Thank you to Nussbaum Group for co-sponsoring ARCADE's website.
Sunday 25 Nov
by Seattle Public Library, Fremont Historical Society, Queen Anne Historical Society
2 – 3:30pm
Join Paul Dorpat and Jean Sherrard for an illustrated book discussion of Seattle Now & Then: The Historic Hundred.
Tuesday 27 Nov
by CreativeMornings Vancouver
6:30 – 9:30pm
A special evening CreativeMornings event with three speakers addressing the theme "restart."
Thursday 29 Nov
6 – 7:30pm (Doors at 5:30pm)
Architect Daniel Solomon will speak about his new book and respond to comments by architect Gordon Walker and UW Professor Anne Vernez Moudon.
Thursday 29 Nov
by GRAY Magazine
7 – 11pm
GRAY's awards event brings the entire Pacific Northwest design community together to celebrate award-winning design—and to party!
Thursday 29 Nov
by Inside Fashion Design
6 – 8pm
Learn the basics of design thinking from an award-winning, innovative designer with over 20 years of experience.
Friday 30 Nov –
Saturday 1 Dec
by Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation Discovery Center
10am – 5pm
Find unique gifts at the Giving Marketplace, which will include a section on local organizations using design innovation to tackle world problems.
Friday 30 Nov
by Peter Miller Books
Submit your drawings for an exhibition at Peter Miller Books.
Tuesday 4 Dec
by IIDA Northern Pacific Chapter, Herman Miller
5:30 – 7:30pm
A panel of experts will draw you a roadmap for how to start your own design business.
Thursday 6 Dec –
Saturday 23 Feb
by Center for Architecture & Design
Opening reception: 6 Dec., 6 – 8pm
Exhibition: T – Th, 10am – 6pm; F, 10am – 5pm; Sa, 1 – 5pm
An exhibit of ideas from Displaced: Design for Inclusive Cities, a competition for solutions to the global refugee and immigrant crisis.
Thursday 6 Dec
by AIA Seattle, SMPS Seattle
4:30 – 6:30pm
An interactive forum to discuss how design/build is dramatically changing the AEC landscape today.
Thursday 6 Dec
by Town Hall Seattle
7:30pm (Doors at 6:30pm)
Randy Shaw, Director of the Tenderloin Housing Clinic, comes to Town Hall’s stage with his perspective on the national housing crisis.
Thursday 6 Dec –
Tuesday 15 Jan
by Peter Miller Books
Opening Reception: 6 Dec., 6pm
Gallery Hours: M – Sa, 10am – 6pm
An exhibition of a curated selection of drawings from Northwest designers.
Tuesday 11 Dec
6:00 – 8pm
Auction closes at 7:30pm
Join us for ARCADE's annual auction!
Tuesday 8 Jan
by IxDA Seattle, Women Talk Design
6 – 8:30pm
at HBO Seattle
Part 2 of a workshop series that will cover the essentials of public speaking.
Through Sunday 30 Dec
by Seattle Art Museum
MW, 10am – 5pm; Th, 10am – 9pm; F–Su, 10am – 5pm
Photographs from the 1975 exhibition New Topographics, an important milestone in photographic history, and related work by other artists.
Through Wednesday 21 Nov
by Seattle Architecture Foundation
Exhibition: T – Th, 10am – 6pm; F, 10am – 5pm; Sa, 1 – 5pm
Opening reception: 29 Aug, 6 – 8pm
View architectural models that explore explore the rich interplay between architectural design and civic life.
Through Thursday 13 Dec
by Photographic Center Northwest
Gallery: M – Th, 12 – 9pm; Sa – Su, 12 – 6pm
Opening Reception: 13 September, 6:30 – 8pm
Panel Discussion: 15 September, 4 – 6pm
An exhibition examining photographic books as a marker within the photographic canon, and the role of designer in a book’s creation.
Through Saturday 11 May
by Bill & Melinda Gates Discovery Center
Tu – Sa, 10am – 5pm
See how individuals and organizations are using design innovation to address some of the world’s most critical problems and improve lives.
Through Friday 7 Dec
by UW Landscape Architecture, GGN
MTWF, 12 – 5pm
Th,12 – 7pm
An exhibit capturing GGN's process in designing three-dimensional landscapes through two-dimensional inquiries and discoveries.
Through Sunday 6 Jan
by Museum of Northwest Art (MoNA), Skagit Climate Science Consortium
Su – M, Noon – 5pm
Tu – Sa, 10am – 5pm
An exhibition designed to draw attention to climate change and its impact on Northwest’s coastal communities.
Through Sunday 28 Apr
by Henry Art Gallery
WFSaSu, 11am – 4pm; Th, 11am – 9pm
A group exhibition that delve into intimate exchanges and entwined relations between human and more-than-human bodies.
Through Friday 15 Feb
by International Japanese Garden Training Center
Apply now to for this series of three hands-on 12-day training seminars.
The date has been set for ARCADE’s 2018 Holiday Auction and Community Celebration!
We hope you will join us for this year’s celebration, to be held at Sole Repair Shop (10th Ave. at Pike St. on Capitol Hill) on Tuesday, December 11 from 6 to 8pm. The evening will feature our highly-anticipated annual holiday auction of design-minded getaways and experiences, a preview of our winter (February) magazine, music, light fare, beverages, and more. The event will also feature work from Reilly Donovan, new media and technology artist and winter ARCADE issue contributor: two pieces which utilize virtual reality and augmented reality. Donovan’s current work—digital realities—incorporates the Oculus Rift and Microsoft HoloLens hardware, which create an interactive experience for viewers.
Additional details about this event, previews of auction items, and opportunities to pre-purchase a select list of experiences will be available soon.
If you are interested in becoming a sponsor for this event, please contact Kelly Rodriguez: [email protected].
Thank you to our event sponsor:
Thank you to our beer donor:
Thank you to the grantmakers supporting ARCADE:
Heritage and lineage. Celestial wonder. Mastery of craftsmanship. In the age of “move fast and break things,” antiquarian horologist Brittany Nicole Cox operates on a different plane. Her work requires a return to principles and ideals often out of sync with the rapid innovation spinning just outside her Seattle studio door.
Cox is one of perhaps a dozen people on the planet practicing antiquarian horology—the conservation of historical clocks and the study of time. She’s a true renaissance woman—a practitioner of mechanical engineering, watchmaking, automaton regenerating, ornamental turning, woodworking, silversmithing, blacksmithing, gilding. She single-handedly runs every facet of her operation, Memoria Technica. She leads a lecture series on horological conservation. She’s a philosopher with a particular bent for epistemology. The list goes on, an esoteric collection.
Using many of the same tools and machines from centuries past, Cox will dissect years of hard work and materials, examine the mechanisms and metaphors of a beautifully crafted object, and slowly build it back up. Intrinsic to these instruments are ancient ruminations on the tilt of the planet, the power of the sun, diamonds versus wood, weights versus springs. Gorgeous automatons dot the mechanical mayhem of her workshop; birds chirp, dogs bark, music chimes without a single electrical connection. Bellows and gears whir soundlessly and bring time to a bewitching halt, and an iPhone suddenly feels insubstantial by comparison.
Inherent to her quest is the concept of time—how we design it, how we use it, how we revere and contend with it. Long ago, humans gazed up at the night sky and began to consider our place among the stars. That philosophical wonder evolved to the mechanics of horology and eventually to where we are now—ever connected and in demand, our time a commodity owned by smart phones and digital calendars. Our meaning of being is getting lost in the cacophony and with it the toil and tenacity that defined modern time as we know it.
Consider John Harrison. A carpenter by trade, he chased the 1714 Longitude Act enacted during the reign of Queen Anne. The challenge was simple yet enormous: find an accurate way to measure longitude at sea. Harrison experimented for 30 years, eventually succeeding with the H4 sea watch and earning today’s equivalent of millions of dollars for his discovery. That a timekeeping device could be used to pinpoint longitudinal position was the big breakthrough—design rooted in science. It changed the course of navigation, commerce, and exploration the world over. Beyond that, the sheer craft of Harrison’s work is staggering by today’s standards. His creations were elaborate and curated, the materials painstakingly sourced.
This is what Cox strives to conserve. Not just the romance of antiquity, but the power of its influence. The imagination and heart behind the objects that measure the turn of our world.
Cox’s study of rare, beautiful, and rather important things is a critical mirror for design in 2018. Where Silicon Valley demands innovation at a break-neck pace, rarely examining the inundation of apps, bots, social networks, and devices left in its wake, Cox is reaching for a return to indispensable creation and the pursuit of preservation.
Perhaps you’ve heard: Moore’s Law is dead. The rate of computational enhancement that drove the past 50 years of advancement is at its apex. We’re coming up on something here—some cliff that drops us into quantum computing, artificial intelligence, and a new age of rapid design.
Where does that leave conservation and craft? It might be time to slow down rather than speed ahead. If we want our attention back, want to feel like we’re truly creating something substantial, want to focus and take care and make beautiful things, we need to look to creators like Cox who care deeply about what we’re carrying forward. This is the moment to consider the legacy of design.
Melanie Concordia and Jescelle Major
Take a moment to reflect on the most recent new place you entered. It could be a public space like a museum or garden, a business, or a home. What did you do when you first approached? What caught your attention?
Naomi Abrams proposed similar questions during her talk at the 2018 American Occupational Therapy Association Annual Conference. She inquired, “What did you do when you entered this room, and how did you know what to do?” The audience hesitated, until someone finally shouted, “I sat down!” “And why did you sit down?” Abrams continued, “Because past experience tells us to sit down when we enter a room full of chairs.”
Like the conference attendees who immediately sat down upon entering the room, how we approach our surroundings is influenced by our experiences in the world, our abilities, and our individuality, and it is important to remember that no two people are going to interact with a space in the same way. According to the National Disability Authority, the term universal design is used to describe spaces that “can be accessed, understood, and used to the greatest extent possible by all people regardless of their age, size, ability, or disability.” At best, when approached with universal use in mind, environmental design can address health disparities and ensure that no one is left behind. At their worst, our designed environments can create barriers, often invisible, to access. Because of this, advocating for universal design is an environmental justice movement. Good space design should matter to all of us, since a universally designed public space serves everyone equally and fosters better health.
For example, the World Health Organization’s 2011 report Global Health and Aging emphasizes the need for seniors to “age-in-place”—to be able to live in their homes and communities safely and independently as long as possible.
Aging-in-place is necessary for individual well-being and reduces the physical and financial impacts on health-care systems and communities. Pertaining specifically to how aging-in-place relates to public designed spaces, the report states that the economic strain and health impacts associated with disability “can be reinforced or alleviated by environmental characteristics that can determine whether an older person can remain independent despite physical limitations.” Though the report does not mention universal design explicitly, design for aging-in-place comfortably falls under this distinction.
Interprofessional and Creative Problem Solving
When people enter a space, what do they do, and why? These are questions occupational therapists (OTs) and landscape architects (LAs) ask themselves every day, and though this professional pairing may not seem obvious, OTs and LAs are well suited to work together towards a goal of universally designed spaces. Among other benefits, LAs bring environmental design skills to the table, while OTs offer medical knowledge regarding the abilities of a broad range of users. Currently, few OTs and LAs have bridged this professional gap, but the healing gardens at the VA Puget Sound Fisher House is one successful example of such a collaboration (for details on this interesting project, see the OT Practice article “Universal Design for a Lifetime: Interprofessional Collaboration and the Role of Occupational Therapy in Environmental Modifications” by Debra Young, Tracy Van Oss, and Amy Wagenfeld).
In general, interprofessional design teams are ideal for creating public spaces for diverse uses. As described by Professor Katherine Phillips in her comprehensive Scientific American article “How Diversity Makes Us Smarter,” unconventional collaborations inspire creative problem-solving when compared to the work of homogeneous teams. Phillips’s analysis also indicates a strong link between diverse working groups and deeper discourse. This results in improved quality of work, increased open-mindedness and empathy, and a greater ability to resolve disagreements, and all of these factors are precursors to understanding the value of and prioritizing universal space design. Cross-disciplinary and cross-cultural work of this kind can elevate the practice of universal design from a specialty consideration to a normal part of everyday life. The Gehl Institute’s 2018 report Inclusive Healthy Places offers a framework that details powerful ways interprofessional teams can deliberately design universal spaces, including recommendations for collaboration and feedback.
We encourage everyone, regardless of background, to think more holistically about the spaces we occupy and how they serve our collective health needs. The next time you enter a new space, indoors or out, take a moment to consider all the possible uses and users, not just the first one that comes to mind.
Thank you to Mithun for cosponsoring ARCADE's website and e-newsletter.
Seattle is the new home of an inspirational educational institution called the Center for Design. It was founded by legendary industrial designer Sara Little Turnbull and focuses on her collection of international body coverings, domestic tools, cultural ornamentation, dining appointments, and fine natural specimens of rocks and shell patterns. At the center, artifacts of tribal Africa mingle with ribbons from the Vatican; an American weathervane is only a few steps from an Indian cosmetic tray or Japanese tea ceremony tools.
Sara Little Turnbull is probably the most accomplished designer you’ve never heard of. She was one of America’s early industrial designers, developing many of the artifacts and objects that have populated our daily lives since WWII and defined the mid-century era. Sara was often called the “mother of invention” and was an early inspiration behind many now familiar terms such as human-centered design and design thinking, and she helped originate the concept of design sustainability in form, materials, and manufacturing. She was an early proponent of biomimicry in design and was quick to point out that the natural world inspired many of her innovative product developments. Her lessons are refreshingly based on domestic and cultural rituals rather than the typical business metaphors of war or sports.
Although Sara was a citizen of the world, she spent half her life living in Washington State, moving between Tacoma, Vantage, and Seattle. She was an exceptionally bright youngster who rose from a Brooklyn tenement and gained her professional education through hard work and scholarships. Eventually, she became an editor at House Beautiful, a position that she used to guide and shape the evolving American lifestyle.
Sara was instrumental in determining how kitchen spaces should work. She promoted the idea of family rooms instead of unused “living” rooms, and she reimagined the luxury bathroom as something above and beyond mere functional space. Her frugal and cleverly appointed New York City apartments were featured in magazines several times during the first decades of her 60-year career. Thanks to her impeccable taste, many of her original furnishings and careful design details were repurposed into her contemporary Seattle penthouse, where they looked as fresh as any seen in the design magazines of today. They were certainly not what you would expect to find in the home of a typical 90-year-old. The Center for Design is a replica of one of Sara’s personal living spaces in New York City.
Everything in Sara’s life was there by design, from her custom clothing, shoes, accessories, and furniture to her household appliances. She never owned a home or a car, which freed her to travel around the world four times a year for the Fortune 100 companies for which she consulted. She made billions of dollars for her long-term clients, helping their R&D teams develop new materials and groundbreaking products. She worked with well-known companies including Corning, 3M, General Mills, Procter & Gamble, Revlon, Coca-Cola, NASA, Macys, Ford, and many more. Products developed under her guidance ranged widely from medical facemasks, space suits, tapes and adhesives, cosmetics, paper products, storage systems, new foods (soy and vegetable-based), the glass cooktop, and beautiful yet sturdy cookware such as CorningWare and Corelle.
“Quality over quantity” was Sara’s manifesto. She owned little and traveled light. Every detail was carefully considered. She was not only one of the first to preach sustainability to major corporations, she also lived it. She insisted that products should be built to last because she realized early on that we can’t continue to produce throwaway, replaceable garbage. Sara would save every penny so she could travel to Paris once a year to buy a single haute couture outfit that was designed with a specific, highly-functional purpose in mind. At only 4’11” her clothes were custom made to fit her sub-zero size, but more importantly, they addressed the demands of early global airline travel for a single, female professional. This process also provided a collaborative experience with some of the world's leading fashion designers, including Chanel, Dior, Givenchy, Yves St. Laurent, and Balenciaga, to name only a few. These incredible “body coverings,” as she called them, remained classics and served her needs over her entire life. These examples are part of the Center for Design today.
The Center for Design is Sara’s gift to the future. It was formerly located in the Tacoma Art Museum and deaccessioned in 2003 when they moved to a new building with a new mission.
During the last 10 years of her life, Sara had the center relocated to Seattle, and after her passing in 2015, it was closed while being rebuilt to be of greater use. After years of research and archiving, the center is ready for visitors once more.
The Center for Design’s subjective collection has universal meaning to a wide variety of observers. Showcasing 3,500 beautifully assembled objects from Sara’s world travels, it is a place of intimate, human-scale interactions, and it reflects the ingenuity, craftsmanship, and genius of her strategic presentations and design prototypes. Viewed holistically, the collection highlights common themes throughout objects from different cultures and demonstrates that good design meets human needs.
Another part of the center that has been reassembled in Seattle is a collection called the Process of Change lab, which was the hub of her research and teaching tools during her tenure in Stanford University’s Graduate School of Business. Rather than preach to a choir of designers, Sara preferred to teach budding CEOs about the essential role of good design in the business world—a notable achievement in techcentric Silicon Valley.
The purpose of the Center for Design is to make products of human work and thought available for study. The center serves a diversity of audiences, including students, scholars, professionals, and the general public. Sara Little understood that design is for and about people. Its purpose is to fill our needs while making our lives easier and more graceful, to sharpen our awareness and perhaps delight us in the process—to recognize and celebrate that ancient urge to blend the useful and the beautiful into a single object.
As Sara has said, “The way of life of a people influences the things they design. Design does more than merely reflect the imprint of man’s influence on his materials. It carries its own influence on those who use designed objects.”
These collections in the Center for Design have attracted people from all over the world and are now available to visit by appointment. For more information, visit the Center for Design’s website.
Truth of the matter was, we didn’t really know what the ghost wanted. Sometimes it was like listening to a baby cry. Sometimes it was really sweet and not scary at all.
Liz was the first to bring it up. You could tell she was nervous about it. You could tell that she struggled with how to explain it. There are always other possible explanations. Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it’s paranormal activity. And no one wants to be the person trying to convince their friends that ghosts are real.
Like most good stories, it started with Liz offering a disclaimer.
“So I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think the Chophouse building has a ghost.”
Then she paused and looked around the room to read the expressions on our faces. We weren’t exactly the Ghostbusters taking on a new client. We were artists and architects and friends of hers. She trusted us.
I had dealt with ghosts before. Old buildings are chock-full of them. It’s not like I was out looking for ghosts, we just happened to share similar tastes in architecture. After a while it’s like getting used to a new roommate that doesn’t pay rent and stays up too late.
The Chophouse ghost, according to Liz, wasn’t a total brat—it wasn’t dragging chains down the hall or filling the pipes with blood. I actually think Liz was concerned about it. Like maybe, just maybe, it needed our help.
There are a few things that all ghosts have in common:
1. Ghosts eat pigeons.
2. Ghosts don’t like elevators.
3. Ghosts are extremely patient.
The ghost at Chophouse had a few specific traits that we learned over the course of last winter:
1. The ghost was a woman.
2. Her favorite song was “Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weeknd.
3. She loved to dance.
Opening up a line of communication was pretty easy—two pounds of soil from the basement, a half-cup of sea salt, one cedar sprig, 18 yellow number-two pencils, and a lot of tongue clacking. It was like playing charades with a shy kid. The first time we made contact, the only thing she said was C-H-E-E-T-O-S. We thought it was Holly just messing with us, but it turns out the ghost has a thing for those cheesy corn puffs. We bought a bag at Texaco and sprinkled them around the Cloud Room. Liz was afraid they would attract mice, but they were always gone by morning.
Over the weeks and months that followed, we slowly learned who this ghost was, and what she really wanted.
The ghost wanted her home back.
Liz confirmed that indeed they had found an old foundation deep below the Chophouse building. Before Capitol Hill was an arts district, before it harbored Seattle’s gay culture, before it was auto row, it was a heavily forested landscape with a creek and a few modest cabins (before that it was Native land, but by most accounts it remained forested and uninhabited).
The ghost kept spelling out S-H-E-D. We asked if she wanted her shed back and a door slammed and four pigeons took flight. S-H-E-D. P-R-E-N-T-I-S. And we asked, confused—Prentis Hale, the architect?—and two pencils tapped on the table like a snare drum. Some people still don’t believe it, but that’s how SHED Architecture got the job—the ghost asked for them by name.
With Prentis and Kara on board, the project moved forward with ease. We learned that our ghost had been an entertainer, dancing for the thousands of young lumberjacks, fishermen, and gold prospectors that populated early Seattle. We learned how she was able to get on the internet and turn on the stereo.
Most importantly, we learned what a ghost looks for in a cabin:
Don’t need it.
Sweet baby, I am electricity. Just make it out of cedar and give me a stage to dance on.
Things are quieter now that the ghost cabin is complete. Sometimes I sit on the stoop and look at the stage, wondering if she is there, kicking the air and ruffling her ghost dress. Sometimes I sprinkle Cheetos on the ground and wait for them to disappear.
I’m pretty sure the new building across the street doesn’t have a ghost. Maybe someday it will. If they are lucky.
Eva Grate and Karen Cheng
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Local Focus: +50,000 New Housing Units: HALA, MHA, and Seattle's Program to Address Housing Affordability
Kate Degman and Karen Cheng