Anneli Xie
Prof. Justin Armstrong
ANTH 278: Machines for Living and Structures of Feeling: the Anthropology of Architecture
2020/02/13
Prof. Justin Armstrong
ANTH 278: Machines for Living and Structures of Feeling: the Anthropology of Architecture
2020/02/13
Identity-Markers
and Alive Spaces: Crafting a Sense of Home at Wellesley College
Making a strong case for the importance of
architecture without architects, Christopher Alexander’s The Timeless Way thinks about the process in which buildings can grow intuitively within the
inherent nature of the peoples and nature that surround and inhabit them. Alexander
argues that these are the buildings and places that contain a feeling of being
whole or alive. For this intuitive process to happen, Alexander suggests
that we need to rid ourselves of discipline and instead let the “seeming chaos
which is in us, […] a rich, rolling, swelling, dying, lilting, singing,
laughing, shouting, crying, sleeping order […] guide our acts of
building.” (Alexander 1979, 13) Alexander’s idealistic way of building in a timeless, vernacular, and “unconscious
form,” (Alexander 1979, 11) as well
as his description of the chaotic, beautiful, and alive space, very much
adheres to that of dorm rooms: timeless and continuously brought alivethrough its continuously changing residents. The dorm rooms of the fourth floor
of Shafer Hall, Wellesley College, are no exception. Standardized in both
exterior and interior to function as short-term residencies for students of a
multiplicity of backgrounds, experiences, and cultures, these dorm rooms reveal
a fascinating process of trying to craft a sense of home. I will analyze and
unpack my own dorm room by relating it to Alexander’s idea of alive spaces
and Victor Buchli’s notes on crafting spaces within institutions and
communities, as well as those on consumption and the home, in order to reflect
on the increased importance of identity-markers homeyness in an environment
that is inherently standardized and thus limiting.
Hiding in plain sight, the dark green doors along the two corridors of the Shafer Hall fourth floor reveal only hints about the people that reside behind them. With each door of the floor hosting a bulletin board and a whiteboard, these hints often take the form of name tags and marker scribbles; animal doodles, a racket-shaped paper cut-out, a flyer from a past event; and each bulletin board sporting a carrot-shaped piece of paper with each resident’s name. My own door, apart from the carrot, hosts an old envelope that my best friend gave me before I left home and a collage of origami papers and cut-outs that I spent an hour making during a social event with the climbing club. All three contain my name: Anneli, ANNELI, & ANNELI, my door insists in despair, just like the racket-shaped paper cut-out across the hall asserts the name of my neighbor in blinding yellow letters. One is my door, the other is hers – they are not the same, despite being of the same identical design. Even before entering each individual room, – in a hall of standardization and limitation – the quest for authenticity has become seemingly emphasized. Much like Victor Buchli suggests in An Anthropology of Architecture, the tension emerging from homes being built by non-residents – and the tension between built form and lived experience that thus occurs (Buchli 2013, 120) – come to fruition in the dorm room, seen in the overdetermination of identity markers, such as name tags. Towards the end of the academic year, these doors will be stripped of tags, scribbles, and other personal customization, leaving them blank and identical; but for now, they help their inhabitants in a continuous quest of formulating and carving out a place of identity and authenticity in a space that is inherently not theirs.
Furthermore, turning each individual doorknob will expose new worlds of understanding, revealing a multiplicity of secrets about the resident and her material culture and identity. Opening my own door will showcase posters on the walls – a map of my hometown, a Haruki Murakami poster, a demo print from Vampire Weekend’s latest album, a blueprint of my Cocker Spaniel – as well as several photos, letters, and notes hanging from the fairy-lights above my bed: a photo of my family in The Gunks, of my dog by the Helsingborg shore, a drawing of a fish that my boyfriend gave me, notes from my high school friends… It will reveal dirty coffee cups, my Moomin bedsheets, my cactus lamp, and my favorite books stacked on top of each other. When I moved into my dorm room, I felt an urge to bring in everything that was me; everything that I have accumulated over the past couple of years; things that seemed defining and identity-marking. Akin to Alexander’s proposal in The Timeless Way, these markers are in many cases spontaneous and intuitively accumulated, homey things (Brown 2001, 4) that “produce a distinctive form of attachment” (Buchli 2013, 126) but that might just be scribbles and doodles on pieces of paper. Still, they have become part of me: a mimesis of my own phenomenological experience. However, and perhaps most importantly: the decorations in my room are not permanent; when I leave for the year, my room will regress into the state I found it upon moving in, empty of décor and containing the same five wooden furniture as all the other rooms, a bed, desk, chair, drawer, and shelf. As Buchli suggests in regard to decorating institutional and standardized places, Wellesley students – myself included – adhere to an attitude of “leave it as it comes, it’s not my home,” (Buchli 2013, 105) despite trying to make their temporary residence feel more homey. The distinction between a permanent home and trying to craft a sense of home, in a temporary place, thus becomes notable.
Like Buchli states, the interior movement of furniture and decor is an “important work of self;” (Buchli 2013, 124) the Wellesley College dorm rooms being a remarkable example of that. Standardized and limiting in their initial form, students coming from a diverse range of backgrounds will inhabit the rooms in fully different ways, making them alive, and by Alexander’s definition, timeless; a reification of their lived experience and identity.
Alexander, Christopher. The Timeless Way. New York: Oxford University Press, 1979.
Brown, Bill. “Thing Theory.” Critical Inquiry 28,no. 2 (Fall 2001): 1-22.
Buchli, Victor. An Anthropology of Design. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013.
Hiding in plain sight, the dark green doors along the two corridors of the Shafer Hall fourth floor reveal only hints about the people that reside behind them. With each door of the floor hosting a bulletin board and a whiteboard, these hints often take the form of name tags and marker scribbles; animal doodles, a racket-shaped paper cut-out, a flyer from a past event; and each bulletin board sporting a carrot-shaped piece of paper with each resident’s name. My own door, apart from the carrot, hosts an old envelope that my best friend gave me before I left home and a collage of origami papers and cut-outs that I spent an hour making during a social event with the climbing club. All three contain my name: Anneli, ANNELI, & ANNELI, my door insists in despair, just like the racket-shaped paper cut-out across the hall asserts the name of my neighbor in blinding yellow letters. One is my door, the other is hers – they are not the same, despite being of the same identical design. Even before entering each individual room, – in a hall of standardization and limitation – the quest for authenticity has become seemingly emphasized. Much like Victor Buchli suggests in An Anthropology of Architecture, the tension emerging from homes being built by non-residents – and the tension between built form and lived experience that thus occurs (Buchli 2013, 120) – come to fruition in the dorm room, seen in the overdetermination of identity markers, such as name tags. Towards the end of the academic year, these doors will be stripped of tags, scribbles, and other personal customization, leaving them blank and identical; but for now, they help their inhabitants in a continuous quest of formulating and carving out a place of identity and authenticity in a space that is inherently not theirs.
Furthermore, turning each individual doorknob will expose new worlds of understanding, revealing a multiplicity of secrets about the resident and her material culture and identity. Opening my own door will showcase posters on the walls – a map of my hometown, a Haruki Murakami poster, a demo print from Vampire Weekend’s latest album, a blueprint of my Cocker Spaniel – as well as several photos, letters, and notes hanging from the fairy-lights above my bed: a photo of my family in The Gunks, of my dog by the Helsingborg shore, a drawing of a fish that my boyfriend gave me, notes from my high school friends… It will reveal dirty coffee cups, my Moomin bedsheets, my cactus lamp, and my favorite books stacked on top of each other. When I moved into my dorm room, I felt an urge to bring in everything that was me; everything that I have accumulated over the past couple of years; things that seemed defining and identity-marking. Akin to Alexander’s proposal in The Timeless Way, these markers are in many cases spontaneous and intuitively accumulated, homey things (Brown 2001, 4) that “produce a distinctive form of attachment” (Buchli 2013, 126) but that might just be scribbles and doodles on pieces of paper. Still, they have become part of me: a mimesis of my own phenomenological experience. However, and perhaps most importantly: the decorations in my room are not permanent; when I leave for the year, my room will regress into the state I found it upon moving in, empty of décor and containing the same five wooden furniture as all the other rooms, a bed, desk, chair, drawer, and shelf. As Buchli suggests in regard to decorating institutional and standardized places, Wellesley students – myself included – adhere to an attitude of “leave it as it comes, it’s not my home,” (Buchli 2013, 105) despite trying to make their temporary residence feel more homey. The distinction between a permanent home and trying to craft a sense of home, in a temporary place, thus becomes notable.
Like Buchli states, the interior movement of furniture and decor is an “important work of self;” (Buchli 2013, 124) the Wellesley College dorm rooms being a remarkable example of that. Standardized and limiting in their initial form, students coming from a diverse range of backgrounds will inhabit the rooms in fully different ways, making them alive, and by Alexander’s definition, timeless; a reification of their lived experience and identity.
References
Alexander, Christopher. The Timeless Way. New York: Oxford University Press, 1979.
Brown, Bill. “Thing Theory.” Critical Inquiry 28,no. 2 (Fall 2001): 1-22.
Buchli, Victor. An Anthropology of Design. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013.