The Garden is the web as topology. The web as space. It’s the integrative web, the iterative web, the web as an arrangement and rearrangement of things to one another.
Brutalism was an attempt to create an architectural ethic, rather than an aesthetic. It had less to do with materials and more to do with honesty: an uncompromising desire to tell it like it is, architecturally speaking.
In fact, many architects, urban
planners, sociologists, psychologists, geographers, and scholars and practitioners in related disciplines argue that as our media have
become ever more virtual, the design and development of our physical spaces—through architecture, landscape design, and urban and
regional planning—have become even more important. If our media and our built spaces do not follow the same evolutionary paths,
what is the relationship between these two fields of production and experience?
In fact, I would argue that the introduction of metaspheres—of online and offline spaces that are both real and different worlds—have bifurcated these concepts so that we have more than one notion of public or of private. There can be private acts in public space, public records of very private information, an insistence on privacy that stands parallel to a persistence in frequent public disclosure.
It’s the deindustrialized locations that lend themselves best to raving. Architectural exoskeletons of buildings that once were full of people and their work—beautiful ghosts, just like exes. Tonight, the warehouse is lit blue and there’s just dance.
Designed for human beings, it supports a mind, living in the dimensions of space and time. They are Interfaces that are sensible about where things lay. Like a well designed building, they’re easy to traverse through. One space flows into the other, without surprise.
“You know how an architect doesn’t just design the visual façade of a building, but the whole thing? – from the materials to internal construction, how people navigate the space, and how the building as a whole will affect the environment and the people in and around it? That’s what I do, but for software.”
Web browser design, however, has stagnated: we surf one page at a time, with back/forward buttons to travel through recent history. Tabs let us explore many pages at once, but retain no information about their relationship to one another
The battleground on which this right to the future is being fought today is the impact of streaming monopolies and their suffocation of alternatives. I, for one, am acutely aware of the fact that my access to culture is severely limited compared to ten years ago. So many things are available online, but they also take a lot more effort and financial heft to access than they once did. The other media we consume – MP3s and physical records, DVDs and books – are often made to feel like legacy media by the new streaming monopolies of platform capitalism. The likes of Spotify and Netflix want us to feel like newness is at our fingertips at all times but the reality is that what is on offer on these platforms is infrequently original and more limited than was previously available on the high street or in the darkened corners of peer-to-peer torrent sites, which have since either died a death or otherwise been clamped down upon by capitalist institutions over the last decade. This accessibility and diversity was supposedly reduced in order to save the music industry from piracy but streaming monopolies remain controversial for failing to sustain the cultural production they directly rely on.
In this final work he wondered, more generally, what the reciprocal relationship between cultural production and psychoanalysis looked like at the end of the twentieth century.
Having read Deleuze as a student, this sort of questioning was present within many of Mark Fisher’s writings also, albeit updated and made more accessible through his books, blog posts and other writings on the pop-cultural landscape of the present.