Making Topography

To contend with the dearth of spirited spaces in our built environments, perhaps we need to contend with the dearth of making.

by Takuma Ono

The project pictured above, by A.E. Bye, was developed in analog—sans grading plan. Instead of following a construction document, A.E. Bye opted to follow his intuition; he chose bulldozer over pen—and moved earth in-situ. Not surprisingly, sculpting earth in-situ is ideal for cultivating nuanced and varied landscapes. This kind of intuitive creative process is called making—and for a variety of reasons, it became a lost art—for many decades in fact. As making gradually gave way to industrial efficiency, it gained a reputation for being a slow and inefficient method of production. In contrast, the efficient lifestyle was fast—but fast became too fast, slow reclaimed its value.

In recent years, a resurgence in making could be observed across many disciplines and industries. As evidenced by the popularity of the 2012 skit titled Dreaming of the1890s (Portlandia), the resurgence in making had a seriously awkward start. A decade later, making is widely accepted and the skit marks a moment of comic relief—today, the resurgence of making marches on even while the interests of efficiency seem to grow stronger by the day.

The loss of making within landscape architecture could be partially attributed to the proliferation of 2d software—to a cultural shift that favored the interests of efficiency and corporate profitability. In the past two decades, a proliferation and adoption of 3d software within landscape architecture fostered a resurgence in making—but this resurgence is met with the emergence of AI software. What interesting times we live in.

When I began my first year of graduate school in 2004, the pedagogy at GSD’s landscape architecture program was supportive of the analog making process. But instead of being taught how to operate a bulldozer, I was taught how to sculpt design concepts in clay. Although a clay model engages one’s intuition, the clear disadvantage of a clay model is that it cannot be experienced in true perspectival view.

Then, a few semesters in, the tides suddenly changed—the GSD landscape department began to push digital methods of making. By the final semester, my workflow was close to being fully digital. Making topography through an all-digital workflow requires learning new software—having good command of software is akin to having good command of a bulldozer and excavator.

When one has good command of software, the process of making an undulated surface in 3d is not awfully different from making a undulated surface in clay. A 3d modeling process can occur in perspectival view, which makes it possible to virtually/visually feel the space in true-to-life scale. Moreover, 3d modeling makes it possible to iterate rapidly and assess the landscape experience from various angles and distances. The ability to feel the 3d space in eye-level perspectival view and analyze it from above in birdseye view engages different parts of the brain simultaneously—another underappreciated advantage..

In many ways, I consider dreaming to be a close approximation of making. Like making, dreaming heavily engages one’s memory and intuition—it’s a non-linear process that draws from the conscious and subconscious mind. The obvious difference between dreaming and making is that making leverages conscious control.

In 2006, the year before I finished my masters, I was given the opportunity to visit the then recently completed Yokohama International Passenger Terminal. To witness making shine through in a project of such scale was a mind-blowing experience. It provided affirmation that all-digital workflows can produce nuanced and varied landscapes. A year or two before this site visit, I sat in on a lecture by Farshid Moussavi who discussed how and why digital software was essential to the realization of this particular project.

Coincidentally, by 2009, GSD’s landscape program mostly eliminated the analog hand-making process from of its pedagogy. The shift was bound to happen—and it happened swiftly.

When the design team has good command over software, making occurs at the onset, oftentimes bypassing sketching. When making occurs in an all-digital workflow, it becomes possible to develop form-pattern combinations that cannot be consciously imagined—it is why I think a close approximation to making is dreaming—and coincidentally, Zen practice.

Making often fails to shine through in the end product of a design process. Is it possible that making is being overlooked? Or, maybe making is not well understood—at least not well enough to be incorporated into the workflow. What gives? In order to contend with the dearth of nuanced and varied spaces in our built environments, perhaps we need to contend with the dearth of making.

Read my blog post on the seascapes and why I think they are so foundational to the zen aesthetic here.