Ecological Design: Inventing the Future

A film about integrating nature, technology and humanity

Review by Christine Young, 2006 

With each second of everyday there is a child born,

and he shall be nourished so that he may grow;

so that he may learn;

so that he may teach;

so that he may replenish the source sustaining his life

in whatever way he can;

so that he may help those less fortunate than he.

And, if not, so that he may draw what he will from his earth

without one thought of giving back—until the day he dies.

© 1981 by Christine Young

“For thousands of years’ humans have adapted to their environments through the process of design; weaving local materials to meet their needs and intertwining nature’s patterns with their lives. Indigenous communities live within the limits of their local ecosystem; nature, technology and culture maintain a dynamic balance. The designs of the industrialized world have developed beyond the limits of local ecosystems. Today our global technologies are depleting the earth’s resources; darkening the skies and waters with waste and endangering much of life’s diversity. Can we invent a more comprehensive way of designing which will integrate the built world with our larger ecosystem, the biosphere? Can we find a way of life which will create a harmony between nature, technology and humanity?” - Ecological Design, Inventing the Future

Narrated by actress Linda Hunt and produced by Brian Danitz and Chris Zelov, Ecological Design, Inventing the Future is about this built world of ours. It’s about the spirit of invention from many vantage points in relation to preserving the earth’s natural resources. It has been put together with much care and insight and is perhaps the icing on the cake of environmental awareness, which has been baked by the expert design outlaws it features, from a recipe R. BuckminsterFuller (Bucky) devoted his lifetime to. Bucky’s recipe is simple: “Optimize the way we use the world’s resources. Do more with less. Don’t wait for the politicians. See what needs to be done and do it.”

Enhanced by the peaceful sounds of Some Songs to the Stars by David Darling and Annie Haslam, the film delivers its message in neither a condescending nor technical tone of voice. It speaks to all people in all places—but its message is clearly meant for the industrialized countries of the world, where industry and technology tend to destroy rather than nourish, and where too often greed drives government and government ignores the scientific evidence that proves our ecosystem is walking a tightrope of vulnerability.

In the first segment, “Design Revolution: The Outlaw Perspective,” we are introduced to Bucky’s ideology and some of his innovative designs. We hear from innovative professionals who speak about their predecessor with admiration. These are the design outlaws and environmentalists who have been influenced by Bucky in all the ways that matter. As software designer Ted Nelson explains, “The responsibility of the designer is the outlaw, and the outlaw thinker is certainly to try to reach forward beyond the restrictions of today, beyond the stupidities of the current political situation—whatever that may be, of the current way things are done and say ‘God, how shall we really be doing this?’” With this driving force and our current technological expertise, today’s pioneers in environmental design are making their own headway; each in his or her own time and each within his or her field of science. What they are doing—some on a large scale and others on a small scale—is extraordinary.

Perhaps one of the most noted design outlaws is industrial designer, inventor and technical educator Jay Baldwin, who spent more than thirty years alongside Bucky as a student, employee and colleague, and was fortunate to have been with him during pivotal moments of experimentation and prototype. Baldwin was a central participant in the formation and construction of the strongest and most economical structure ever designed, the Geodesic Dome. The depth to which he was influenced by Bucky can be found in his own life’s work and in the pages of his book, Bucky Works: Buckminster Fuller’s Ideas for Today, and as editor of The Whole Earth Catalog (1968-1998), devoted a lot of time to the accuracy of the technical information within its pages.

Originally conceived by Stewart Brand, The Whole EarthCatalog provided readers with the tools and inspiration necessary to proceed competently with their own innovative ideas. There was an ecological consciousness to this periodical that manifested throughout its tenure, which had been Brand’s intention. The Whole Earth Catalog was a forerunner of the Information Super Highway, only with a more precise and focused mind-set, and it was one example of Bucky’s synergetic ideology—of what can be produced by collective efforts for the benefit of mankind.

In the segments, “Design with Nature: Learning from the Earth” and “Designing for Prosperity: Giving Back More Than We Take,” Ecological Design: Inventing the Future highlights the accomplishments of the design outlaws, covering each aspect of ecological design as it relates to a specific area of concern, and illustrating our potential to work with nature in a positive way—to blend our living, working and playing into the surrounding landscape. We’re shown how life around us replenishes without fail. Some of us are already in tune with Mother Nature and respect Her natural environment. We gain energy from being in Her living room (the outdoors) and intuitively know what She needs from us in return. Individually we achieve the necessary balance in our living, our working and our playing.

“If machines influenced the first half of the century, then clearly a concern for the earth is certainly the iconographer of the images of the future. How do we recognize the earth? How do we go back and look at it as a fresh source of imagery? Who amongst designers today will bring about this ecological evolution?”

—James Wines, architect

As stated in the film, Bucky was the quintessential design outlaw, and all his inventions acquiesced to his goal, which was to help mankind build a sustainable living environment. His mission for housing was simple: “apply modern technological know-how to shelter construction; to make shelter more comfortable and efficient; and to make shelter more economically available to a greater number of people.” 

The ideas and prototypes he gave life to would ensure a sustainable living for all mankind while preserving Earth’s natural resources, but they would have to be embraced and implemented on a large scale. Therefore, Bucky was just scratching the service of his new design revolution—and he knew it, as he explained in his book The Grunch of Giants (copyright 1983 by R. Buckminster Fuller): there are “gestation lags between the conception of something and its birth,” and that “because of these lags, the earlier I could introduce the conception model, the earlier its birth could take place.”

For example, in the housing industry Bucky put the gestation lag at between fifty to seventy-five years from time of conception, and most probably his prototypes would surface to implementation during a time of emergency, which he called “emergence through emergency.” As an architect and designer, he could either conform to the current standards of building, or he could go a separate way. He followed his heart and his logic by going the separate way, once saying that he “learned very early and painfully that you have to decide at the outset whether you are trying to make money or to make sense, as they are mutually exclusive.”

“When you try to quantify everything in money terms, you lose all sense

of what’s valuable…there are so many things that really cannot be

quantified in money terms, like the purity of the air or the purity of the water, or the hectares of land that are lost due to deforestation and desertification —the species lost that is going on around the world—none of these things we can put numbers on.”

—Hazel Henderson, systems theorist, futurist

Unfortunately, in our how-much-money-can-we-make-out-of-it society, if there is no monetary value placed on a thing, then it is perceived by the money-making corporations as a thing of no value. This presents a conflict of interest for heads in the corporation when they want to become environmentally responsible. The environmental issues that have come to light over the past few decades are hitting home with many people—and this affects the heads because they want to be perceived as environmentally conscientious by the people who use their products or services, so they will adjust to the concerns of the people who will hold them accountable for their actions.

Over one hundred years ago, Anheuser-Busch began recycling used brewing grain to feed cattle. The environmental issues we face today were of course not as apparent back then, but this waste-not-want-not ideology (in the hands of a major corporation) was a means for Anheuser-Busch to save money while giving back to the earth—and that constitutes making money and making sense. Granted, the bottom line for the corporations will always be making money, but some heads are learning how to incorporate social and ecological concerns to meet their goals, and to that end they will have influenced all concerned in a positive way.

It is obvious that we are at a critical juncture in our efforts to preserve natural resources. When Ecological Design: Inventing the Future first premiered in 1994, the price of gas in the United States was approximately $1.30 per gallon. As of this writing (2006), it is on average $3.05 per gallon, and a major hardship for working people who depend on fuel to get to their jobs, in order to make their salaries, and provide for their families. Nothing has changed in terms of our dependence on fossil fuels; the construction and the manufacturing and the driving of automobiles in the densely populated, industrialized places on earth is a contributing factor to the high carbon dioxide content present in the atmosphere; our buildings and our automobiles are not designed for sustainability and our over-consumption is appalling. But it’s not just the responsibility of the architects and the corporations to change things and to set better standards; as individual members of society we clearly must make some changes in our daily lives.

In the Washington Post (6/10/06), Roger K. Lewis’s article, “Shaping The City, Sustainable Architecture Can Help Reduce Carbon Dioxide Emissions” reported that Carbon Dioxide "is in the air like never before, but not just as measurable parts per million in the earth’s atmosphere. Increasingly the subject of everyday conversation and cultural discourse, rising CO2 emissions are seen by many as no less a threat than terrorism, uncontrolled immigration, avian flu or escalating gasoline prices.” 

This is a great article to follow up with as it reports the facts about carbon monoxide and global warming and the critical need for reducing our dependency on fossil fuels. It reports the challenge delivered by New Mexico architect Edward Mazria to “design all new buildings, whatever the type, to use half the fossil fuel energy used now by buildings of that type.” If architects can accept and meet this challenge, then by the year 2030 new buildings will have been created that are “carbon neutral” and will use no energy from fossil fuels that produce greenhouse gases.

The 2030Challenge is a tall order, but it stems from the fact that our archaic buildings are a “major source of demand for energy and materials that produce by-product greenhouse gases.”  This challenge to stabilize emissions and then to reverse emissions to an acceptable level is set at a pivotal point in time—and is not so tight a time-frame as it sounds if based on Bucky’s gestation lag theory, and that most of the innovative work has been done already. Landscape Architect Ian L. McHarg (1920—2001), one of the design outlaws featured in Brian Danitz and Chris Zelov’s documentary, was a very significant presence in the community of design architects. In his book, Design with Nature, he provided the professionals with a time-frame as well, and “a simple concept strong and powerful enough to help architects heal the fragility of our planet through how and where” they build.

Roger Lewis’s report corroborates what design outlaws around the globe have been proving—and what Ecological Design: Inventing the Future has effectively communicated to its audience: architects and designers can build within the limits of their local ecosystems. What remains to be seen is whether they do it, and whether we as individuals can adjust ourselves, mind and matter, to the ever-changing needs of our planet.


Additional information concerning R. Buckminster Fuller, Articles, Works for Sale, Art and Architecture can be found on  Artsy. 

The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill

Winner of the Genesis Award for Outstanding Documentary in 2005

In May 2007, the documentary aired on the PBS series Independent Lens.

Review by Christine Young

Produced, directed, filmed and edited by Judy Irving, this documentary is a tender story of love between a man and a flock of wild parrots who have made San Francisco’s north waterfront their home. 

Homeless and searching for some kind of meaning in his life, Mark Bittner finds a no-rent situation as caretaker of a small cottage in the Telegraph Hill section of San Francisco where, outside in the gardens, he notices four parrots.

In the beginning, Mark’s attention is on the parrots intermittently as he goes through his daily routine. His curiosity about the parrots soon becomes admiration. Admiration soon becomes love, and each new day brings another delight and another lesson about their ways. Mark’s gentle and unassuming nature is appealing, and you can see why the parrots would accept him and trust him as they do, and how natural it is for Mark to embrace them.

This is a wonderful film that reveals the beauty of San Francisco in a personal way. The stealers of the show are definitely the parrots, and Mark’s devotion to them is inspirational. Judy Irving does well in presenting the compassionate side of human nature and the spiritual connection we have to the world and the wildlife around us. I can’t imagine anyone not liking this film.

“It’s a Heavenly thing to be allowed to touch a bird.” — Mark Bittner (photo by Daniela Cossali).

As a matter of fact I didn’t want it to be over, and on the strength of my enthusiasm for Mark and these delightful creatures, I couldn’t wait to read Mark’s book of the same title, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill (Harmony Books, 2004), which Flickhead presented to me for my birthday.

The book is great! I particularly enjoyed the story concerning Mark’s early days in San Francisco. It’s a place I’ve never been to, and he brought it to life for me. Through his description of his youthful and aspiring days during the 70’s, he brought to my mind this period of my own youth that had somehow escaped my notice. The psychedelic quality of that time and space, along with the music of the flower children, was in my peripheral vision — occasionally admired, but not experienced in the flesh. My small hometown wasn’t really a happening place. San Francisco would have been an exceptional place for me to visit at the time. I would have fallen under its spell. Perhaps I would have stayed there.

Mark’s story is genuine. He describes himself as a regular guy who has had some good times and some bad times. When he was a kid he wanted to be a writer. When he grew he changed his mind and put his efforts into being a musician — which is why he wound up in San Francisco, where musicians sprouted like wild flowers through cracks in the pavement.

Later, when music didn’t pan out for him, he had no vocation, no direction in life, and no place to live. He depended on the generosity of others who would occasionally help him out. He read a lot of books and studied the Eastern philosophies that might somehow help him find what he was looking for. He lived in his friend’s beat-up van. He was evicted from the van. He slept in an alley. Police chased him from the alley. He slept on a roof. He gleaned what coins he could find on the ground and bought day old bread from an Italian bakery. He worked odd jobs for food, and was at a very low point in his life when he discovered the path that lead him to his future.

Mingus (above) liked to stay inside with Mark, occasionally hiding and then popping out to play and poke at his feet.

A flock of wild parrots was Mark’s saving grace; their existence in the gardens outside his door and his pleasure in observing them was a distraction from the worries about his future. He intended to bird watch, but the parrots were a pleasant surprise. Their flight and their antics — their mere existence in a part of the world they are known not to come from is a marvel. From this point on Mark cultivates a relationship that blossoms, and in doing so finds a respite from the cares that have plagued him all along.

The film and the book compliment one another. It really doesn’t matter whether you read the book first or see the documentary, as one will lead you to the next. But my suggestion would be to read the book first. I think that knowing the story and having it all in your mind first will make watching the film even more enjoyable. The stories in the book, of course, go into more detail about Mark’s life and his feelings and about the individual parrots and their personalities. I was considerably touched by the stories of the sick or injured parrots he had brought into the house to care for, especially little Tupelo. These are the birds he really got close to.

We are not all cut out to be seekers of fortune, but I think we are all seekers of truth — our own truth. In either quest there is the primary notion that what we are seeking will ensure our happiness. Like Mark, I grew up as a child of the 50’s, a teen of the 60’s and a young adult of the 70’s. I sought happiness and never put a dollar value on it. I thought happiness was the husband and the children I longed for, and I focused on that to the exclusion of everything else. Ironically, I didn’t marry until I was thirty-three and I have no children; so all those years I spent seeking what I thought would make me happy right then and there, could have been spent learning all the things I crave to learn now in my fifty-sixth year.

But that is a spilt milk situation that cannot be relived and shouldn’t be cried over —besides, I have found happiness in many things that were not on my original to-do list. When you’re older you come to realize that happiness in this world — so says Nathaniel Hawthorne — “…comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.”

Accordingly, Mark’s path through life brought him to where he is today. As a result of his curiosity and kindness toward the parrots he was given the privilege to hang out with them and to get to know them more intimately than he could have imagined, and that brought him unexpected happiness. He’s written a book about his experience and it’s the subject of a great documentary — can it get any better than that? I suppose it can.

Thank you Mark for sharing your story with us. Thank you Judy Irving for showing it to us. But most of all, thanks to the wild flock of parrots for gracing our world with your presence.

A note about the soundtrack music

The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill is dedicated in memory of Chris Michie, who began working with Judy Irving with the intention of writing background music for the ending credits. He soon wound up composing a delicate and emotive score for the whole film. It was Mr. Michie’s final project before he passed away on March 27, 2003. 

Metropolis

Illustration by Michael W. Kaluta

The Art of Michael Kaluta

Review by Christine Young

Illustrations and book cover art by Michael William Kaluta

Copyright © 1988/2000 M.W. Kaluta 

There is certain godliness about the silent film. It brings to us an understanding of our lives; where we came from and where we may be going. It breathes life into our past. It conjures up a spirit that will not deny its birthright; this spirit tugs on the shirt-tails of our modern cinematic society and refuses to be dismissed. With each step into the future it screams, ‘I am your beginning; lose sight of me and you lose it all.

When German filmmaker, Fritz Lang, came to America in 1924, he discovered the New York skyline. To the Austrian born director, the tall, sleek modern architecture was something of a marvel, and far removed from what he was accustomed to growing up in Vienna. He may have envisioned thousands of people working inside these tall structures; people bathing in their dreams and striving to bring forth a new and better world; but would their new world benefit all mankind or only themselves. 

This first impression of a modern city left an indelible mark on Lang. In the years that followed, he collaborated with his wife, science-fiction novelist Thea von Harbou, to create a fascinating image of man’s inhumanity to man. Thea von Harbou wrote her novel Metropolis  (1925) and later collaborated with her husband on the screenplay for the film Metropolis. 

Metropolis (1927), expensive in the making, controversial in the outcome, is not so far off the mark. In Lang’s Metropolis one can see what we might become — perhaps what we are already on the way to becoming. In this film, it appears there is no middle-class, only the rich and the poor. The poor are oppressed and enslaved, and the rich are for the most part idle. The poor are not free to use their minds; their strength is for the benefit of the master. And, although one cannot see where they, the oppressed, came from, it is conceivable that at one point in time they worked hard for what little they could call their own.

I was captivated by the film. The images brought forth an imaginary world that most would say is exaggerated, but which I feel likens itself to our very real societies. It depicts man as he is evil and as he is good; as he is powerful and as he is meek. It depicts power and oppression as it is so obviously a part of our human existence on this planet.

Technically and visually, Metropolis holds a valuable place in the history of science-fiction cinema. Aesthetically and philosophically it produced opinions that varied widely. There were reviews that acclaimed in one breath, but ridiculed with the next. On March 7, 1927, Mordaunt Hall’s review in the New York Times read, “It is a technical marvel with feet of clay, a picture as soulless as the manufactured woman of its story. Its scenes bristle with cinematic imagination, with hordes of men and women and astounding stage settings. It is hardly a film to be judged by its narrative, for despite the fantastic nature of the story, it is, on the whole, unconvincing, lacking in suspense and at times extravagantly theatric.” He goes on to say that, “Occasionally it strikes one that he wanted to include too much and then that all one anticipates does not appear.” 

Author Thea von Harbou

Visually, Metropolis did convey a strong message, but characteristically it left a lot to be desired. Characters came forth on the screen who demanded our attention, only to be dropped from the story entirely. But Fritz Lang can hardly be blamed for the mistakes made by the film’s editors. In this case, there was quite a bit of relevancy tossed into the trash can. A very unfortunate cut involved Hel, the deceased mother of Freder Fredersen, son of the master of Metropolis. In the German release, the existence of Freder’s mother is represented in the form of a beautiful statue, the base of which shows the name Hel. This and all other references to Freder’s mother were cut before the film’s American release, mainly because the editors felt the name Hel would be interpreted differently by an English-speaking audience. The editors responsible had little regard for the director’s vision. Because of their decisions, they cut scenes that were necessary to keeping the story-line intact. By hacking away at Metropolis like this, they severed the meaning behind some of the scenes involving John Fredersen, master of Metropolis, and the evil scientist Rotwang, who was once very much in love with Hel (and not as evil as the film depicts).

I kept thinking about the film; specific parts of it were floating around in my head, and I knew there were parts missing, so I went looking for the original novel. Unfortunately, I could not find it. Then finally, after a few months of searching, I found what I was looking for: Metropolis by Thea von Harbou, English translation, beautifully illustrated by Michael W. Kaluta and published by The Donning Company. The introduction reads in part as follows: 

“...Lang investigated the city further, gaining the impression that ‘it was the crossroads of multiple and confused human forces,' driven 'to exploit each other and thus living in perpetual anxiety .' "

In an interview conducted shortly before his death, Lang said: 

"I didn’t like Metropolis after I had finished it because I didn’t think in those days a social question could be solved with something as simple as the line, ‘The mediator between the brain (capital) and hands (working class) must be the heart.’ Yet today, when you speak with young people about what they miss in the computer-guided establishment, the answer is always: ‘The heart!’ So probably the scenarist Mrs. Thea von Harbou had foresight and therefore was right and I was wrong.”

The following compendium is my interpretation of the story told by Thea von Harbou:

I have always felt strongly about the nature of my fellow man; part of me despises who we are and what we may become: how we are so capable of blindly leading our race toward destruction, rarely thinking about the consequences of our own actions. But with all my heart I love the good-natured soul among us who cares deeply; the soul who reaches passed the sanction of his own, to embrace and comfort those who are alien to him. I hold dear the prospect that it is this loving soul who will preserve our life on this planet, and make peace among men.

This soul is in the body of Freder Fredersen, son of Joh Fredersen, the master of Metropolis (his name is John in the film). He is a young man who has known only comfort and pleasure. He has been loved and cared for since birth, and has before him the opportunity to succeed without toil and trouble. If he has all this, then why would he worry about the fate of others? And why would his father be quite the opposite? Joh is a cold, calculating man who possesses a will that vigorously diminishes the will of others. His only concern in life is for his son, whom he loves. 

Illustration by Michael W. Kaluta

But there is something different about Freder that separates him from his father; a trait he inherited from his deceased mother, Hel. It is likely that Joh sees this characteristic; a pattern of sensitivity he himself cannot realize, much less share. For this reason, he chose to shelter his son from the bitter realities of life; a way of life only the laborers of Metropolis are expected to endure.

These laborers live with their families in tenement dwellings, far beneath the surface of the city. They are transported to and from their positions in the work force by huge elevator shafts. They are men who never see the light of day; men robbed of life's enjoyment and endeavors — unable to care for their women and children in a manner befitting normal men. Each breath they take and each muscle they move is for no other purpose than to serve the master.

“And they all had the same faces. And they all seemed one thousand years old . . . they walked with hanging fists, they walked with hanging heads. The open gates of the new Tower of Babel, the machine center of Metropolis, threw up the masses as it gulped them down.”

Illustration by Michael W. Kaluta

And they were all to be an example to the son of Joh Fredersen; an example of life’s misfortune. To Joh, they were food for his magnificent machines; machines that could devour the muscle and bone of every laborer, then spit out the remains for recycling, when the Master would press his hand to the blue metal plate in his office, sounding the change of shifts (a process that would be repeated at ten hour intervals).

But the workers do have Maria. She is the daughter of one of their own. She comes to them in their darkest hour. She encourages them and implores them not to rebel. She speaks softly of patience and hope for the future; that if they wait, soon there will be a mediator between the hands that toil and the brain that suppresses, and it will be the heart that joins them together.

Scene from Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927)

Freder also has Maria, from the very moment he sees her enter the Eternal Gardens, in the Club of the Sons, surrounded by tattered, ragged children. “Look, these are your brothers!” she proclaims. These few words, spoken softly and without malice, filter through Freder’s mind and soul as though they possessed some magical, medicinal power. He is obsessed with Maria now. He carries a torch for her that leads him into the depths of a world he has never known, almost as if he carried her in his heart for all time. What Freder admires in this woman is what he has unconsciously longed for; the gentleness and beauty his mother had possessed, and that he had never known. This beauty was deep within his soul.

Freder was aware of the underground city, but had never ventured there before this day. Why bother with something that does not concern him. Freder also knew of the men who were born to maintain and run the sacred machines. Many times, he had watched his father press his hand on the blue metal plate, not fully comprehending the power his father held. He also knew that he was being groomed, and that someday he would take his father’s place as master of the great Metropolis. Now, because of his infatuation for Maria, he is prepared to work beside these laborers and to disavow the fortune his father would bestow upon him.

Illustration by Michael W. Kaluta

And Joh Fredersen; is he a man himself, or a machine? By his devotion to his machines we sometimes wonder. Only through his love for Freder do we see an inkling of a genuine human being. And, although alienated from his own mother who still lives, Joh’s respect for her reveals all. During their conversations, we finally get to know the man. The man who was determined to succeed; determined to have the woman he loved, even though she loved another (Rotwang); and determined to be the master over the great Metropolis. 

After reading Thea von Harbou’s novel, I can only imagine what Fritz Lang’s original film may or may not have embraced. But despite the missing links, the film has a strength to it that bears its own weight. It shows us the thumping heart of humanity against a background of indifference; the assertive and greedy brain that conceives and controls, the submissive hands that build and maintain, and the forsaken heart that cries out for recognition. The brain and the hands are separated by oppression, loathing and fear, and the heart sees this and works feverishly to bring them together. It is all so simple and straightforward, yet some of us will laugh off this manifestation as foolish and sentimental — others will take its significance to heart.