Life under canvas

For me, there’s something highly appealing about the idea of the tent.  It’s better than the reality, inevitably defined in terms of damp, mud, and unsuccessful attempts at assembly.  That said, a recent post on The Architecture of Ascen’ in amongst the wild architectural speculations of BLDGBLOG really captured my imagination.  Memories of ‘bases’ and ‘forts’ painstakingly assembled from cushions and chairs came back in a rush of melted memories … colours and textures.  Duvet cover roof; clothes-rack as A-frame.  Hiding from the world.

From the original post, in which Manaugh suggests that architects turn their attentions to the tent:

Rather than design camping gear, then, they should design with camping gear, filling private homes and office high-rises with unexpected tent-like rooms and rapidly deployed nylon conference facilities. You carry your boardroom around in your briefcase, installing it up on the roof when summer allows.

Or, perhaps, you construct a 21-story bare steel frame somewhere on an empty lot in New York City. It has no walls or floors; it is just a vast and abstract grid of I-beams, welded throughout with anchorage points. Using portaledges and tents, then, the inhabitants of this empty frame, like people from a fever dream by Yona Friedman or Constant, come in and colonize the structure, installing themselves at odd angles with carabiners and clips, bungee cords and tactical ropes, paying rent only on the spatial volume that the resulting structures occupy. $10 per cubic foot.

The grid – the structure – is taken care of. Architecture becomes nothing but the process of designing better tents. Flexible interiors. Sewn space.

At some point at the beginning of this whole dissertation lark (T-12 days, now), I know there was talk of pitching tents in the library.  While we never really got round to it, I still stand by the idea.  And I’m still entertaining the post-Graduation ambition living in a yurt, providing I can furnish it with wifi & a composting toilet.