by the Atelier de Recherche et de Création
ARC) and upholstered by the tapestry decoration workshop and covered with a cotton fabric cover from Dedar, printed by the Prelle company; and, a magnifying glass coffee table, created from polished polymethyl methacrylate, that generates a magnifying glass effect that “exalts” the Savonnerie’s rug on which it is placed.
The virtual reality presentation, developed by
the pioneering virtual and digital artist Miguel Chevalier, is composed of thousands of black, white and variations of grey pixels, combined with more organic realms of cells. This fusion of cells (basic elements of life that compose matter) with pixels (basic elements of the digital and virtual “life”) creates a means by which Nature joins the artificial to produce an exclusive visual experience, projected upon the vault ceiling, generating optical illusions which in turn produce what the Mobile National describes as a “poetic atmosphere."
Circling Back
One question brought the end of the day back to the beginning, to their philosophy and what had been learned over time: “Do your creations have souls?”
It was a question generated by an understanding that there was a Shinto belief that everything has a spirit, and that Japanese
folklore describes a means by which inanimate
objects can become sentient after serving people for a hundred years (Tsukumogami).
To many people – thinkers, designers, creators, makers – the question itself would be questioned. What? What are you talking about? We create or make things – out of wood, metal, plastic. Out of air. They are objects to be used. Nothing more.
But for Aki and Arnaud, there was no such questioning. There was an immediate response. Each shook their head in affirmation. Yes.
Being pressed, Arnaud suggested that for an object to have a soul it must somehow be “charged.” It wasn’t immediately clear whether Arnaud literally meant engaging a physical reaction, like an electrical or chemical charge. At first it sounded as though that was it: you engaged materials, and in the process of working and shaping them – identifying a material, teasing out its strength and durability through chemicals and stress tests – you produced a uniquely final product which by its own definition was a master or model.
But then, he started talking about the effect of engaging others in the creative act: having a strong notion of what you wanted to accomplish but also being open to proposed modifications suggested by craftspeople whose experience brought a lifetime of learning to the enterprise. In the give and take, a community develops not only between the designer and implementer but also with the
next generation of craftspeople quite possibly
working in entirely different spaces and through different mediums. It was this “charge” – the collective enterprise that resulted in a final product conceived by multiple makers which would hopefully last a lifetime – that made the object have a soul. It would be an explanation that Arnaud would return to over the day, whether speaking about chairs or contemporary politics: being against something closed the world to ideas and people, being open necessitated collaboration and modification.
Aki offered what seemed to be a much different perspective. It was more about a philosophy whose roots were to be found in Shintoism – which made sense given her heritage and experience living in Japan for the first 18 years of her life. She spoke of the basic tenet: that everything has a spirit, and everything must find balance within the overall universe of things. She spoke reverently of her grandmother, and of the many kimonos she possessed but had to sell during World War II. Aki has one of the kimonos left by her grandmother, which she regards not simply as an object or a touchstone but something which does possess its own soul and will have a place in their shared space. With the story told
in such a way, there is no doubt Aki wishes to
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