endless.’ (Zumthor, 2006, p.25) We may imagine a jagged rock to be uninteresting and uncomfortable however, there are examples of architecture where it has been used to create an incredibly relaxing and tranquil space and in fact, it would seem a phenomenological piece of architecture is often so when materials are used in an entirely different way to how we would technically define them. So an emotive experience, I believe, has less to do with the actual material and its physicality, and more to do with the setting that an architect creates for it: its placement, its scale, its finish and ability to age, and its relationship with light.
As previously mentioned, the rawness and visible narrative to such ‘concrete things’ as mountain and earth, that on their own may seem too bare and hard, can give a space a sense of solidarity and safety in which users can find a restorative, calming comfort:
In the same way that Zumthor can harness the transient aura of reflections, a completely weightless and intangible effect, into an atmospheric feeling, ‘a feeling…for the reflection of light upon water, for the diffusion of light through steam-filled air’ (Zumthor, 1997, p.11), Holl uses these empty materials to enhance a sense of existence, of life and ‘being’; It is almost as if these materials do not exist within a space, they are ‘non-materials’, and so architecture becomes a floating cloud, with its own ethereal quality, that allows users to become fully aware of their experience.
If we then disregard the labeling of material or immaterial, (earth or air), aesthetic (black or white) or tactile properties (rough or smooth), perhaps we could suggest that, in terms of its qualities, an architectural skin must simply have softness, an unobtrusive ambiguity that is open to interpretation, and therefore evokes a somewhat spiritual and calming phenomenological experience. In his book, ‘In Praise of Shadows', Tanizaki writes of the discomfort and distaste felt surrounding materials that are too bold, too hard, too loud:
‘Ceramics are heavy and cold to the touch; they clatter and clink…I know few greater pleasures than holding a lacquer soup bowl in my hands, feeling upon my palms the weight of the liquid and its mild warmth…like that of a newborn baby.’ (Tanizaki, 1977)
This further supports the idea that whether architects utilise materials or more ephemeral substances, their properties must emit comfort and warmth, softness and passivity that puts users at ease. Materials and surfaces that are too intrusive, like the ‘clatter and clink’ of ceramic, will only force themselves on a person, and prevent them from creating their own perception; they will have a less positive and shallow experience of the architecture, whereas, materials that are ‘a self-evident part of their surroundings – saying ‘I am as you see me and I belong here’’ (Zumthor, 2010, p.17), are open to unique, phenomenological experiences.
With these qualities in mind, it is easier to understand how metal, which can often be seen as quite cold and clinical, even intimidating, creates a sense of calm and relaxation at Libeskind’s Garden of Love and Fire. The architect explains the piece ‘is comprised of flat pieces of metal placed next to and in front of each other. The feel is that of a vertical/horizontal labyrinth.’ (Libeskind, 1992). Yet as a ‘labyrinth’, this meditation garden is also deeply tranquil as the stillness and reflectivity of the metal is like that of water. The material has a quiet presence, and so allows for the context and setting of the piece to speak volumes.
It could then be suggested that a material that appears too functional, too technical, will also lessen the opportunity for a phenomenological experience; in addition to softness and ambiguity as more effective experience-enhancing material qualities, there must also be simplicity; ‘the environment influences human beings, and this implies that the purpose of architecture transcends the definition given by early functionalism’ (Norberg-Schulz, 1980, p.5); Evidently, each material has its own properties and technical abilities which will affect how it is received within a space, but perhaps it cannot be stated that one material will produce one emotion, when perhaps every material is capable of producing every emotion depending on the setting and context that it dwells.
Furthermore, it would seem that in scientific studies we are trying to establish a feeling from materials in the wrong way, by focusing on visible or tangible properties that we all perceive differently anyway; I think there is evidence within this chapter which suggests potential for studies to examine how the subtlety and ambiguity with which materiality is presented can affect us.