Indefinite Curiosities

View of the Crystal Cove from my airplane seat.

As I take my last few walks throughout the city it’s a sad moment for me not because I am leaving, but because the environments and spaces that I have come to frequent have changed in their nature. The antique bird markets have now been overtaken with parking spaces for buses. Musicians who used to fill the streets no longer do so because of the sheer number of tourists coming and going forcing them to either go home, or fight to be heard. Even the cafés have a different air to them, announcing the start of the tourism season.

It’s fleeting… the sound that is. Lasting for only a few seconds, hitting every surface while splitting into millions of fragments, evolving into echoes. And yet, it is so paramount in telling the narrative of the city. One day, the sounds I’ve recorded over the past few months will have become nostalgic in the same way we listen to the music of the 1950s or an old radio broadcasting telling the mystery of a detective in New York. It say’s something to the anthropological nature of the work, becoming a fly on the wall, fly in the soup, and a fly in the eye.

Sound, more importantly music, had a distinct purpose in my life in Paris. Whether it was in way-finding, encouraging discoveries of spaces not seen by an eye, moving the body, or changing the mood of a street it enhanced the architecture in a way that architecture could not achieve itself.

I know I haven’t blogged (I don’t really like that word) over the last week, but I honestly didn't think anyone was reading so I retreated back to my thoughts giving the ideas time to marinade in my head before I wrote them down. Don’t worry in the coming days and weeks, I will, and depending on the publisher’s thoughts you might be able to read them here. I’ll be doing a complete overhaul of the website changing it from blog to a reservoir of sensations, memories, and intelligible findings of my time here (fingers crossed). For those of you who have been reading this blog, you were the lucky few because I didn't really publicize it, or gave it the graphic identity I would have. I just wanted it to be pure thoughts and words. For the past two months, I think it has been, but now the real work starts (the publicizing, marketing, identity package, the business of the beast), and I won’t stop until I’ve reached a point of thick description, until something is learned, until the itch, the curiosity is satiated.

From Paris, this is Matthew Jamieson Abiva signing off. I’ll be enjoying my new view soon.

Meeting Francoise.

I first saw her in silhouette.

One leading, the other living a life narrated by the voice of the other, it would not be long until they reached my table.

Sitting atop the café in L’Pompidou Centre, I spent hours watching the silhouettes walk by. In the late morning, a surging wash of visitors would paint the concrete floor, both in the sharpness of their line and in the blurred states of their shadows. The effect is renewing and steady. However today, I found something distinctly different. I reached for the camera to document the moment for the fear that no one would believe what would happen next.

There she was, blind.

I saw the two friends traverse the interior space arriving at the foot of the escalator beneath me. So all at once, I captured the moment. I wondered what her imagination had shown her at L’Pompidou Centre and as the thought left me, I returned to my writing.

Without reason, I looked up to search for a friend that would never come and it was then that I heard them, the blind woman and her friend.

“Francoise, we’re coming up to a glass topped table now. The seats are lined with some red crushed velvet fabric, and the frame is curved steel ok darling. There are two other tables beside this one, and they are empty. You can sit here love. I’m going to go get some food for us, what would you like to have?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all Jenny. You choose.”

Francoise was listening intently but I could tell that her eyes, dormant underneath her skin, were somewhere else. She looked up as if she could see, emerging from below the level of the water into her first gasp of air. Jenny’s description lifted her through the liquid ceiling that comes with being blind, and she could breathe again.

With a rough sketch of her surroundings, Francoise moved to her hands aged with beauty and yet pregnant with the curiosity of a child. They were feeling, touching, seeing everything out of sight. The painting in her head was not yet finished and I had a chance to be a part of that image, imagination, she needed only to hear me.

To be continued…

The Great Impression

No matter how old I get, no matter how senile, how absent-minded, I will never forget the feeling of watching Paris transform from winter to spring. For this California kid, after twenty three years of living, I've finally experienced a true season. I apologize for not posting more, but sometimes I feel life should be lived, not narrated. Spring in Paris, is definitely one of those times. More to come soon.

The Secret

The aspect I love most about this city is the general attention to craftsmanship in all aspects of life. Just the simple ritual of drinking tea has been brought up into the level of godliness, and the French have mastered a way of finding passions each person is good at, thus becoming ambassadors of their art. So I'll share with you a secret... This art is more beautiful than anything in the Louvre herself, because it is the art of Parisian life. An art lived, experienced every day.

Imagination in an Invisible Paris

"For me, blindness has a lot to do with imagination. It's a constant imagination actually. You imagine everything, what you smell, what you feel, or what you hear. So sometimes we want to really stop and enjoy with all of our senses... sometimes there is no time to just smell or to just listen."

-Sabriye Tenberken, blinded at the age of 12, is the co-founder of Braille Without Borders

There has been a lot of confusion or perhaps a lack of understanding from the design community as to why I am conducting sound research in Paris, or as to why I came to the 'City of Lights' to literally be blind. Some would go as far to call it masochism. So I felt that now would be an appropriate time to share this quote with you from Sabriye Tenberken because it is so dead on in its description of my experience here that it hurts.

Again, Reasons which may have not been clear from the beginning

The first school for the blind, L'Institute National des Jeunes Aveugles or INJA (Royal Institution for Blind Youth) started in Paris in the year 1784 by Valentin Hauy.

Braille is a system used by the blind to read and write. It was discovered by a blind Frenchman, Louis Braille who attended the INJA.

During the 1800s most organs in the cathedrals of Paris were played by blind musicians, one of which was Andre Marchal who served as the primary organist of L'Eglise Saint Germain des Pres.

Raymond Carver's Cathedral

We can gain so much from understanding the visually impaired by celebrating their experiences in design rather than diminishing them to a singular check mark for code. I know I'm going to be excommunicated for this, but it's really not just about the money shot. If I can design a building that makes a visually impaired person say "Wow" then I know I've done my job for the day and I can sleep well.

-Matt

The 'Pursuit of Silence' In a World full of Noise

A new book from writer George Prochnik. Some studies include the relationship of music and alcohol consumption in restaurants in France, as well as its energetic power in retail spaces. Additionally he promotes the use of new technologies and materials in sound proofing such as a silencing machine or silencing cloak.

For those of you asking how sound can be used in design... here's your answer.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125511963

In the movie Vanilla Sky

Tom Cruise's character woke up to a deserted New York City. Today I woke up to a deserted Paris. Where is everyone?!

L'Mariage de Marion et Louis-Marie

At times, I find it extremely hard to write on this blog because the days unfold like movies, movies which I have a hard time believing myself. And yet it's better than a movie, because it's life -- my life here in Paris. For my thesis at USC with Prof. Annie Chu, I naively created this term called 'erlebnis erafhrung effect' which is defined as an individual living through an event or an experience in which emotional responses are evoked. Every day here in Paris has evoked emotional responses, has executed the EEE, but today's recordings were on a completely different level.

When I was younger, I was obsessed with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, so I am always observing the scenery around me with the eyes and ears of a detective. I clued into the wedding 30 minutes before it started because the entire parking lot in front of Louis Vuitton was empty except for one lone Aston Martin DB9-it may have nothing to do with the wedding, but I new something was up. Then I noticed some women tying lilies to the chairs along the aisle, and I also saw a number of instrument cases strewn across the floor of the choir area. I knew something must have been up, so I waited and then I saw the family filing in as if it were a promenade. Luckily, I was dressed to the nines today, so no one mistook me as a tourist even though I was surrounded by long-tailed suits and hats that made the women look like moving sculptures from another time. So I sat down just to the right of the bride and groom, and in the time of two hours, this is some of what I heard:

1. The sound of wedding vows echo through a church, a confident "oui, je t'aime" from a man to his future wife...

2. The sound of a family cheer on their newest extended family...

3. Two best friends wishing the couple a happy life together...

4. The sound of the entire wedding party surrounding the new bride and groom and singing them a song of good fortune as they skip out of the church...

5. A glissando from l'orgue, sortie avec l'orgue... incredible.

I didn't even know these people, but I was still moved. Today's recording was so different that the others because it was a familial effort, hundreds of voices singing in a tone so cheerful that it felt warmer than the sun coming into the church. I still wonder, how can I achieve the same emotional response that a composer achieves in a piece of music in the experience of a building? Any suggestions?

I have so much work to do beyond this fellowship to answer that question, but I am moving forward, blindly. (pun intended-when are they not?)

To Marion and Louis-Marie... Thank you for letting me be a part of your day. Cheers, and a long life to you both!

Daniel Kahneman: The riddle of experience vs. memory | Video on TED.com

Daniel Kahneman: The riddle of experience vs. memory | Video on TED.com

Thanks Victor for sharing the post with me.

A day in the life of Matt

Days like this are so creatively stimulating I have to force myself to stop, just to send oxygen to my brain.

Mondays are usually the one day where I leave the docket empty and I make it up as I go. Here's my Monday docket for April 5, 2010. I wrote this one down because one day, when I can no longer do these things, I want to remember how amazing a day can become when everything is left to chance.

1. No surprises here, start the day off with a walk along the Seine

I decided not to take the metro today since it was the first day in a long while where the sun was strong enough to warm my back. I had intentions of going to the Petite Palais to do some more research, but the walk along the Seine was so therapeutic that I kept walking with no real desire to get anywhere fast.

Breakfast of Champions

2. Listen to the saxophonist under the bridge, Passarelle Léopold-Sédar Senghor

He played Edith Piaf's 'La Vie en Rose' for me while I sat and watched the boats pass by. Don't worry, I've got it recorded if you're interested in hearing it.

'La Vie en Rose'

3. Make a creative note about my dream home

I continued my walk to the docks along the Champs-Élysées. I took notice of the colors of the boats, colors worn down by the river, by the sea. One of the side projects I'm working on involves finding spaces in Paris that comfort me and designing a program to pull swatches from these spatial memories. So far, I've got about nine color harmonies. They have inspired rooms in my dream 'studio' as well as future fashion statements I may one day make.

4. Forget about time

I followed the Seine, stopping here and there to sketch or make a recording, and three hours later I found myself in front of the Eiffel Tower.

OK Eiffel tower, you got me this time...

5. A quiche lorraine with a view

After deciding to take a quick break, I went into the café at the architecture museum at the Trocadero. It has the best view of the Eiffel and you can have an amazing lunch for just about eight euro. I stayed there and watched the light change. I read a few lines of Munari, wrote a few lines myself and continued to get lost in the city.

The light.

6. Research for children's book

I ended up in the Nautical Museum of Paris, where I ended up taking about 300 photos. Sorry, I have a weak spot for these kinds of things, and I swear everything in this museum got me excited to continue this story I'm working on. Coming to a pair of hands on you soon...

This woman in beech wood, caught my eye and my attention for 30 minutes

Studying the hidden landscapes in nautical rope

Diving Bells and Butterflies.

Light house light bulbs... I wonder how man Frenchmen it takes to change this one.

7. Walk back, high tea

Now it was about four in the afternoon. In London, four means tea time! So I walked back to the Louvre to have high tea in my secret place, Mariage Fréres. The one I go to has an incredible atmosphere, and they usually play cuban jazz which fills the air with this aura of a time long ago.

This is an image of the downstairs seating area... I have yet to clandestinely take photos of the incredible space above.

8. Regatta

More research on the book... I watched a regatta which is my way of describing french kids sailing toy boats at the Tuileries. Today, all the boats were rented out so I just sat back and watched them sail away. The neon colors of the sails and the sound of kids running on the gravel always stays in my mind.

I think I'll miss this the most.

9. Shakespeare and Co.

This bookshop across from Notre Dame is where I spend many of my evenings into nights because of two reasons: they always have a reading on Monday nights and it's generally the best time to go because all of the artists and intellectuals from the Latin Quarter leave their studios to get in some good poetry.

Mr. Calder reciting poems from his book 'Solo.' notice how moved the girl (Gemma) on the right is...

10. Meet someone famous, be inspired, take their advice and 'fly solo'

Today's reading was by John Calder. If you don't know him, he's a famous poet, writer, and publisher. I listened to him read a few of his poems, and we got to talk afterwards. From what he says, Samuel Beckett was quite the character in his day. I told him about the project I was working on in Paris, and he told me to stay a while so he could read me a poem he wrote called 'Solo.' He said it might inspire me...

11. End the day with the sunset along the Seine

Like a close friend of mine who just celebrated her birthday, this one never gets old.

Good night Paris. You've made my Monday.

Excerpts from the Traumatic Fantasies

Her eyes were wet like glass.

Clear and deep, they were the only feature of her body that echoed a life once lived. Her feathers so black, so vapid gave off a thick perfume of ash and smoke. You could touch her skin with your eyes. The organ was so leathered by the fire that it draped a blanket across her large frame causing it to disappear into the now soot painted walls. The new camouflage would not help her here.

She had died a second time.

The feathers had burned off of her coat but their tips, fragmented, were attached to the body as if she had turned into a flightless porcupine atop the legs of a small giraffe. If you shook her, remnants of her burnt self would fall to the floor like fire flakes, snowing. She had no purpose but to continue to stare and watch as the rest of her frozen body burned amongst the electrical wiring.

Who will take her picture now?

It's important to me to be able to write descriptively and imaginatively about experiences I encounter because when we design, we must inherently create a space, an image, and describe it. Like a detective, the mind has to be as small as an ant, and walk every surface of the space or object, explore every shadow and have an intimate relationship with the unseen surroundings. If I can't draw a space at first, I'll write about it. This is a design exercise that works best when describing mundane things which force you to change scales such as olive oil and balsamic vinegar, locks on a door, or the proper way to eat a hard boiled egg. For my ten lucky readers, I can post others in time so you can understand more about these mental exercises I make for myself. Just let me know in the comments section.

If you ever see me in some sort of a haze or deep thought, I am usually doing one of these exercises. This is the first time though that I've told anyone what I was really thinking about. Hopefully you can gain something from it.

The space here is a section of the taxonomy shop in Paris called Deyrolle which burned in a tragic fire.

Our lady, a stuffed ostrich:

Noisy Neighbors

Paris treats its musicians well, and every day I'm starting to memorize these different sound environments. The musicians here perform in the same way that one uses icons and landmarks to navigate through the city. Each musician creates a sonic neighborhood, which offers new avenues for mapping out urban experience in cities similar to Paris. Not that I ever get tired of drawing Nolli plans... Did he just say urbanism? I could hear the same studies being done in London, New York, New Orleans or Barcelona. In addition to music, sound promotes urban experiences through relationships between pedestrian protection, scale, green space, wet space, transportation, and even temporary events such as flea markets or art exhibitions.

Back in Los Angeles, a mentor of mine told me he always found transitional spaces to be key players in design, and after having gone through maybe 400 or so sound recordings, I couldn't agree more. The way the sound behaves when transitioning through space is gradual. It never turns itself on or off like an ipod. It just fades into an echo. In fact, most times, I feel that the city sounds and the music I hear is even more beautiful when you hear it from a distance reflecting off of the facades a million times a second. It definitely adds to the quality of life index to the life of Parisians.

Usually design wants to stop sound from coming in. It may pertain to the sound of a local train, or an airplane landing just down the bay, or the infamous noisy neighbors... here, at least for me that's definitely not the case. De-De-Definitely.

Un Claude Deux Claude

Monet and Debussy were the two who led me to this watercolor. There is a reason and a relationship, but I will divulge those ideas at a more appropriate time. For now, we can be content knowing that I can start to visual my ideas and process driven research. If you think you know what it's going to look like in the end, you are assuming too much because the creative office has yet to wrap its head around the analysis, but things are starting to surface.

"If you already know the answer to the question, then why ask?"

Sound is merely what we hear when we listen. We're not dealing with sound, we're understanding processes of listening. Sense of hearing, not sense of sound... I realize this will probably make no sense at all, and most of this is stream of consciousness, but I feel its important to write it anyways. Don't forget, the world was once flat.

Afterthoughts

A reservoir of sensations: the habits and habitats I will learn to draw upon when I no longer live in a place that can satiate my curiosities regarding phenomenology. I doubt that day will ever come because even a place like New Jersey can create amazing designers.

Tulips at the Tuileries

Saturday morning Football

Walks along the west bank

Watching the city turn Green

Reading along Pont Neuf

Learning how much I need to work on my strategies as a chess player...

Atmosphere

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm not going to give you a picture, but perhaps 1,000 words, ok more like 500... Don't be lazy, use your imagination. It's more fun that way.

Today, after a long night with some friends from Como, I had a relaxed brunch at a familiar spot called Le Pain Quotidien just off of Rue St. Honore. Familiar not because I had been there before, but because it had reminded me of a time back in California with great friends and incredible memories. The amazing part of the meal was that I sat at the same communal table, and I was a part of a sort of pseudo-family. To my left was a young bloke, no more than seven who thought it proper to push the chair to my right with his short legs and pretend as if there was some sort of a spirit lurking about the table. The rest of his family, a group of five or so, continued their conversations as friends of theirs made their way into the café and joined us at the table. Double kisses on the cheek for everyone there. Across the way was an older woman, straight out of an old Zola novel. Her hair neatly pressed, sporting a fine man's driving cap and a smile that could stop a horse. She noted the fact that I was sketching, and I am pretty sure she turned her head so that I could view a better angle of her face. Directly to my right, were two young women who couldn't stop laughing about who knows what. It didn't even matter because it made me laugh non-stop as well. Everything was covered in an old distressed wood, so much so that a few of the planks below foot would pop up if stepped on by a hard heel leaving a sort of undulating landscape of textured wood. Aside from the food, the air was thick with the smell of salted butter melting onto fresh bread. The drinks, fresh citronnade, sharp and full of sweet pulp. If you were finished with your meal, a waiter would casually walk you to the door, ask you if you enjoyed your meal, and then continue with the logistics of paying and what not. Afterwards, they would see you out. Of course most people didn't leave promptly because it felt as if we were dining together in someone's home. You never leave after you eat a meal at a friend's home. You stay, converse, chat, so that's what we did. What I loved about this place is that it was instructional. A sensuous map about everything you need for a great experience that you won't discover in a picture. There was no fast-pace dance music playing in the background, no silly waiters dressed to look more 'french,' and of course no tourist section of the restaurant. The sound was just of people enjoying themselves. The space was simple, intimate, and warm. Every table, communal. No one ate alone... not even the weird kid from Los Angeles trying to find answers to questions he doesn't even know how to ask in French.

And yet isn't that the point? So you close your eyes, and your 5500 miles away, back in Claremont enjoying, enjoying.

Freud

"My idea of travel is downward travel really, getting to know where you are better, and exploring feelings that you know more deeply. I always think that this--knowing something by heart gives you a depth of possibility which has more potential than seeing new sights, however marvelous and exciting they may be."

Lucien Freud

British Painter, grandson of Sigmund Freud

I have been lucky enough to live the life of a renaissance man here in Paris. The verbs exercised in my everyday life are wake up, walk, think and write. One day, I'll elaborate upon the issues that have been surfacing in my head, but it would be premature to do so now, so I'll give them time to marinade. It was only through the process of listening that I came to these ideas, so if I had to give you a hint as to what this is about... one day, there will be a design course that I may teach entitled "Sense and Nonsense: Redesigning the Brain."

ABIVA © 2010.

Back to the café to think some more.

" "

Listening to a certain jazz trio here in Paris, for some reason, always leaves me excited about my work as a designer. Whether it's being completely fascinated by their kinaesthesia and how that relates to sign language, or mapping out the many ways one can play upright bass--the sounds you can achieve when you treat it like a drum, I always walk away with some inkling, some sort of new perspective.

During our dinner tonight after their set, I had a chance to talk with Ziggy, Jeff, and Christine about their work how they started so on and so forth. At one point during the dinner, Jeff and Christine stepped out, so I asked Ziggy, 'What is the hardest part of playing the guitar?' Now just so you can picture him, Ziggy is half French, a quarter Taiwanese, and a quarter African, elegantly dressed in a suit, hair slicked back, sporting a classic smile.

After he takes a sip of wine, he asks me why I want to know that, and I tell him that it's important to know the struggles that any creative person has to undergo because you appreciate their work that much more. So he tells me, "The hardest thing about playing the guitar is the silence. You see, guitar players don't need to stop playing to take a breath, they can fill the room with notes both complex and technically challenging, but the silence is the most important aspect." I asked him why, and he said "Silence is the only time when you can think of a sound, and use your imagination to fill it in. People in the crowd will hear silence, and they'll fill in whatever note or scale they want. If I keep playing really fast notes I get bored, the crowd gets bored. It's the silence that brings them back in. Jazz can't exist without the silence in between."

I had never thought to consider the silence.

So now you're wondering... why do I care, what is Matt talking about, this is weird... The merit here reveals itself when you consider the silence in design of cities, public spaces, even the home. What design allows for the crowd to fill in the space with their imagination?

Rewind

I realized just now, that in my effort to move forward with a project that has been almost two years in the making, I forgot explain just exactly what I am doing in Paris. It is a little bit funny since so many of you sort of followed along without any real understanding of what I am trying to achieve. So here is the proposal that won me the 2009 Jon A. Jerde Traveling Fellowship:

Abstract

When we see a musical instrument, we know something about its textural quality, its craftsmanship, and its tone. It evokes a mood and emotion, and we can hear the visual sound projecting from its form. And yet, a violin is often best experienced through the other senses, in this case hearing, because it provides a more human experience.

The same can be said of the city of Paris.

Theoretical context

In trying to understand genus loci, or the spirit of a place, visual stimulus should be taken into account, but what of sound, touch, and temperature... All of these sensorial aspects work together as a composite to form a composition of multi-sensory experience.

What does a chapel in Paris after Sunday morning mass sound like, and why does the space command your silence? Why does it not? What are the environmental sounds tied to the high streets of London and how does that change our experience of the architecture? What is it about the sounds and sights of Quincey Market that make it feel comfortable, what are these sensibilities?

It's indisputable that although the eyes and the ears are two different senses, when working together in the composition of a space, the effect is much more memorable. What I wish to achieve is a different means of documenting the architectural experience of a place. We cannot divorce ourselves from the power of vision, but when we consider it within a larger context of the human senses, I believe we can achieve a value that is honest and of this place and time.

Proposal

I propose to study this phenomenon at different architectural scales. I plan on visiting Paris, the ostensible city of lights, in order to document the soundscapes in each urban environment. I have chosen specific places to document because they have been aurally etched into my memory, and I constantly find myself looking back on those experiences, painstakingly trying to bring that element of grace into the work.

This in no means will satiate the understanding of experience in a place, but I hope it will at least open the flood gates for discussion.