Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Vision Quest, Part 1

Here are the responses (and card images) from the twelve Vision Quest exercises presented for my individual final:

My Eyes:



5: As a narcissist, I loved this one!
4: Enjoyed being able to look at other eye and not just from a mirror.


Angle Eye:



2: Hard without glasses, and the tubes got in the way of viewing.
1: There just wasn't enough image by the time it gets out of the periscope. With larger lenses, it could be interesting.


Back Eyes:



3: It was hard to see without my glasses but it was cool
2.3: Hard to incorporate visuals into spatial relation to self.


Lizard Eyes:



3.5: Can really only see from one eye, but that one eye really gives a great experience.
3: A new type of seeing double articulation


Cross Eyes:



4: Fun, hard to switch from eye to eye
3.5: This is great after spending a while looking - your eyes kind of swap places so blue is red/red is blue. Takes some time though.


Dino Eyes:



5+++: This was a total head-f**k. The stereoscopic effect was amazing. I was amazed at the extreme 3-D in conjunction with the lack of depth of field.
5: The best part was discovering the correlation between visual depth of field and physical-spatial depth.

Vision Quest, Part 2

Double-Up:



3: Tunnelography
2: Similar to angle eyes, once again, a very small image by the time it gets through the periscope.


The Elephant and the Mouse:




3: Great different perspectives.
3.5: Double perspective: high and low self relation to world from diminished and elevated standpoint.


Tummy Eyes:



3: Lower center of gravity!
3.5: It's like being super short, better to watch someone using them because it throws you off completely.


Giraffe Eyes:



4: Hard with glasses again, but it was really interesting to see above my height level
5: I felt TALL for the first time. Also, just dislocating vision from the area between my nose/forehead.

Downward Eyes:



4.5: Body centered vision, chest/hand centered self
5: So cool! Great experience to have your eyes ha a focused new view


Upward Eyes:



4: Combination regular vision and upward is interesting
5: It was really cool to see the ceiling when you walk around

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Memory

While going over the list of projects I realized I never got this posted. It is my response to the week on smell and memory.

Memory

The past week has been full of rich experiences worthy of discussion, from the breadth of flavors and smells in Spanish wine to the marvel of consciously constructed disability architectural environments. One of the most striking was the impact of language on perceptual experience.

The simple act of naming causing the object in question conform to a hyper-real mold, almost a Platonic solid, crystallizing some central, essential aspect while also causing the edges, the periphery to almost vanish. I have long considered naming things to be both a creative and a destructive act, but I have rarely experienced and consciously observed such a poignant example of this as I did during the smell class. While many of the scents that first eluded me became clearer once I heard the associated name, it was pear that was the most shocking. My initial take on smelling the oil was of something very fruity—perhaps a berry (though it smelled like several) or maybe even a very sweet flower (again indistinct, but recalling something very essentially floral). Each time I returned to smell it, one of the sidenotes would come forward and force me to reevaluate my sense of the smell. Until I found out it was pear. Pears happen to be one of my favorite fruits and often the first bite will take me back to a particular day when I was probably around six years old and my dad had brought me and my brothers several small, fresh picked pears back from Rinconada. They were gold and red the way only sun ripened fruit can be and each fit in my then tiny palm. Each bite was taste-bud heaven; the sweet pear flesh releasing juicy perfection out of the tiny granules, the texture so unique to pears. This moment forever caused pears to stand out among fruits. So imagine my surprise when this many berried many flowered aroma was pear. I smelled it again and suddenly, inexplicably, all I could smell was pear. Gone was all the confusion, replaced by pure conviction. A laser beam of complete understanding that this, THIS was pear. And yet, gone also was the mystery. The breadth of possibility, the potential for this to be any number of smells, not just a Jelly Belly likeness to Pear. Thus it is with all language. It helps to know that I am not you, but sometimes it would be better if I treated you like I. I am not in opposition to language, but I believe strongly that we should be in a constant dialogue with the language centers of our brain so that we can make our definitions of the world less rigid, more mutable and adaptive. This is particularly important as cultural and ethnic boundaries begin to fade and concepts of disability are being better understood to be in many cases not less able, but differently abled.

This strong recollection I experience whenever I eat a pear made me think a lot about smell and memory in general. Certainly I have heard many times that the olfactory sense has the strongest link to memory, but this made it so clear that I started thinking about other smells that illicit that response. Probably the two strongest are the smell of earth when tilled to fallow and the smell of New Mexico Green Chili roasting over a propane fire. The smell of earth, mildewed and ancient and woody, reminds me specifically of late evening rosy light across Taos mountain and the fields in Cańyon that ran alongside the half mile driveway to Mariposa Apartments, my mothers home during my teen years. I must have smelled this smell a hundred times, but somehow the memory is timeless. The air is always warm and calm but slightly crisp heralding the fall, the shadows always long, the light always rosy, the me always 14 or so. Green chili is different. It causes my entire past to swell, images of every fall that I remember ebbing, flowing from one to the next. A thousand meals with my friends and family. Dinner tables and burrito wagons and chow carts. Rellenos, tacos, enchiladas, pupusas, sopapillas, beans, rice, stews, steaks and calabacitas. I can't grab hold of any of them, cannot isolate the one from the many. It is a river not a pond. Almost nostalgic but lacking the melancholy, it always anchors me and leaves me hopeful. It makes me feel alive in a way that few things can. The feeling it gives me is what it feels like to be. To be alive and to be me. And, of course, it makes me really hungry.


Cory

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Domo Experience

Just walking through the gate to reach the front door of Domo completely shifted your sense of place. It was like stepping out of a district full of warehouses in Denver and finding yourself in a foreign country. I think one of the main elements that made it stand out so much from the surrounding buildings was the wood façade, which is something you don’t see much of in the Denver area.

The inside of the restaurant was just as unfamiliar feeling, but certainly not in a way to make the visitors feel alienated. On the contrary, it was very welcoming. One of the things that struck me right away was the way the chairs were designed. They were almost just like stumps that had been given some cushioning and covered with fabric. I found sitting on them to be surprisingly comfortable though. There wasn’t a forced angle you had to keep your legs at of dead in front of you, and there was no awkwardly high or uncomfortable back to the chair.

As for the food, well, it was nothing short of amazing. I don’t have too much trouble eating with chopsticks, so that didn’t bother me. Both the fried and the steamed dumplings were really good, as was the actual meal. The presentation of the nabe in the main bowl, the rice bowl, and three little side dishes was nice too. Getting to try real sushi was also a treat. The texture of the raw fish was a bit strange, but the flavor of it was a blend of spices that didn’t burn your taste buds off, it just gave the fish a nice kick. And it didn’t have that strange fishy taste that you get with sushi you buy from a grocery store.

A small touch that made the experience feel really authentic to something that you might find in Japan, apart from the general atmosphere, was the teacups. They were actual ceramic cups, that looked handcrafted, each with its own waves and bumps in the clay. I’d seen the teacups in art history classes, but never actually been to a restaurant that used them.

An Afternoon in the Valley of the Japanese Industrialists or Tea with Mr. Roboto

    The process of walking (and lightrailing in conjunction) through the weather, through the dilapidation of the industrial sector, allowed Domo to take on the hearth, waystation, sensation that elevated it to the warm crescendo I experienced.  If, say, we had driven to the restaurant on a sunny afternoon, and sat outside with the sun and the billowing carp windsocks, it would also have been a deeply sensory experience.  Yet the feeling would have been light and pleasant, moving outwards into the evening.  Instead, the energy of the storm and the warmth of the restaurant funneled inward, peaking experientialy as our afternoon there.  I felt transported to another world, an idea of a Japan from the cultural media echo experienced since childhood, yet realized as its own space there, that afternoon. 

    The culinary experience was thoroughly enjoyable, yet more a symptom of the entire spatial moment, focused as the meal, than its own separate experience.  The materiality of the experience, the crafted tea cups, the stone table, the paper log lights, rooted the meal and deepened it.  The restaurant, and the meal in conjunction, has weight.  It is tied down deep, burrowed, buried, into the space it inhabits now and into the past.  It is profoundly solid. 

    Walking outside into the garden, with the rain sliding off the wooden structures and the carps billowing, you might as well be on the opposite side of the world from Denver.  The space encloses in on itself and holds its own among the neighboring city.  Yet I suppose it makes sense to place the restaurant there.  The restaurant is rooted in the ancient, the partly forgotten, as is the strange industrial zone it resides in.  The old factories, sitting silently on the edge of the city, are the perfect nest for Domo, they mirror its powerful silence and ancient echos.  With so much weight to it, perhaps the restaurant also needs some space.  A little wiggle room around so much power.

    The experience at Domo was exquisite.  Every aspect of the trip funneled into a sensorally harmonious crescendo.   By framing the excursion in the context of sense perception, I was able to stay aware in a rich, deep environment.  The idea that this was a class trip, allowed me to trick myself into thinking that the lunch was a special sensory exception.  It allowed me to experience the space more profoundly than if I had been there without this excuse, and to trick myself into leaving everyday mental distractions elsewhere.  It was a profoundly rewarding experience.
                                                                   
                    andrew elijah edwards    

Monday, May 23, 2011

DOMO -CORY

I grew up in the desert. Not the kind of desert of the Gobi or the Sahara, but a high mountain desert where pines and spruces and sage brush thrived; Home of the roadrunner and O'keefe's painted desert and howling pink coyotes. It was a place where rain usually means a ten minute drizzle. When it was more, when the heavens would open and poor thick sheets of rain and wash the desert landscape in peeling rolls of thunder and bright flashes of lightning, my whole world seemed to slip between the cracks of day-to-day reality into some space between worlds. Time would stop, or more like dissolve and suspend. The experience of rain was so novel that the first reaction was to run outside and get soaked to the bone floating tiny popsicle stick rafts down the gutters, following them until they inevitable washed down a drain or into an arroyo. Those rainy days make up some of my fondest memories.

Thus the rain always makes me think about my childhood. And the rain in Denver is not unlike the rain of my northern New Mexico childhood. The air smells similar, the light, the sound, the suspension of time.

On the way to Domo I was thinking a lot about rain, but also a lot about chopsticks. Partly, how the choice of utensil fundamentally alters the practice of consumption. The idea that a chopstick and the foodstuffs that are eaten with it are intrinsically wed, the bites only large enough to be properly held or scooped with and that the chopstick never severs but rather separates, sorts, and conveys. Yet really I was thinking about Lento and Yurika, two japanese exchange students that I knew when I was about eight. One summer they taught me an “incredibly difficult” technique for using chopsticks. To their surprise, I quickly mastered the technique and have used it ever since. From that day, every use of chopsticks transports me into the Japanese decor of their small vacation house, along with images of raku kilns and pocky and strange fish food flavored snacks in pringles like cans.

Between the gyoza, shumai, Nabemono, green tea, garden, dojo and decor, the actual visit to Domo was also a rich experience. One of the first things that we collectively observed was the moisture level and the resultant earthy aroma. This immediately made me think of my friend Hisao, a japanese artist I sometimes stay with in NYC, who once remarked that he didn’t like green tea in New Mexico and that so much of his enjoyment of green tea relied on the humid air to carry the aroma. I have often tried to notice whether and how my climate effects my senses after hearing this simple and perhaps obvious remark. Another thing I was thinking about --also prompted by something Hisao said--was the ceremonial aspect of crossing thresholds in Japanese culture. Consider the Dojo, where one must remove their shoes, don sandals, and actually step up and over a small barricade. You cannot simply walk on in and though the effort required is minimal, it is conscious and leaves you knowing you have transitioned into a new space. The door to a Japanese restaraunt, said Hisao, can tell you a lot about whether it will be good (or rather, authentic); it should be heavy, but open easily and freely, making it’s presence undeniable, but not an obstacle. This was the case with Domo’s door. Also, the way that the waiting room was laid out with full size tables made it feel warm and inviting, a place to unwind before moving in to dine.

When it came to the actual dining experience, I admit that some of my critical faculties were overshadowed by the pure enjoyment of eating. However, I was very impressed with the subtly contrasting flavors of the bean salad, fishcake sidedishes and the sweet and vinegary unnamed one as well. All of the ingredients in the Nabemono seemed incredibly fresh and while I was a little concerned that the Sakekasu Miso broth (ordered extra spicy) might overwhelm the flavors of the ingredients themselves, that wasn’t a problem at all. I also did notice that the green tea seemed particularly rich.

Anytime you perform an action with the conscious intent to deeply experience it, everything about that action becomes amplified, and this journey was no exception. What probably surprised me the most was that it prompted so many recollections.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Domo Transport

Early in our marriage, my wife had the opportunity to work in Japan for a year as an English teacher. I was lucky enough to be able to visit her several times and got a chance to experience many things in a non-tourist way. The people that Kristin taught treated her (and my, by extension) wonderfully, and I got to see many things that were outside the tourist experience.

On one occasion, we went on a long drive through the Japanese countryside. As lunchtime approached, we were far from any city - but we came upon a country restaurant that seemed rather run down and downtrodden. However, when we went inside we found a wonderful country eatery that catered to locals, and the food we had was among the best I'd ever tasted. Combined with the welcoming attitude of the owners and the rich, almost ancient, surroundings, it was just an incredible experience.

I assumed that this was going to be a memory that could not be repeated - and because of circumstances it probably won't. However, our visit to Domo instantly transported me to that place, that time and that food. Everything seemed to line up to recall that experience; from the wet rainy weather, overcast and darkened interior and friendly staff, the experience was thick with familiarity, and the culinary mix caused a flood of memories.

Given the overwhelming nature of this recollection, it is hard for me to focus solely on the food (although I don't think this was a single-sensory experiment). It was wonderful. But the overall experience was what will stick with me, and I can't wait to take Kristin there for her version of the same. I suspect it will make her cry.

One brilliant thing was to bracket the meal with light rail transport. In my memory of my Japan visits, nearly every thing that I did started with a train ride and ended with a train ride. Somehow (and even though this isn't directly related to my personal experience), this seemed to make the whole experience "right".

[ddg]

Domo Restaurant Experience - Ally

At first the rain seemed as though it was going to be a hindrance, walking from the light rail to the restaurant, all of us getting a bit wet, it just didn’t seem like the normal Denver weather. Yet as soon as we entered the parking lot of the Domo restaurant the entire experience seemed to be transformed, as if we have just made the leap to Japan and were entering another world.

Upon opening the door to the restaurant and stepping inside our senses were transformed and almost took a step to a past world. The restaurant wasn’t filled with contemporary lighting, TV’s showing sports games or even a small seating area for those waiting for tables. Instead it was cozy and smelled of delicious food being cooked and served in the room next to ours. The waiting area was large and situated with traditional Japanese table and chairs, which allowed for people to start conversation and not be crammed together waiting for a table.

Once seated the experience of the place was not just visual, but also very touch and taste oriented. From the log seats to the thickness and ruggedness of the slab table and also the seemingly handmade tea cups (all different from one another), made the restaurant stand out from any other restaurant I had ever been to. Our visual sense was full of trying to take in the whole restaurant, with all its embellishments and decorations, while our ears were able to concentrate on the conversation, but also hear the slight sound of rainfall outside.

As our food arrived the incredible experience just got better. Although eating with chopsticks was challenging at times, it felt authentic and needed. The main dishes were seasoned and spiced to perfection so that nothing was overpowering. The “country side dishes” allowed for your taste buds to delineate a bit from your main dish, but also provided a break and assortment of new things to try. The texture of the food was interesting and varied from dish to side dishes and the taste was delicious.

After finishing eating we decided to checkout the garden, when walking outside in the pouring rain it didn’t tarnish the experience of the garden whatsoever. The garden was quant and enjoyable and only made me wish that we could have eaten outside in the rain, under a small roof. It smelled of cleanliness and serenity, with its paths laid out intentionally so one could easily walk through and also see all the different components the garden had to offer. While heading back to campus the journey back was relaxed and calm, just as the restaurant had been and transformed our mood to follow.

We have all been to “themed” or region based restaurants, but Domo was different, it really made the guests feel as if they were transformed into Japan and took into account the entire sensory experience one is able to have. The smells, tastes, textures, sounds and sights truly rested on tradition and straying from the normal American restaurant.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Talk the Walk

This was an interesting exercise in several ways, but I think what is most fascinating to me is the way that our bodies and our muscles perform so many complex actions "automatically". From breathing to digestion, to tying shoes to standing to walking, the things that we do regularly fade out of our conscious domain and seem to take care of themselves; but any one of the activities when analyzed seems to engage many parts of if not the whole body.

Standing on both feet
As with any automatic action it took me a few moments to even recognize that anything was really happening at all. I was standing barefoot on a hard wood floor and could feel my feet planted firmly against the cold wood. Soon after beginning to stand I noticed that my weight was pitched slightly forward onto the balls of my feet, creating a slight tension just below my knee caps. From there the tension extended up into my hips, with a tightening of the buttocks. I shrugged my shoulders trying to relax into the pose, and as I let them slack I tuned in to the tiny fluctuations at my core. I suddenly recognized the extent to which my stomach and entire core are involved in maintaining effortless balance. Now I could feel the tiny muscles in my feet, tensing and releasing ever so slightly as shifts in the core of my body necessitated minor adjustments. Next I tried to relax everything systematically, seeking a state of total stillness. Each time I released something in my shoulders, neck, back, feet, I could feel something tense or gained awareness of something already tense somewhere else. I closed my eyes and found that much of my balance was based on fixed visual cues. I didn't actually lose balance to the point of falling or even tilting, but I could feel a forward/backward tension that I am normally oblivious to and found that the minor shifts in weight and muscle resistance became more pronounced than with open eyes. Finally I tuned in to my breath. This let me actually relax, firmly planting the entire souls of my feet on the ground and allowing an ease of balance like I am used to.

Standing on one foot
Standing on one foot was a very different experience. I have enough practice standing on one foot to make it a more or less easy activity. However, there is nothing about it that is automatic. I immediately feel my balance start shifting from left to right and back again regardless of which foot I stand on. My foot becomes a rapidly responsive pivot, rolling towards the inside or out as needed to help maintain balance. My balance is very different too, not poor but much more nomadic, refusing to anchor at one spot and instead shifting from here to there. It seems that any adjustment, no matter how small, to my center of gravity requires innumerable muscles to reposition and respond. Two feet seem strongly anchored, one is more like a light tether. My weight drops at my hip and I feel the dominant leg sink into the socket, my arms extending like wings, rising or falling in minute or dramatic amounts to compensate as my center of gravity falters. I notice a tendency to fold slightly at my center, as though remaining full and upright will expose me to the wind and compromise my stability. I want to look forward and down, perhaps my bodies way of making sure that if I fall I am ready. The tension is less at me knees and instead at the bottom of my calves and ankles, tops of my quads. There is little difference between my left foot and right, though my left has a bit more balance, my right endurance. It must be from hackey sack.

Walking normally
Walking normally (or for that matter doing anything “normally”) at the same time as trying to analyze my walking was difficult. This is partly because every time I pay attention to walking, I, through force of habit, try to walk better; to correct my posture, engage my core, go from heel to toe with equal pressure throughout the step. I believe this is the result of a specific period in my life when I was studying trapeze and walking an hour to and from work each day. Trapeze requires many muscles to be toned in the neck, shoulders, and back, but the primary muscle group involved in most trapeze motions and postures is the abdominal core. One day I was speaking to my instructor about core strengthening and she mentioned that properly engaging the core while walking is one of the most effective methods. Since then I have paid close attention to how I walk. So for this exercise, I had to spend some time figuring out how I actually walk instead of walking how I know I should walk.
What I found is that my feet bow out slightly, giving me a very minor duck-footed walk, seemingly more pronounced on my right foot than left. (afterwards I looked at the soles of my shoes, and sure enough the right foot had worn more along the outside, indicating a preference for placing more weight along the outside of the foot.) I also noticed that I tend to look slightly down and hunch forward a bit. I would say that this is consistent with my posture in general, but was still interesting to note that I am pitched perpetually forward, leading from my head. As a person I would say I tend to do the same socially, lead with my intellect and let my physicality follow (though I have consciously started balancing these things in recent years.) And then there was the actual physical process that my muscles go through. Leg swings forward from hip, straightens, heel touches, depresses, and weight shifts as step arcs through foot. Shin muscles contract as leg swings forward, then expand as calf contracts and leg bends, foot contacts. Arms swing cross-laterally in seamless time with steps. This makes my hips stay relatively fixed so that they feel almost like they are floating in place.

Slow Walking
The primary take away form this experience as it differed from normal walking was the idea of time domain and cadence. When walking normally, I feel muscles moving through familiar and incredibly smooth and seamless transitions from heel to toe, foot to foot. There is no real sense of start/stop, but rather an ease-in/ease-out. Muscles work in unison to accomplish the locomotive goal, expansion and contraction penduluming effortlessly. But when I slow the whole thing down, the parts are revealed and the perceived continuum of muscular engagement becomes granulated. Like the eye trying to track an invisible nothing through space, fluid motion is split into fine jumps, discrete moments. I find that maintaining a consistent slow speed (below the speed of simply ambling or walking slowly) is almost impossible. My heel touches and the body wants to accelerate into the rest of the step. With an incredible degree of conscious effort I am able to slow down, but it always feels like I am midway between movement events, never quite occupying a state of moving.
Afterwards I couldn't help but think about how this applies to so many of our learned behaviors: we don't slam a foot down on the gas pedal, instead we ease into it, cueing off the acceleration of the vehicle and weighing it against our expectations from previous experiences; when we speak we don't try to say every word at once, but rather use pauses and inflections, variations to pace, to contextualize and layer meaning; when we ride a bike we slowly shift application of force from one pedal to the other. The act of moving through space is done, summarily, on a human scale and on human time. Obviously, but incredibly.

Backward Walking
The interesting thing about slow walking was the way in which familiar and un/subconscious actions were rendered apparent and perceptible. With backwards walking it was very different. In one way it is the forward action reversed – the toes touch first then arc through the foot to the heel, heel lifting off last and pushing a fully extended leg back. The movement components are familiar from a logical and rational perspective. The actual physical experience however, was much more alien and only resembled normal walking insofar as certain movements could be isolated as reverse to their regular counterparts. The sense of familiarity and muscle-sense or muscle-memory was simply not there. Suddenly spatial relationships that guide our movement are out the window. My normal sense of proprioception and knowledge of self other spatial dynamics are called into question and I wonder with each step if I might hit something.

C

Standing and Walking

Standing on both feet. While I do notice a subtle tension along my feet, up my legs, and along my back, this state seems the most unconscious. If I shift my weight to one side and allow my body to regain its balance, I become more aware of the muscular act of standing, yet before I can know exactly what I’m doing, muscles in my feet and legs have already corrected themselves. I have a certain ‘sense’ of balance, which I find hard to identify or describe. When I think about it, it seems that this sense is a combination of which muscles are tensed and whether or not I’m falling and in which direction. Consciously, I’m thinking in terms of directions rather than muscles. If I begin falling to one side, I wish to tilt inversely and my muscles do the dirty work.
When I shift to standing on a single foot, the activity becomes much more conscious. I begin falling from side to side, and based on previous experience and muscle memory, I know to rock my standing foot side to side, tensing the muscles up either side of my leg in turn. This appears to shift my weight in the correct direction and balance out my body. If this falling becomes to much, I find myself tilting my entire torso to the side. If this too fails I find my arm opposite the direction that I am falling shoot up into the air, as this happens, I feel that this has an effect on my sense of balance and could theoretically help shift my back up. When this fails I find myself falling down, and my arms are shooting up to brace the floor rushing up at me.
Walking, here my l find it hard to determine exactly what I am doing. This process is very very hard wired. I can break up the motion, first my heals hit, the ground rolls along the outer sides of my feet, with my toes taking the pressure last, then my knees tense, I shift forwards, and the other leg swings ahead. But this does not capture the fluid complex minute actions of the act of walking.
Moving backwards becomes more of a conscious act of figuring out the best way as I do it.

Walking Exercise

1. Standing normally with both feet, observe how your body works to calibrate its balance. Try this with your eyes open and closed. What are your muscles, joints and limbs doing? How are your other senses participating?

When standing normally on my feet, I noticed that my main sense of balanced seemed to be in my feet - specifically the outside edge of my feet, not the side that has the arch. I felt very stable, even with my eyes closed. The muscles behind my knees seemed to be tightening slightly once in a while, and my knees needed to be unlocked to get a proper sense of balance and blood flow through my legs. I don’t think my eyes were that essential for keeping my balance, since I didn’t notice much difference between having my eyes open and my eyes closed. I know that the inner ear is very important for balance, but also my sense of touch through my feet was important, I think. Feeling my feet touching the ground gave me a sense that I was standing upright and in no danger of falling over.

2. Try the above exercise standing on one foot.

This time my main sense of balance was mostly in my ankle, I think. I could feel my ankle wobbling a lot to try and keep me upright, while my foot stayed mostly stationary. I also felt considerably more secure with my eyes open this time, since it reaffirmed the fact that I wasn’t falling over, since I no longer felt completely stable. The sense of touch between my foot and the ground was still important though.

3. Walking normally (preferably outside or somewhere where you can walk unimpeded) focus on the activities of your muscles, joints and limbs as you move. What is tensing and when? Do you swing your arms? Rock side to side? Lean forward or back? Land on your heel?

When walking, my heel is the first thing to hit the ground when I take a step, and then my foot sort of rolls down to my toe. I don’t really rock side-to-side or anything, but my hips sway a little bit. I swing my arms slightly, so that my hands maybe move an inch and a half each way from the center of my legs. I can usually feel my calves tightening throughout most of my step except for when my foot is in the air. I also feel some tightening in the back of my knees as I lift my leg to step, but I don’t feel much through my thighs or ankles. The movement of my joins feels smooth and is hard to notice, which is likely a good thing. I have noticed that when I walk up stairs or on a very cold surface, however, I walk with only the ball of my foot touching the ground, which actually feels less tense to my muscles, oddly.

4. Try walking in your normal gait, but slow way down. Again, observe how your muscles and limbs are working.

Slowing down my walk was much the same, but my muscles seemed to have to work harder to walk that slowly. The movement of my joins also seemed a little less smooth. My hands didn’t move as much when I walked slowly though.

5. Try walking backwards (be safe!) and observe the difference in your body's effort.

When walking backwards, I noticed that the first part of my foot to hit the ground is the ball of my foot, and then it rolls back onto my heel. The initial moment of impact puts some strain on the back of my ankle though. It also seemed to pull the muscles in my calves more, and felt strange in the back of my knees. My hands didn’t move at all when I was going backwards, and it didn’t feel like my hips swayed at all either. I also noticed it took much more mental processing to walk backwards than it did normally.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Standing/Walking

Ex. 1: When standing still, I feel the weight of my body maintained at two locations: the balls of my feet and inside of my heel. This is based on the orientation of my feet, which splay outward. My knees bend slightly, and are the primary way that I seem to make adjustments to my balance; as my body slightly sways forward and back (seemingly caused by my breathing), my knees flex slightly, and change the triangular relationship between kneecap, heel and the balls of my feet. When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to see that my vision is unaware of these movements, automatically making the micro-adjustments necessary to maintain a steady gaze.

Concentrating on my other senses, I only notice a slight shifting of my hearing acuity from one ear to the other as balance points change. It isn’t drastic, but noticeable when I concentrate on the matter.

Ex. 2: When standing on one foot, my ankle is activated, as is the entire foot. With a new dimension to balance-keeping (since the lateral stability is gone), my ankle loosens and is constantly shifting, attempting to maintain control. The entire foot is now active as well, with the outside crescent of the foot called into service to make a more stable base. I also feel the tendons in my lower leg working hard to allow the ankle to move but not buckle.

Ex. 3: Walking is a whole-body function. From the swinging of the arms (which reminds me of the Seinfeld sketch about Molly Shannon and Raquel Welch not swinging their arms while walking), to the rotation of the torso, tension and release of the tendons of the knees and the flexing/stiffening of the ankles. I find that my foot “rolls” through the walk, taking the initial impact at the heel, pausing slightly, then releasing though the outside of my foot until propelled off the balls of my feet. I find, though, that as I concentrate on certain aspects of walking, they become uncomfortable and unnatural, leading me to questions if I’m “doing it right”.

Ex. 4: Slowing down with the walk was very difficult, because as the pace slows, many of the mechanisms for balance become ineffective. The arm-swing/torso-twist is no longer useful, because it causes all sorts of balance issues. The same is true with the rolling action through the foot; the natural rhythm that occurs during walking is impossible to time-stretch, because it can be painful to leave pressure on some of these spots for any length of time. Also, since my knees are shot, they don’t respond in the same was as during my normal walk; they are not fluid in motion, and instead lock up at crucial parts of the exercise.

Ex. 5: Walking backwards is a very strange feeling, and causes an increase in the use of more senses. I notice that I’m more aware of the sounds of the environment – as if I’m trying to sense out nearby obstacles. I also notice that I lead with my heels almost as if they were “feelers”, reaching forward without a lot of force, making sure that the way is clear.

I also notice that my pressure center has changed on my foot. I’m up on my heels – partially because the “searching” function of my heel is causing me to spend more time on one foot, and also because I’m leaning forward to try to limit collision. There is little in the way of upper body activity – my attention and movement is all focused lower-body, and my senses are all focused on my heel and the back of my calf in an attempt to immediately avert any perceived collisions. This is an extremely different sensory experience than walking forward.

[ddg]

Smell-o-vision

Here is the movie clip. I hope you all enjoyed the experience!

Sensual Bread(?) from darwin grosse on Vimeo.



[ddg]

Response to obervations of exercises

Exercise 1:

My feet try to balance evenly with each other; even the slightest movement makes the weight shift beneath my feet so that I continue to stand.

If I do seem like I’m going off balance my arms also begin to sway and counter act so that I don’t fall over

My back also begins to either lean forward or backward until an even ground is reached and so that I am sitting up straight.

My muscles (depending on where they’re located) are contracting or relaxing to allow for me to stay standing up straight.

In terms of senses – my vision is associated myself to the rest of the room and searching/scanning the room for special awareness.

When I close my eyes my body adjusts a lot to a loss of vision and my body sways ever so slightly more because it is not receiving the visual cues from what is around me and to center myself.

Exercise 2:

Standing on one food requires much more focus and attention.

My foot and calf muscles rock back and forth much more trying to center by body and not fall over, especially when I close my eyes, the rocking becomes much more intense and I really have to focus special and try to visualize where I am in the space and something to focus on so I don’t tip over.

Exercise 3:

When walking, first my calf muscles tense – especially when I’m on the front ball of one foot about to cross over to the heel of my other foot

Next they release and the top of my feet come into play with my shins to tense after the first muscle group has been released.

My quads work hand-in-hand with my calf muscles, tensing ever so slightly to raise my lower leg and bring my foot forward to take the next step.

My upper body stays pretty straight and aligned and my hands sway a tad, the right moves forward as the left leg moves forward and vise versa – this helping to maintain balance

Leaning forward seems to speed me up, as my body tries to over compensate so that I don’t tumble forward

Exercise 4:

When walking super slowly my mind has to work a lot harder to tell my body what to do, it is not as automatic or nearly as natural as a normal walking speed, where I don’t even think about the movements or muscles being used

Slow walking is much more engaging to my muscles and they have to work harder to maintain the upright position of my body.

I am not nearly as solid in my posture or balance when trying to do this slower and my arms also seem to work harder and bend to over compensate for the slower movement.

Exercise 5:

Walking backwards again takes a lot of effort and I immediately have to look behind me to make sure my path is clear and throughout trying to walk I often glance behind me to make sure I won’t fall or run into something. It is also much more difficult to walk in a straight line and much more balance in my arms and legs is required. I am easily thrown off balance.

My feet seem to roll back to the heel with much more force and effort. Also my calf muscles are put into more use.

Strangely it’s much easier for me to walk backwards while standing on my toes, than trying to do a “normal” walk only backwards.

My hands also do not sway back and forth like they do when walking forwards; the balance is seemingly not needed.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Creative Project 2: hand sense



For this next creative project I had a very hard time trying to determine what I could do to "perform" words associated with the five senses. Building off my first creative project, I again decided to focus on the actions associated with our hands. Not only do our hands experience such intricate forms of movement and touch, but aid in our production of language, relaying ideas and explaining our experience to other people.

With this idea I picked various words from each sense category and chose with intention so that each word could be understood by only using simple hand gestures and movements. Our hands are not only used for one particular reason or purpose, but represent so much of ourselves and how we perceive the world. Therefore this project embodies the idea that our hands have the ability to relay words associated with all 5 senses through the use of gestures and movements. These performances showcase movements/gestures that our society and culture have deemed acceptable and how we associate gestures with specific senses and their identifying words.

Monday, April 18, 2011

smell, symbol, and source

I had never really thought of myself as particularly adept at at the sense of smell, but I considered myself fairly aware. With my sense of vision, and even sound, I am often aware of the ways in which language and symbol drastically influence my perception and awareness. Yet with smell, I believed that when aware, I was having some sort of direct non-linguistic experience. Yet after the smell bottle exercise, I realized how drastically my perception hinges on language and object. These disembodied smells, being removed from word, symbol, and source, became vast and alien. While being entirely nostalgic and familiar, I could not linguistically distinguish the vast majority. These smells had haunting intricacies that I felt both acutely aware of but could not for the life of me define. Yet when given the name of the source the smell would collapse into sudden logical understanding. "Of course that was peach, of course." Yet after being named, the smell would undoubtedly lack the many intricacies I had smelled previously. I realized how rarely I experienced smell without a symbolic link. Even smells I might experience walking along the street are linked to my current environment and location.

I thought I knew where my sensory experience was being buffered by cognition. I thought I was aware of when I wasn't aware. But if I overlooking something as fundamental as my sense of smell, what else am I overlooking. Discovering my own ignorance of my own ignorance is empowering, invigorating, and deeply relieving.

During our smell walk, I realized that not only was my sense of smell dependent on its source, but also deeply tied to all my other senses, specifically touch. The different experience of smell while feeling a cold breeze on my face verses a warm still air was large, not because of the way they carried scent, but simply perceptually. I’m not sure that my sense of smell can be at all removed from the entire sensory environment that it is experienced in. I’m not sure that any of the senses exist and act independently to themselves.

Experience of the Scent Kit

For our second theme of memory, I found the scent kit to be particularly interesting and fun. I never would have considered how hard it was to smell something without knowing the source before. I had previously never thought about how when people smell things, they usually look for the source while they do so, or something about their environment informs them about what they smell. But just having bottles of smell with no obvious label took away that information and made the experience challenging and interesting.

Without any kind of visual cue as to what I smelled, I found myself rather lost for describing scents. Things could usually fall into categories like sweet, flowery, piney, or rich, but it was hard to find a way to describe the smaller nuances of the smell – the things that made it distinct. For most of the smells I also felt like I knew what it was, I just could not for the life of me think of the exact word. It really made me realize how dependent people are on written and verbal languages. Describing a sense is very challenging without being able to have a person experience the exact same things you are. And even when we were all smelling the same bottles, each one of us had a very different take on what that smell was and what it meant to us individually.

What I thought was really interesting was as soon as we found out what the bottle was supposed to smell like, it became obvious and hard to smell it as anything else. It was like the language locked our minds in to a box of what it was “supposed” to smell like. Those small nuances of the smell became just a conglomerate of what strawberry or jasmine was “supposed” to be and it was no longer an abstract thing. The smell became mundane again. I think the butter smell was one of the best examples, since before we knew what it was everyone was appalled by the smell. After we knew it was butter though, it was not as bad.

One thing I found rather lacking in my experience with the scent kit was any kind of memory connection to the smells, actually. Or at least a direct connection to that smell in particular. When I sniffed one of the bottles, my mind was first trying to figure out what the smell was, once it was placed into a category of smell, and then my mind could make associations to other things that smelled similar. But it was never the smell directly that gave me any kind of memory. Is that normal? I know I read that smell is supposed to be very closely linked with our sense of memory, but it did not really do anything for me. I have to wonder how something like allergies can affect the process though, since my nose is usually pretty stuffed from allergies. Even so, it was a lot of fun to see just how bad our ability to identify a smell actually is.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Trip to the Anchor Center

Our trip to the anchor center was truly a very moving and inspiring tour of the center and having the opportunity to speak with the architect allowed me see the building in a whole different light. Upon first entering the center the space seemed like any other preschool, it was new modern and full of light. But after hearing from the architect and experiencing going through the center with her, my perception of the architecture and space completely changed.

One of the things that surprised me the most was all the little details that I hadn’t noticed at all, but are actually the huge defining details and factors for those that have blindness. A few of theses details included the rumble strips at the car entrance to the center, the groves in the cement leading up the then entrance and the subtle changes in light on the interior. Everything in the interior was taken with such care that one can see the incredible the amount of work, research and dedication that went into every corner, window and floor in the center.

It was great being able to speak to the architect because she was so honest and insightful about her own work. She pointed out the aspects of the building that didn’t quite live up to how she intended them to, or the little things that fell short of her expectations. But she also discussed the huge success of the center! Light was a huge domineering force within the entire space, from the creation of the pods to the widows and juxtaposition of light and dark contrast. It’s so important for the children to feel comfortable in a new school environment and to learn effectively how to get around in a world built for those that have full vision and this center provides them with the tools to grow and feel comfortable.

Going through the whole center once again reaffirmed my findings about how little we do interact with every part of our environments. It’s only when one of our senses goes missing or greatly depleted that we realize all the little and big things we must have to take into consideration, but don’t normally. We can learn so much from those different from ourselves and those that approach and experience the world different than the way we do. We need to begin to take the ideas of space and architecture beyond just the visual aesthetics, but also play into the other sensory relationship we have. The world and space is up for all kinds of interpretations from our sensory experiences and we should take the ideas executed within the Anchor Center and apply them to all parts of life.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Anchor Center experience

I’m going to assume that everyone is going to discuss his or her experience at Anchor Center. It was a very inspirational experience for me, and I felt like it was an incredible opportunity for us to get a tour and also hear from the architect.

My first impression was that it was a beautiful environment, and that clashed with my experience of institutions created for those with physical handicaps. It was bright, exuded friendliness and seemed like a place that all children could enjoy. If every school environment would be developed with this level of care, I think there would be fewer problems with kids hating school!

The discussion about the acoustics providing for echolocation was easy to experience. Some of the changes were incredibly drastic; for example, when I “clicked” my way from the hallway into an alcove leading to some classrooms, I could immediately sense the change in my location – and I have absolutely no experience with this form of sensory perception.

I was again challenged to realize that blindness and visual impairment does not mean a complete black field of sight. The use of color, light and contrast all served as a reminder of the gradation of impairment, and some areas (particularly the hallway and the light room) were a good example of how partial blindness could still be served by light. Andrew was talking about how a limited sense could provide the opportunity for more radical use; that light room was a great example.

I was actually surprised that the building provided more subtle cues than I would have thought necessary. Minimally invasive designs, like the small grooves in the wall track (that identified an upcoming corner) or the coloring of the steps in the music room pointed to the complexity of the problem, and also points to the value of subtlety when an area is going to become ones daily environment.

It was also interesting to see places where the school subverted some of the original designs to provide a sense of continuity. The best example of this was the addition of nametags above the coat area; I got the sense that this was “against” the design, but provided a connection to their old location in a way that made people comfortable.

It was enjoyable to see how Aiden responded to the area. At first, he walked around as if it were a foreign place – I’m afraid I may have weirded him out by talking about it being a place for blind children. However, when he first saw a Scooby-Doo book, I think he stopped thinking about it being for “other people” and realized it was a kids area. All of a sudden, he felt free to explore, check things out and (especially outdoors) check things out on his own. It was a neat learning experience – for me.

[ddg]

Monday, April 11, 2011









Cory Blind Photography Experience

This phenomenal experience was not what I had anticipated. First of all, my apparatus (see photos) did not work the way I thought it would. While it did obscure my vision, it was much more effective than I intended it to be. There was really no sense of form unless the contrast was extreme - a door to the outside or a window frame had some definition, but mostly it was just the difference between light and dark, sun and shade.


As planned, I spent about three hours wearing the goggles in my house before starting the photo assignment. I took this time to orient myself using my other senses and tried to do mundane things I do everyday (minus the computer/videogame/tv/smartphone/clockwatching). I started by just walking around the house and observing to what extent my internal spatial map relied on sight. I was quite surprised that I was relatively good at navigating just based on my spatial memory, but transient objects and clutter that were not part of the "platonic" or ideal environment tripped me up. While I didn't actually trip and fall, I decided to employ a wooden cane to ensure I made it through the exercise. I made tea, an activity that resulted in honey all over my fingers from dipping to check that the mug was indeed where it was and that I was not just going to pour boiling water all over the counter. I got dressed, tied my shoes, and too late, realized I should have gathered my belongings before donning the goggles. At this point I realized how greatly I rely on sight to remember my surroundings and property. My keys, jacket, wallet, etc don't ring when I get near, don't smell bad if I pass them by, don't emit heat letting me know if I am hot or cold. But in the end I found them.


I slowly made my way from my front door down the few steps leading to our sidewalk. Cranmer park is only three blocks away from my house and I felt I had a pretty good sense of how to get there: just turn right from my yard, right at 3rd, straight on past ash, cross bellaire, and there I am. All I needed to do was follow the sidewalk so I didn't walk into the street. I couldn't have taken more than twenty steps (which was probably 10 feet) before a woman called out, VERY LOUDLY, "Sir, are you OK? Do you need any help?" I was suddenly aware that the cotton I had used to block out any remaining light leaks must have made me look like a freshly released ocular surgery patient and that I did indeed look like someone who might need help. I declined and heard them walk by as I shuffled my feet forward.


I could hear Colorado Blvd. to my left so I knew I was heading the right way. I expected the curb to drop off soon, signaling the end of the sidewalk, beginning of the road. But instead of asphalt, the sidewalk gave way to grass and I remembered that my neighborhood does not have sidewalk everywhere. Many houses just have grass. Thus my optimism about finding the road so easily started slipping and I became painfully aware of how unprepared and vulnerable I was. I had been hoping to document the walk to the park, but now it took all of my concentration to make sure I wasn't wandering into the street or directly into someones yard/house. As I relaxed, I also remembered that there are alleys bisecting each street and noted mentally that that meant double the roads between me and the park. I counted to make sure I knew where I was, but also knew that with no buildings in the park the sound would shift when I got there.


When I got to the park I walked in a little ways. It was quiet, with maybe a few people far off at the other edges, their low voices drifting in on the wind. I took some pictures and moved around a bit, then decided to lay down. I heard an airplane above and went to "click" but remembered that the great distance causes sound and image to appear dislocated, so I adjusted the frame to where I thought my eyes would find it. "Click". After some time I heard the roar of an engine and started shooting the unknown vehicle. Soon after the park became populated by the sounds of laughter and aggressive play. I cued off of sounds for a while, trying to zoom in and grab the actions that emanated them. Some amount of time passed (one of the most disorienting things was not the loss of sight, but the elasticity of time without it) and I decided to try to find the shade. I knew that the trees were towards Colorado from my current spot and I could tell where Colorado was by the sound of traffic, so I slowly made my way over until I could see the shade. After taking a couple more photos, I decided that I should have my eyes on the way back. I took off the goggles and was shocked to find I was right where I thought I was (at least within 10 yards).


The things that really stood out for me during this exercise were:


1) A sense of incredible relaxation. Somehow just not having my eyes available (open but data free) left me feeling deeply tranquil and serene. I wanted more of it. This was not the case when I felt unsafe during the first part of the walk, but the rest of the time it felt like a deep meditation.


2) Spatial orientation. I really expected to have no sense of direction or of spatial orientation but was surprised to find that I almost always had a sense of where I was. The thing that really hit me however, was that I was only aware of other things if they were either directly within tattle reach or were in a state of motion. The things that normally define my sense of space -- the static and unmoving architectural things -- were of no use (except for in some cases the aural dimension, such as the openness of the park versus the corridors of buildings). Also, spatial memory; finding objects that were lost or whose location I could not remember was not as easy as looking around or "visualizing the last place I 'saw' it".


3) Accessibility. My technology is, in it's current state, useless to me without my eyes. My touch phone would seem, by its description, to be a less ocularcentric device than its predecessors, but at least they had identifiable buttons. I realized that without my eyes, I couldn't call for help via my phone unless someone else helped me enable the accessibility options.


There were a lot of other things, such as the almost physical shrouds of smells and the visceral nature of sounds, but I think I will have to investigate them more deeply before I have anything useful to say about them.


Overall this was an incredibly educational, exciting, and empathy seeding experience.