I am an anthropologist and environmental psychologist interested in architecture, design, travel, and fermenting things. I sit around, drink coffee, and think about how culture can produce spaces and how spaces and produce cultures. At work, I run around, drink coffee, and build relationships between entrepreneurs, communities, and the spaces they all inhabit.
In August of 2015 I went to Philip Johnson’s Glass House with Sal, as a part of a wild week-and-a-half trip around art and architecture sites in Upstate New York. We were unable to visit the sculpture gallery in full, because it was being renovated. I’ve just heard that it’s open again, however – perhaps another trip is warranted?
Have you been to the Glass House? Will you be planning a trip now that the sculpture gallery is open?
Here are some of the photos I took on our visit. Leave a comment to let me know: could you live in a house with glass walls, if it was secluded as this one is?
Pardon my hiatus. I’ve been doing some soul-searching lately to figure out why I’m working to create content to begin with – also balancing some health issues. I’ve decided to refocus this blog a bit, to hone in on the things that matter most to me: exploring the world through food and design.
At my workplace, and in the larger entrepreneurial ecosystem, there is often talk of whether or not a startup or business has “social impact.” Some people draw a thick line between social entrepreneurs and others. Others — like me — feel firmly that a good business or a good design should inherently be beneficial to the world, as well as self-sustaining and viable as a business. Maybe that’s too tall an order, but I think that wicked challenges produce good results.
I also think that there are two kinds of excellent entrepreneurial solutions: the kind that solve a problem we have right now, delight the customer, and make them say “finally someone saw my problem and offered a solution that works for me!”, and the kind that both recognize and solve a problem that isn’t affecting us yet… but will.
I have the privilege to work with startups of all kinds, including researchers who are putting in the work to determine if their lab-based technology should become some kind of product or service. These people often see and try to solve “future problems.” Given the time it takes to develop technology in the lab, it’s lucky for all of us that some folks are trying to get a jump on these future problems – we would be in a bad spot if we had to wait until the problem occurred to begin working on a solution.
One of my recent fascinations has been with technologies that “pull stuff” from the atmosphere around us. Recurring themes are water and CO2; water because we need it, and CO2 because we’d like to remove it from our atmosphere.
I became interested in these technologies afterI had the pleasure of meeting the team from Global Thermostat – one of several carbon capture companies blossoming forth onto the market. I was captivated by the clarity of the problem they’re addressing: we don’t want CO2 in our atmosphere, but we do want it in a lot of places where it isn’t: greenhouses, manufacturing, fuels. Liquifying and transporting CO2 has shaped the market and made it difficult for some to procure what they need (such as for greenhouses in remote and/or impoverished regions). Companies like Global Thermostat are aiming to disrupt this market — and improve the atmosphere around the world — by pulling CO2 out on site for use where it is needed.
Today I read about a similar effort that I believe is equally important: pulling water. Whether or not people realize it — in the midst of political upheaval, climate change denial, and peak oil worries — access to potable water is one of the most significant issues we will face within our lifetimes. There are things we can weather as a global population (regardless of how unpleasant they are) using human ingenuity: an unstable climate, rapidly changing ecosystems, lack of oil. There are things we cannot weather: no drinking water.
At SXSWeco last year, I had the pleasure of participating in a workshop around speculative design for energy and water as a “linked system,” run by GE’s Digital Solutions fab crew, including Phil Balagtas of Speculative Futures. They outlined a compelling argument: water is at the root of our food, manufacturing, energy, and infrastructure. We need it, and yet we need to also be wary of using potable water for purposes other than consumption. Water and energy production are also inextricably linked, in more ways than we realize. GE is taking a special interest in this critical link between water and energy with some of their speculative design projects.
What other critical issues do you think we face? How do you see design addressing these issues? I’m also very interested in controlled environment agriculture, especially vertical farming – and I see that as clearly tied to both the above technologies.
I’m not a vegan, but I play one in design thinking workshops. Why? Vegan cuisine is a great example of design constraints in action.
Over the years I’ve handed down a lot of design assignments to students and workshop participants. These assignments range from “ideate something that can happen on a cell phone that would help a new person feel welcome in your city” to “create a time-keeping device that expresses your future career goals.” Whatever the goal of the assignment, the reaction is typically the same: people are frustrated by constraints.
When I tell students that their time-keeping device can only be made out of the six objects in the box in front of them (including a rock and a piece of red string), they immediately ask about adding additional items. When I tell workshop participants that their “welcome wagon” must include a cell phone interaction, they ask about building a community center. Some people – at this exact moment in their relationship with me – probably look at me and think What a crazy jerk. If only she’d let me use my idea it would be so good!
So why do I try to constrain design in specific and often weird ways? Because the alternative is watching people flounder for inspiration, stick to what they already know, or bite off more than they can chew. Providing clear and often extreme restraints in a design exercise is the same as guiding a graduate student to pick a very specific thesis topic: it clarifies the work in the long run and prevents important discoveries from being lost under a mountain of other information. In my experience (and I’m probably biased) by the end of these projects, learners see the value of those tight, strange guidelines they were given.
At this point, you’re probably wondering when I’m going to talk about veganism… Well, here it is. I think vegan cuisine makes an excellent case study of how seemingly extreme constraints can lead to a flourishing of innovative solutions.