I could see this meaning something more – and even something inclusive – if the environment is part of the design; for a moment I ignored the steep looking sand bank, but if that’s part of the art, that changes the meaning by a lot. That would make much more sense.
I’ve lived places where the landscape changes a lot throughout the year, though, so I sort of ignored the background and took the bench itself in isolation.
Kinda feels like most people today don’t have solid assets. At least in the 1st world west, many people have no hope to own tangible assets, and will rent all their most expensive things – home, vehicle, etc – and now most people’s assets are highly spongey, though they’re convinced otherwise.
It hurts, but almost none of us can hope to own property or anything solid like that. That’s why I refuse to relinquish my land, though literally everyone around me won’t stop hounding me to do it.
I get it. I can barely afford McDonald’s (I treat myself every few months), but I will not give up my land. Whatever. But I gave more than that to help stop genocide.
But what this art says to me, as a wheelchair user, is something completely different because this design is the opposite of inclusive. Is that what is meant?
This design says I should be excluded – taking it as art, this design communicates everyone having conversations and leaving me out, because that back bar will exclude me by design.
If I’m to socialise, I should be on one end or the other, but that middle part means I’ll be artificially excluded by the environment.
They couldn’t, though. Because of the space the back of the chair and the radius the wheels requires, the person in the chair would be sitting nearly a foot in front of anyone seated on the bench.
e: look at the amount of space with my custom high-end and narrow profile chair (it’s even more space with the standard-issue chair):
.
Your head will be in line with the leftmost right dot if you’re relaxed. I backed my chair against a door, and that’s fuzz or something.
That back bar prevents you from sitting ‘with’ anyone.
This is worse than nothing, because (as a wheelchair user) there’s like 10 inches of clearance behind the chair (given wheel clearance). That back rail means you can’t back up to get yourself in line with your compatriots,so you’ll be in front of and misaligned with the people on either side, such that they’re literally talking behind your back.
If this design was in earnest, it’s godawful and just shows the designer had no idea what they were doing.
If it’s an art project, then I can appreciate it. If it was meant to be practical, it’s a major fail.
Well, yes, but I meant the form-fitting fashion that was the rage when pockets disappeared from womenswear between like 1910 and the late 1950s. Women still weren’t allowed to wear overtly manly clothes except in certain contexts, so everything from the waist down had to be overtly feminine, since just wearing man pants was too subversive.
Perhaps it’s an age thing? When I was younger, nearly everything we used was tied tightly to a brand, and I can’t tell you how many jingles I’ll never forget. Now there are a few very strong brands, but otherwise people shop around more and are swayed more by reviews and influencers than because ‘it’s the best part of waking up’.
Counterpoint: it’s super manly to just own it and not worry about how you look. Whether you do tiny laps like a cat or big ol’ slurps like a dog, having the confidence to just hydrate yourself and not care who’s watching is kinda sexy, ngl
You’re right. Back in the day, brands could endure. Nowadays, we can see through them, and people aren’t brand-loyal like we used to be.
If corporations want to be people, we can treat them as people. And when they show us their cowardice in the face of fascism, we can ostracise them just like we do that intolerable uncle.
The Victorian era (and before) was chock full of ladies’ pockets. It’s just that they weren’t sewn into the garment – you’d have a slit in your skirt, and use a waist pocket like this that was separate and worn beneath your outer clothes as an undergarment. You’d line up the slit in your pocket with the slit in your outer garment.
A bonus was you could misalign the slits to easily thwart pickpocketers whilst travelling.
Women losing pockets to fashion is a fairly recent thing, actually – since the early 1900s when slim, body-conforming things like pencil dresses and trousers entered the scene, and natural, non-bustled hips being on display became cool. The secret pocket turned into a handbag, because women were still expected to carry all and sundry in order to keep their face and hair fresh all day; men weren’t required to carry more than a few paper goods, whereas if a woman couldn’t reapply her face and lips all day, a scandal might ensue. Lipstick, powder, and other accoutrements take up more space than a pencil dress allows without ruining the silhouette, so handbags were just assumed. And if you assume handbags, what use are pockets that might ruin the figure?
Nowadays, couture fashion assumes handbags for the same reason architecture assumes lifts. Why ruin your design with 12 staircases?
I want pockets, too, but anyhow, thanks for coming to my TED talk.
e: updated link to a V&A article since my other link suddenly died. This is a much better link, anyhow.
That brim shape is almost perfect …