Colin Ellard - You Are Here

It starts at home

We greet the news of June’s uptick in new housing starts in the US like thirsty desert wanderers seeing the first shimmer of water on the horizon.  Could this be the long-awaited turning point in a year’s worth of economic bad news?  Have we finally found a midsummer’s moment of relief after the unremitting fiscal nightmares of the past months?  If only it could be so easy.  Hard as we might try to turn a blind eye to the continued avalanche of foreclosures and empty malls, and to point to the historical record showing that it’s always burgeoning housing construction that leads us out of recessions, to do so now is to forfeit what might turn out to be our last and best chance to cut into the diseased marrow of the ailing beast and apply the soothing salve of common sense.  We cannot be healed by turning back to the unsustainable lifestyles and practices that have brought us to this precipice.  We need to think differently about everything, and the fresh thoughts need to start close to home.  In fact, let’s think about our homes themselves.  When we cling to those encouraging signs of tiny green shoots in the housing numbers, let’s be quite explicit that what we’re really talking about here is not just a big pile of lumber, drywall, and human labor that converts to cash.  We’re talking about our homes.  We are talking about our most intimate personal possessions—the walls that we use to enclose our families, the canvas on which we paint the stories of our lives, our places of comfort, succor, refuge and happiness.  How sad that at some point along the line we’ve lost sight of the real importance of all of this and have been taught to treat our domestic spaces as nothing more than a form of hard currency.  In so many American cities we retreat to bloated suburban houses where we cut ourselves off from our neighbors, our workplaces, our public spaces and our services all in the crazed desire to encase ourselves in the protective armor of financial security.  We treat our homes less as domiciles and more as debentures.  We leave our children with no choices other than to sit and stare at screens while waiting for someone to drive them to the mall, and then we wonder to ourselves why they just don’t seem at all interested in the greater world.  In these, the most important spaces of our lives, we need to get beyond square foot equations in which we make brute declarations of our success in life by demonstrating how much of a one-acre lot we can fill with unnecessary and expensive interior spaces.  We need to make a mental migration to a place where we can think very carefully about where we are, what kinds of beings we are, and what we need to move forward into a happy and sustainable way of life.  Is that gigantic mine shaft foyer going to do it?  The two-storey great room?  The manicured lawn? As a psychologist interested in how people use spaces, I find it remarkable how little of the conversation I hear about home spaces has to do with anything other than size – how to get more space, how to make things look even bigger than they are, how to add on, how to move up the scale.  Much rarer are the conversations we really need to have about how our home spaces ought to work—how the organization of a home, a neighborhood, or a city might be re-thought to be something other than a conspicuous display of wealth and instead to be something that nurtures our spirits, helps us to forge community, and encourages our children to be the curious and autonomous explorers of spaces and places that some of us can remember being when we were children.  At this point in our history, we have a better understanding of how the design of spaces influences human behavior than at any previous point.  We can try to fix a sick animal by applying an ever larger number of loosely-fitting band-aids, or we can take the time to understand the disease and engage in the research, the soul-searching and the dialogue that might eventually effect a radical cure.  As with so many things, the important work begins at home.

The big here and the long now

In an epic bout of WILFING brought on by an excessive early morning round of woofing that roused me from bed at an uncivil Sunday morning hour, I've landed here, thinking about Brian Eno.  I couldn't possibly reconstruct the path now, but funny how these things happen, that I end up with an essay written by one of my favourite musicians (no, he's not a musician. I know.  A philosopher of sound?) about topics close to my heart.

I love the story of the multimillion dollar Manhattan apartment set in a desolate and gloomy industrial street, as if the context doesn't matter.  I'm also much intrigued by the suggestion that this kind of blithe oblivion to context might be North-Amero-centric as it relates to my increasing fears that I don't know nearly enough about how cities or even brains work outside of my own continent.  It reminds me once again of a recent conversation I had with an architect interested in environmental psychology who said that he thought the hypothesis that we can acccount for many environmental preferences by imagining a connection with ancient Savannah forebears was a fevered figment of the American imagination.  But the most intriguing part of the essay is Eno's claim that as we misunderstand space by focusing on the near-at-hand, the immediately visible, the isovist (which is one of my main book messages as well), we're also narrowing our temporal focus to mere moments.  It's a terrible cliche to rabbit on about how life is speeding up blah blah blah, but much more interesting to think about some kind of integral connection between our inability to understand the structure of large scale space and our blind spot for any temporal effects that extend beyond a few minutes into our future.  

All fecund in my eco-nuttiness

My first op-edwas published yesterday.  I'm not doing such a great job of avoiding glancing at the comments, though I ought to have predicted that if I become aroused about the comments people make on others' work, then my reactions to comments on my own work would be, um, a bit more stress-inducing.  I have to say that it felt good to put the view out there that a very small change to an urban plan that would make life a bit more pleasant for bikers and walkers, ought to be a pretty simple decision.  There were one or two things I might have said a little differently if I had the exercise to do over again, and I would have maybe left out my discussion of inter-city travel (though still quite surprised to read that there are people who, even after looking at the VIA schedule, think that a train system that is less efficient than it was in the 1930s is acceptable).  But rather than defend myself here (I'm completely ok with being 'out there' and taking some abuse if there's a chance I can help make people keep thinking about these issues), I'll just note a couple of things.  First, as with all such discussions whether initiated by me or not, I notice that they reach the boil quickly.  Those who live outside the core in the suburbs are very reactive to defend their lifestyle on a wide variety of bases -- some imaginary and some with quite a lot of validity.  Those who live in the city and who want to adopt a healthier set of transportation alternatives including walking, biking, and public transport argue that such things are easily possible with a bit of planning and also perhaps they do sometimes claim some moral high ground.  Much of the discussion revolves around questions of social responsibility balancing personal freedom.  We don't want to be told how to live by anyone but (hopefully) we all want to find a way of life that is sustainable for all in the face of the epic changes that we see taking place now or in the near term.  How do we do it?  And what's the role of the state?  These are questions that take me far outside my realm of professional experience, yet they are connected to it.  The question of how we live is inseparable from the issue of where we live, and that's something that we all have to think about quite a lot.

And now for my deep confession.  I'll whisper this.  Lean in.  Sometimes I drive.  You see, I have a very complicated lifestyle, a bit like the ones described by some of the readers of that op-ed.  I have a large, interesting, blended family.  There are 3 full-time workers in my house, a couple of children in the public schools, and a couple more in daycare.  I also have a dog.  I have what I used to think of as a moonlight job (the book-writing gig) which I now see as the monster that ate my life (no regrets though).  So there are days when I help get the kids ready for the day, help get the dog ready to face a few hours of solitude (ok, I envy him a bit sometimes), pull together whatever I need to drag myself through another day at the office, and there's nothing I want more than to slide behind the wheel of the old spawnhauler with a big travel mug of Java in my hand, burn a few grams of carbon, and take the fossil-fuel magic carpet to the parking lot conveniently located just across the way from my building at the university.  Ok, and then sometimes I even take the elevator up to my office.  Otherwise I spill coffee.  

Not this morning, though.  Having actually been referred to as an eco-nut yesterday (yeah, I know..cool),this morning I hauled out the bike trailer and I lugged two pretty solidly built five-year olds up the road to the daycare centre.  This was interesting because we had to get through a major construction site on my street to do this, so there was a bit of a wait while the workers, who were incredibly obliging and supportive, cleared a path for us.  I had a full load of gear on my back as well.  And some lunches.  And then I had a flat tire, which I managed to buff up to the point of rideworthiness so that I could deliver my children, who were utterly thrilled to be transported through the streets in their open air chariot.  Did I mention it was pouring?

But here's the best part.  I arrived at my office soaking wet, slightly flushed, breathing deeply, fully awake and alert and, in spite of the 10 pounds I've gained in the last 2 months eating potato chips so as to avoid compulsive Amazon rank checking, feeling rather healthy.  And pleased with myself.  

If I'm going to be called an eco-nut, I'm going to live the part.  I'll let you know how that goes.

Tomorrow night, June 2, I'm going to be appearing at the Waterloo Entertainment Complex with Thomas Homer-Dixon.  I'll try not to show up all soaking and sweaty.  

Retail space

Something I've been thinking about for a while now is the possibility of fallout from the economic recession for the organization of retail space.  The obvious is that the next real estate ripple following the widespread foreclosure and abandonment of domestic spaces will be a knock-on effect on commercial spaces, and we're already seeing this beginning to happen.  Empty storefronts are appearing here and there, some large retail chains are in trouble, and even in my mid-sized city which has been somewhat shielded so far from the worst of the shrinking economy, I'm told that there's a good deal of vacant space.

But other than the simple closure of businesses and the consequent emptying of buildings, we may see more interesting and even adaptive responses of businesses to the changing economic climate.  I was really interested in the article in today's Globe and Mail describing the response of one of our large Canadian chains - Canadian Tire (which, for non-Canadian readers, sells much, much more than tires!).  The re-think of the square foot ratio in so-called 'smart stores' is something that probably needs to happen at many levels, and not just because of the current crisis but also looking forward to a sustainable future (or possibly even a resource positive one).  It only seems to make obvious sense to have your business footprint be as small as it can possibly be to maximize business profit, but I wonder if there are more subtle effects of the shrinking down of retail spaces like this.  On the weekend, I was in one of the smaller Canadian Tire stores.  It was busy, cluttered, and dynamic.  It was impossible to walk down an aisle without squeezing around other shoppers, making eye contact and conversation.  It was a kind of bazaar atmosphere, not unpleasant at all.  It reminded me a bit of summer experiences in small town general stores picking up the essential food and supplies for a weekend camping trip.  We were all having a little bit of a party.  Contrast this with the typical experience at one of the giant Canadian Tire stores in the outer reaches of a city (substitute any kind of large retailer that you like).  Gigantic wide-aisled warehouse sized shopping spaces make it possible to slip in and out of the store without coming within 10 feet of another human being.  And when you do pass someone, you're most likely to keep coasting without a glance, treating them more as a part of the background than as another member of your species worthy of attention and interest.  In an odd kind of way, it's like the contrast between high-density living in the city and the wide, curvy roads of the newer suburbs.

I know there's much more to this.  I'm really just scratching the surface here.  I can hear the counter-argument that when you're out on a Saturday morning looking for a new washer for the bathroom faucet, you're hardly interested in getting wrapped up in some kind of crazy hardware cotillion.  I hear you.  And I know that what's being done at Canadian Tire involves much more than a simple contraction of aisle width -- it sounds as though a good number of clever tactics are being used to maximize the number of dollars shed from shoppers' pockets.  But at the same time I have to wonder:  in times where we're all feeling pretty anxious about what new crisis might be around the corner, where we'd desperately like to believe that the worst is behind us for a while, yet our sensible selves warn us that there could be more nastiness on the way, are we likely to want to take some comfort from rubbing shoulders with strangers?  Will remembering that we're part of a larger community make us feel better?  I suspect that it will.  But regardless of how we think about these kinds of shifts in space, what interests me the most is the potent influence of our spatial arrangements on our movements and feelings.  Where we put our rooms and corridors can exert social control in all kinds of interesting ways.

Canada's new minister of science and technology?

Overheard conversation between my five year old son and his five year old sister on the drive home from pre-school today:

Boy:  "Did you know that the dinosaurs and Einstein lived at the same time?"

Girl: "Einstein?  Who's that?"

Boy: "He's that big turtle."

I learn new stuff every day.

Wayfinding hack

I can't condone this at all.  No.  Not at all....

Wayfinding renaissance

It's truly a delight to see legendary wayfinder, Nainoa Thompson, of the Polynesian Voyaging Society continuing with his quest to keep the ancient seafaring methods of the Pacific Islanders alive.  Thompson will set out without any modern navigational instruments in a vessel something like the one pictured above in an attempt to travel from Hawaii to Kirbati, a round trip of about 2,000 miles.  The point?  To celebrate a remarkable heritage, to help to retain an ancient set of skills and perhaps most of all to remind us of a time when being somewhere could mean only actually being there, no matter how difficult the getting there might be. 
For me, one of the most enjoyable parts of writing my book was the opportunity to read about the methods and exploits of practitioners of these traditional seafaring methods. 

Surfacing

I'm coming up for air after an academic crunch like few I've ever known.  I have to say that I can't remember a time when I've had so many exciting opportunities to get involved in new ventures, and though I'm getting some good coaching from those who love me in the art of saying 'no', there are some things that are still just too juicy to pass up.  This blog has obviously suffered from my attention being caught elsewhere, but now I think I'm ready to begin making recompense for this.  I'm enjoying my first weekend "off" since sometime in the summer, doing a fair bit too much eating, actually reading a novel (though some accusations have flown that Dad's Reading a Comic Book -- which I guess is true in a way and for which I can muster no shame).  But I'd have to say that the  high point of my weekend was an unexpected chance to hear Robert Kennedy Jr. speak on Friday night at a visionary local conference called "Rethink Waterloo."

Robert Kennedy's career as an environmental activist and lawyer took off in the most extraordinary way -- after an arrest and conviction in 1983 for heroin possession, his sentence included 1500 hours of community service, which he completed by working for the Riverkeepers.  Now, as chairman of the umbrella organization the Waterkeepers, he does legal work to protect the waters of New York's Hudson Valley and also promotes environmental awareness through books and media appearances.  Kennedy had much to say on  matters of sustainable development, of how a truly unhindered free market in which we paid the real costs of our deeds would decrease pollution ("show me a polluter and I'll show you a subsidy"), and of how tractable solutions to carbon-free energy independence are within our reach for a fraction of what is being paid to protect the fossil fuel economy. What really caught my attention, though, and what I can't stop thinking about, is his discussion of information, media and democracy.

The crux of his argument was that in the United States, there is no longer even a semblance of democracy because there is no real way for people to obtain accurate information.  An uninformed public simply cannot exercise their democratic rights.  Monopolistic media giants like the Fox Network  have come to dominate the airwaves and to shield US citizens from the truth of what is happening in their own country.  So then this led me to wonder about the Internet, and I was glad when a young student in the audience asked the question.  When it's so easy for us to pass information to others (as I'm doing right now for instance) how is it possible for people to be lied to?  Kennedy's answer was interesting, and the part of the whole evening that I'm still chewing on.  He said that the differences between our access to information now and, say 40 years ago, is what he characterized as the Walter Cronkite factor.  In the 1960s, there was a time and a place where virtually all Americans could gather to hear a non-partisan voice whom they could trust to give them what they could accept as the unvarnished truth.  The difference now, he said, is that though many of us can dial into the Web to find access to information, our searches are often biased by our own preconceptions.  Personally, though I try to avoid thinking in terms of sides and wings, I lean to the left, so when I want to see commentary on the US situation I go to Huffington.  If I leaned right, I'd go to, well, er, I just did a quick search to look for right wing blogs and therein lies the problem.  This is nothing new -- in discussions of everything wiki, we all know that there is a problem with the provenance of information on the Internet.

So how do we solve the conundrum that in an age where network technology gives us the tools to connect to one another over longer distances and shorter times than ever before, we seem to know less than ever about what is actually happening in the world because we don't know who or what to believe?  The solution must somehow lie in building decentralized knowledge networks to which everyone can contribute (which I guess is what we already have), but to find new ways to assess the provenance of those networks.  How do we build a virtual Walter Cronkite, a current events Wikipedia that can both grow and adapt fast enough to be useful and in which there is broad enough participation to provide a Cronkite level of trustworthiness?  There's no road back to the 1960s. The world is too complicated, interconnected, and too rapidly changing now.  How do we build a technology that concedes to our human natures, allows us to participate fully in democratic life, and provides the protection that we need desperately now from malevolent forces that would rather keep us in darkness and ignorance to achieve their own criminally selfish ends?

promart

I try not to use this site as an op-ed soap box, but while I'm on hiatus from vacation and within reach of a good internet connection, I've been reading some of the press about the Promart controversy in which the Canadian federal government is cutting a program that provides funding to Canadian artists for travel abroad.  Much of this travel is designed to heighten international awareness of Canadian cultural activities, whether this be international readings for an author or an overseas concert for a performer.  I think this makes it fair game for this blog, since part of what I'm all about is understanding the influence of physical space on human behaviour, and grants such as Promart are meant to help overcome some of the limitations imposed by space (yes, a reach, I know, but humour me -- officially I'm still on holidays).

Rumours swirl about the reasons for the cut, but the most oft-cited story suggests that some members of our government have taken offense to the agendas or artistic identities of some of the individuals who received funds.  Predictably, some of the mainstream press with narrow prejudices have waded in with much chuffing of "good riddance" to a program that dares to provide funding to radical Muslims.  The horror!

The government, just as predictably, is saying that this is all just about routine budget adjustments.  For me, the saddest part of the whole story is that these measures are being undertaken by a government that professes to represent the views of the majority of Canadians.  I really hope this isn't true, especially as I don't know of much evidence that our current prime minister reads books.

Here's one interesting account of how some controversial Promart funding came about for a "wealthy" rock star.  As you'll read, Tal Bachman not only didn't know his funding had come from Promart but he had been invited on what sounds like a fantastic exchange by the government and had attended along with various officials (including a Mulroney appointed senator) who sounded as though they had much less of a useful role on the visit but probably got some funding from somewhere.

Now I'll go and put my vacation hat back on in, ironically, our nation's capital.

The Martians have arrived in Beijing

Lots of reasons to be following the weather in Beijing.  Here's a nice site that includes a "Room with a View" a daily photograph taken from a hotel window.  The video is well worth watching for the lovely photographs, the balanced reminder that air quality in China is everyone's problem (and everyone's fault) and for Orville Schell of the Asia Society's comparison of our environmental problems with a Martian invasion.  It doesn't matter what country you're from -- it's time to stand together to figure out if there's a way out of this mess.