RALPH·GUNSON·PARKER
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RALPH·GUNSON·PARKER
ARTIST. | WRITER. | ARCHITECT.
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“A great gleaming city... Limitless points of light”

- The Unborn World (recording)

 
 




birth & rebirth


This year, through the conception of architectures that symbolise and communicate, Unit III will explore the amniotic possibilities of birth and rebirth as drivers for creative practise. For as long as we have been we, and for quite some time before, we’ve been occupying, impregnating and falling out of one another; the first spatial feat of our lives being our inhabiting of the womb. For architecture and society, ideas of birth and rebirth work to complicate notions of conclusion, but while their cycles may be guaranteed the swollen bellies of their outcomes hang pregnant with the unset. The idea of the designer-architect as we know it today is just 500 years young, born and borne upon a desire for change, for emergence from itself, for rebirth. Through a communion with architectures of the past the image of the architect and the future we find was established within that strange awakening of Western civilisation; The Renaissance.

‘YOLO’ - Drake

‘But you only live twice, that’s on the real’ - Dizzee Rascal

Unit III is fascinated by the forgotten histories and alternative realities which could have, or should have been. Across modern styles, foundling wheels have been an architectural device to reverse the birthing process through a facade. Frederick Kiesler’s final spatial projects involved constructing a womb around his body using concrete. Close to a century ago on Coney Island, described by Rem Koolhaas as a clitoral appendage and architectural testing ground for Manhattan, key technological advancements for new-born infants were developed as part of a paid sideshow within the shadow of an emerging modernity.

The elaborate cultural shenanigans which surround human reproductive practice are cast delightfully into conceit by the fluidity of the natural world and its perceived absence of culture. If Finding Nemo had been IRL, following the death of his mother Nemo’s father’s testes would have atrophied, gradually being replaced by female reproductive organs. He would have swelled in size to that of his erstwhile partner, being ready to reproduce as a female fish within a couple of weeks. In her new form, she would have then mated with Nemo – a better sequel than Finding Dory? Or a design trigger for a culturally transcendent architecture, characterised by an ability to contextually reassign itself?