The presentation given today on the situationalists opened up new ways to understand movement through a city. Specifically, the map of a woman's normal daily paths through Paris and how we may unconsciously--or maybe consciously--move through the city.
How much do our places influence our movement to new zones within the city?
The picture I have in my mind right now is a city map covered with various places and with each place functioning as a magnet, pulling the individual into its zone of familiarity. In other words, at what level are we pulled towards the familiar in order to ease our passage to the unfamiliar? Thinking about my own excursions into new areas of the city, I find that I want to stay close to areas which I understand.
Building off of this idea, I think an interesting experiment would be to have participants rank various areas of the city based on familiarity and then send them to a random location. Personally, I know I would at least be tempted to take known roads over those that are more unfamiliar, especially if some time limit was thrown in. With that said though...if it was a competition I may be more inclined to take a few risks and head off my usual grid. I guess in that way, movement through a city is also fueled by intention: am I rushed? casual stroll? avoiding someone? am I wanted by the authorities?
What then is the interplay between intention, movement, and the familiar? I think psychogeography would offer a compelling answer if given the chance.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A Quick Look Back
Reading week is almost here and it feels as if classes have barely begun (although the stack of homework burning a hole in mind would beg to differ). But to the question: "What’s surprised you? Any suspicions confirmed/undermined?"
I have to be honest and say that the initial distinction we made between Space and Place took me by surprise, or it at least got me thinking in a completely different way about the world I inhabit. It seems to me that there are variety of ways to accomplish this transformation; however, in my mind, the physical act of walking is at the top. Rebecca Solnit, in her novel Savage Dreams, talks about how walking forges a connection with the landscape, how we embed places into our "web of experience". In other words, walking rips us away from our sterile position as a voyeur and immerses us in de Certeau's everyday, in the chaos of life.
Suspicions? Somewhat confirmed. I knew from the outset that Edmonton had experiences to offer that were outside my normal place of habitat, and 380 has shown this to be true, yet I still can't grasp a coherent image of the city. But maybe Edmonton is a city that resists being labeled with any definitive meaning? Better question maybe?: What does Edmonton enable me to do?Does it increase my power to act?
I have to be honest and say that the initial distinction we made between Space and Place took me by surprise, or it at least got me thinking in a completely different way about the world I inhabit. It seems to me that there are variety of ways to accomplish this transformation; however, in my mind, the physical act of walking is at the top. Rebecca Solnit, in her novel Savage Dreams, talks about how walking forges a connection with the landscape, how we embed places into our "web of experience". In other words, walking rips us away from our sterile position as a voyeur and immerses us in de Certeau's everyday, in the chaos of life.
Suspicions? Somewhat confirmed. I knew from the outset that Edmonton had experiences to offer that were outside my normal place of habitat, and 380 has shown this to be true, yet I still can't grasp a coherent image of the city. But maybe Edmonton is a city that resists being labeled with any definitive meaning? Better question maybe?: What does Edmonton enable me to do?Does it increase my power to act?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Nostalgia, Destroyer of Places?
After reading Brenda Mann's "Places of Refuge", I was struck by how memories from past places can be influenced by simply revisiting them in the imagination. How often do we reconstruct places in our mind in order to align them with our current view in life? In other words, can new experiences shape places from the past?
During Darrin Hagen's talk to our class yesterday, he reminisced about the places that used to be pillars of the underground community. I wonder what his conception of these places used to be? The fights, the rumours, the drugs--are these thoughts and experiences still lurking in between the rubble, or inside the walls of the newly constructed buildings? Or has nostalgia infiltrated these past experiences and warped them to cohere to the past that we want to remember?
Personally, I feel a similar feeling of creeping nostalgia when I think back to my days as a labourer in my parent's household / gulag. The chores that were once the bane of my existence are now (mal?)-formed into wonderful family gatherings. Me, outside, cutting wood, -30 degrees--now a blissful interaction with nature.
The domicile of my past has been forever warped by the experiences I have accrued away from home (or maybe my parents propaganda is finally taking grip). My question: Is it possible to reform the places from our past without nostalgia or other events seeping in to warp it? Or are we entrapped in our own subjectivity? And if so, how can we be objective as possible when revisiting our pasts?
During Darrin Hagen's talk to our class yesterday, he reminisced about the places that used to be pillars of the underground community. I wonder what his conception of these places used to be? The fights, the rumours, the drugs--are these thoughts and experiences still lurking in between the rubble, or inside the walls of the newly constructed buildings? Or has nostalgia infiltrated these past experiences and warped them to cohere to the past that we want to remember?
Personally, I feel a similar feeling of creeping nostalgia when I think back to my days as a labourer in my parent's household / gulag. The chores that were once the bane of my existence are now (mal?)-formed into wonderful family gatherings. Me, outside, cutting wood, -30 degrees--now a blissful interaction with nature.
The domicile of my past has been forever warped by the experiences I have accrued away from home (or maybe my parents propaganda is finally taking grip). My question: Is it possible to reform the places from our past without nostalgia or other events seeping in to warp it? Or are we entrapped in our own subjectivity? And if so, how can we be objective as possible when revisiting our pasts?
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