Tracing the Deep Roots of Design
Are our design choices hardwired? Consider the lasting appeal of forms from the hunter-gatherer life
‘‘The arts are not solely shaped by errant genius out of historical circumstances and idiosyncratic personal experience. The roots of their inspiration date back in deep history to the genetic origins of the human brain, and are permanent." — E. O. Wilson
This quote comes in the third chapter of Lance Hosey's 2012 book The Shape of Green, which aims to develop principles for the aesthetics of sustainable design. Hosey uses this quote to argue against today's rampant individualism in architecture, but later he expands upon the notion that our aesthetic preferences are hardwired. He refers to the Cambrian explosion over 550 million years ago as the start of "the race for vision," as Earth's thick, long-lingering atmospheric stew began to lift, giving creatures with a strong sensitivity to light an advantage over others. And much later, humans developed extremely sharp vision over millennia of hunting and gathering.
Are aesthetics hardwired?
Hosey asserts that the first 98 percent of human existence was spent on the African savanna, where acacia trees dominate the horizon. Combined with Wilson's quote about our genetic origins, people therefore are drawn to images that merge with our hardwired preference for fractallike forms — forms that are similar at various scales, like acacia trees. We're also drawn to sheltered horizontal views and the "golden section" ratio. That last, a ratio of 1:1.618, has long been a factor in art and architecture, but in Hosey's book it is rooted in the hunter's field of vision.
The important word is images, as Hosey cites scientific studies that have shown that abstractions of particular natural forms create positive psychological responses as much as the real tree does.
What our deep history means for design
What this means for architecture and interior design is that understanding and embracing this genetic disposition can lead to environments where people feel good and are able to relax, concentrate and enjoy life. This ideabook features some examples that parallel the findings in Hosey's book, dividing them into fractallike, sheltered views and golden section categories.
This quote comes in the third chapter of Lance Hosey's 2012 book The Shape of Green, which aims to develop principles for the aesthetics of sustainable design. Hosey uses this quote to argue against today's rampant individualism in architecture, but later he expands upon the notion that our aesthetic preferences are hardwired. He refers to the Cambrian explosion over 550 million years ago as the start of "the race for vision," as Earth's thick, long-lingering atmospheric stew began to lift, giving creatures with a strong sensitivity to light an advantage over others. And much later, humans developed extremely sharp vision over millennia of hunting and gathering.
Are aesthetics hardwired?
Hosey asserts that the first 98 percent of human existence was spent on the African savanna, where acacia trees dominate the horizon. Combined with Wilson's quote about our genetic origins, people therefore are drawn to images that merge with our hardwired preference for fractallike forms — forms that are similar at various scales, like acacia trees. We're also drawn to sheltered horizontal views and the "golden section" ratio. That last, a ratio of 1:1.618, has long been a factor in art and architecture, but in Hosey's book it is rooted in the hunter's field of vision.
The important word is images, as Hosey cites scientific studies that have shown that abstractions of particular natural forms create positive psychological responses as much as the real tree does.
What our deep history means for design
What this means for architecture and interior design is that understanding and embracing this genetic disposition can lead to environments where people feel good and are able to relax, concentrate and enjoy life. This ideabook features some examples that parallel the findings in Hosey's book, dividing them into fractallike, sheltered views and golden section categories.
One project that embraces all three aspects (fractals, sheltered views, golden section) in Hosey's book is the "Eastern Seaboard" project in Connecticut, designed by G. Steuart Gray, AIA. The categories not be readily apparent in this view, but there is something very pleasing about this space, from the built-in furniture and open wood structure to the paint color and the soft light entering through the windows at left. They combine to create a cohesive environment that appears quite relaxing.
Fractallike grids can be seen in the post-and-beam wood structure (highlighted by the infilled, green-painted walls), the exposed ceiling structure and the fine lattice above the openings, which also is evident above the large beams in the first photo. Gray may not have designed the house with fractals in mind, but the grid vocabulary repeated at different scales ensures such an effect.
A rough golden section ratio (1 unit high by roughly 1.6 units wide) can be found in the window of the dining room when the sliding screens open to reveal a carefully framed garden. As Hosey discusses in his book, the golden section's appeal is rooted in our area of focus, specifically in regard to hunting. Here that frame is not about the kill, but about a scene of beauty. (Note the landscape painting on the side wall, of a similar proportion.)
The last consideration, a sheltered horizontal view, is evident in this bedroom, where a corner with large sliding glass walls opens to a great view with water and trees beyond. The sheltering aspect is also reinforced by a roof overhang that's visible from inside and covers the residents when they're outside.
Not all design features that tap into our deep history need to encompass a whole environment, from the landscape and building to the rooms and furnishings. One room's wallpaper can suffice (though it may make the owner strive for the same effect elsewhere). The walls of this bathroom are covered in a fractallike tree pattern that is very appealing.
Another view of the same bathroom shows the extent of the graphic, which envelops whoever is seating here. It must be like being immersed in a winter forest!
A treelike fractal pattern highlights the custom metal room divider shown here. By acting as a screen instead of as wallpaper (per the previous example), the design is visible from multiple rooms and is layered over views of the space on the other side.
This screen near an entrance and small fountain is more classically fractal, meaning the patterns are deliberately nested. More geometric than tree-like, the screen still serves to create a sense of calm.
While Hosey argues that abstract images are as psychologically important as the real thing, this does not mean a tree can't be brought indoors to improve an environment. This madrone tree does not appear to serving its original purpose anymore (is it structural? I'm not sure), but its presence certainly affects the open kitchen-dining space.
The fractallike part of the tree extends up the second floor, where it sits next to a railing that uses branches (of the same tree?) for the guardrail infill. The shadow effect is particularly nice.
This residence designed by Washington, D.C.'s, Travis Price dramatically merges the house with its landscape. Modern houses with glass walls framing horizontal views of the surroundings are nothing new, but designing the house around the trees in the forest certainly is. It's like deflected modernism, something that extends to the use of large timber members and wood surfaces above the glass walls. The residents of this house don't look at the trees so much as through them.
An alternative to the previous example is this more traditionally modern house — the parallel, minimalist floor and ceiling sandwich frameless glass walls. Unlike the previous example, the horizontal view is flattened, more of an image than something that the resident is part of.
I like the way this horizontal view is broken up by the wood framing, which alternates between large panes and stacked small panes. Note how the large panes approximate a golden section (1 wide by roughly 1.6 tall), a ratio that is roughly repeated in the small panes. Overall, the framing breaks the view into smaller chunks, making the landscape more intimate — fitting, given the proximity of the trees.
This house, on the other hand, opens up to an expansive horizontal view of Mandeville Canyon east of San Francisco. Still, the view is broken up by columns that alternate with trees in the foreground. The sheltering aspect of the view is very strong, as the living room extends to a covered porch.
Like the custom metal screen in the kitchen earlier, this view uses a real tree to filter the city beyond. This fractallike tree is similar to an acacia tree, though this relationship does not need to be a conscious thing for the architect or client to take advantage of the tree through the large glass wall.
As mentioned, fractal- and acacialike images can be abstract or real, so in the latter case, the selection of new trees and use of existing ones are important. This lovely tree anchors a patio and one corner of a ranch outside San Francisco. The view is tremendous, but the tree helps to shelter and frame it, scaling down the immensity of the sky and focusing attention on the green and the hills beyond.
Sheltering trees with fractallike forms can have an even more substantial impact on a house, such as the huge tree shading the house and large deck. One result of trees with fractallike forms is fractallike shadows, which in a sense are abstract images of nature.
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Hosey refers to fractals as "the fingerprints of nature" and cites studies in which preschool children of various backgrounds were almost universally drawn to images of acacia trees. Looking at this photograph, the appeal of the tree is undeniable, lending credence to the argument for fractallike imagery.
Photo by Valerie Close Evans