To understand this, we must look at various aspects of the modern shelter, including the materials used, the efficiency of the structure, the shape of the building itself, energy efficiency, and harmony with the environment. For example, does the shape and position of the house take into account the dominant winds and / or the position of the sun throughout different seasons? More often than not, the answer is no.

Traditional vernacular architecture is rich with practical wisdom, much of which was lost, bulldozed over by the relentless march of large-scale industrialization. The modern industrial paradigm favors cold efficiency, standardization, manufacturing volume, and of course, profit margins. There is little room left for good old common sense rooted in an harmonious understanding of the natural environment.

We used to build houses mostly with local natural materials; this was practical and made good ecological sense. The shape and style of the building was suited to its environment. Southern houses were elongated and flat, to better dissipate heat. Northern (canadian) houses were bulky and squarish to minimize exterior surface. Their roofs were designed to retain snow, which happens to be a top-notch insulator. Front and rear enclosed porches provided an air buffer, further insulating the central part of the house.

Such porches also functioned as air locks. When somebody came in, the cold air would enter the porch, but not the house itself. And of course, the attic provided some insulation (being an air space) at the top.

Traditional Japanese houses constitute another prime example (there are many more) of ancient wisdom in architecture. They are suspended from posts that descend into the earth, a simple, inexpensive, robust, and earthquake-proof substitute for our concrete footings. This also raises the house to a certain height above ground, a sound idea given Japan’s rainy climate. 

In terms of energy efficiency, we now seem to rely almost exclusively for new homes on superinsulation and forced air circulation using an air exchanger. This is a bad design principle for many reasons. The air exchanger is the sole source of fresh oxygen for the inhabitants, requires electricity to run, and constitutes a single point of failure. 

While insulation is not necessarily a bad feature, making a house into an airtight cloche is really taking it too far. The obsession with superinsulation stems from a narrow view of heat exchange physics. The mindset captured by modern construction codes seems to recognize only one form of heat transfer — namely, conduction — and they attack it with excessive zeal and lack of subtlety. In fact, as any good thermodynamics textbook will state, there are three modes of heat transfer: conduction, convection, and radiance. And it is noteworthy that roughly 95% of heat transfers in the universe occur through radiance, i.e. heat is transfered at a distance though infrared radiation and therefore behaves like light.

If we recognized these facts when building a house, we would carefully choose the shape of the house, its position within the landscape, its orientation with respect to the sun and dominant winds, the position and size of windows and overhangs to maximize solar gain in the winter and minimize it in the summer. We would also look at thermal mass (i.e. large masses of stone, brick, or cement capable of storing heat) as a means of storing radiant heat for slow release over extended periods of time. 

Correct understanding of thermodynamics makes absolutely airtight houses unnecessary. However, if an airtight house is still desired, there are ways of instauring natural air circulation passively, without resorting to mechanical, microprocessor-controlled air exchangers. 

And there are, in fact, many “outlaw designers” who have and are building houses that make sense, in accordance with the above principles, and in spite of the social, technical, and sometimes legal complications of going against mainstream conventions. Buckminster Fuller, Malcolm Wells, Hundertwasser, Eugene Tsui, and Michael Reynolds are just a few of the names that come to mind.

We also tend to build houses that are unnecessarily complex and wasteful, and which hide the natural beauty of the basic materials employed. Wood, for example, is a material of great beauty, in addition to possessing unique thermal and structural properties.

Our modern houses employ wood in their structure but encase it, for example within gypsum panels. We also have a lot of elaborate framing and trimming around doors, windows, or at the interface between roof or floor and wall. These are traditionally used to hide unsightly defects at the interfaces, defects which occur because the design principles are flawed to begin with. We also cover our walls with many layers of paint or with wallpaper, our floors with ceramic tile, carpets, or laminated flooring. Paint and the glues associated with carpets and laminated flooring exude toxic chemicals (volatile organic compounds — VOCs, such as formaldehydes) into the interior air for years after their application.

Looking to traditional Japanese houses again, it is seen that the natural color and finish of the materials is preserved within a framework of elegant simplicity. The structure is also made of wood, but the frame in this case is left exposed, exhibiting both the natural appearance of the wood and the structural geometry. The floor is covered with soft tatami mats, made of rice fiber and entirely natural. These are not glued in any way, but simply laid upon the floor. The walls are typical covered with a form of natural plaster whose inherent earth-tone pigmentation is left bare. There are no frills, no elaborate framing, no paint (or very little), no toxic glues.

It is said that the Japanese house embodies the zen spirit and is designed to be soothing for the soul. One related aspect is the fact that these houses are unencumbered and have few pieces of massive furniture. Futon mattresses are typically laid directly on the floor during the night, then folded and stowed away in wall closets during the day, so that the room can be used for other purposes.

This flexibility is inherent to the Japanese house where even the inner partitions can be removed or displaced to alter the floorplan at will. Buckminster Fuller had a similar idea for his geodesic domes, where he proposed that all furniture and features could be hidden at will within a thick floor. He called this concept “house-as-stageset,” as opposed to our conventional “house-as-museum,” whose inherent clutter and over-compartimented organization constitutes a psychological burden.

On a more dramatic level, our modern houses are not very sturdy and prone to fire hazards. Architect Eugene Tsui goes so far as to suggest that our conventional houses are “death traps.” 

Building practices are increasingly focused on rapid completion at the lowest possible cost, and superficial appearances. A house is no longer designed as a lasting shelter, but rather as a function of a life expectancy of 20-30 years or so.

It is no wonder that in many hurricane or tornado-devasted areas, the houses left standing are those that are more than a century old. Too often, we value a house based on superficial, relatively easy to modify aspects (e.g. is there a wooden floor in the kitchen? are the kitchen cabinets nice? are the parition walls in the right place? etc.) rather than its soundness as a structure that puts a roof over our heads. We should be much more concerned with aspects such as solidity, reliability, ease of maintenance, energy efficiency, fire resistance, efficient use of sunlight, and yes, efficient use of materials.

It can be observed, for example, that square geometry is totally absent from nature, where curves are favored. Curved shapes are inherently more robust, thanks to their capacity to distribute stress, and hence can be more efficient since a smaller thickness or quantity of material will be needed to achieve a given degree of strength.

Appropriately curved house shapes, such as a dome for example, require substantially less surface to enclose a given volume than standard square geometry houses. This leads to a further economy in materials and a significant advantage in energy efficiency, since there is less surface to conduct heat or cold out of the house. The more aerodynamic shape also minimizes heat losses through convection, i.e. heat “sucked” out of the house by winds.

Curved shapes might seem impractical in terms of organizing interior space, but with creativity and out-of-the-box thinking, this problem essentially dissolves. Furthermore, it has been observed that living within rounded, nature-inspired surroundings is soothing and creates a sense of well-being.

Thus, to move away from the errors of mainstream houses and build truly evolutionary shelters which are lasting, stand in harmony with the environment, and take proper care of their inhabitants, we must look to nature, to ancestral wisdom, and to vernacular architectural lore. In so doing, we must develop an intuitive, visceral sense of what is right and thereby attain an harmonious middleground between technology and art, between intellect and intuition, with higher beauty as our guide. This is a place we could call the Tao of Shelter.

During my recent passage in Paris, I photographed this quote on the Embarcadero, right across from the Eiffel tower…

‘Tout homme crée sans le savoir
Comme il respire
Mais l’artiste se sent créer
Son acte engage tout son être
Sa peine bien-aimée le fortifie‘ 

Loosely translates to:

‘Any man creates without realizing it
Just as he breathes
But the artist feels himself creating
His act engages his whole being
His beloved sorrow fortifies him‘ 

My own distilled and slightly less poetic take: striving to become conscious of our innate creative power is espousing the Way of the Artist, and it is a high ideal, for it allows us to consciously and positively influence reality. Also, allowing ourselves to experience the pain and sorrow as well as the joy and laughter is part of artful / heartful living.

Virtual friend Bethany Buffington, who wears philosophy on her brow and has poetry in her heart, judiciously commented on part I of this post (as it appears on Myspace), suggesting that the proper way to create a house is as an outer expression of one’s inner beauty. One who cultivates inner beauty and chooses to let it shine by expressing it in the material realm in whatever form (house, object, performance, etc.) is certainly an artist. And I wholeheartedly agree that a proper dwelling should be a work of art. And this invites a proper digression into the concept of beauty

In our modern industrial society, we tend to consider beauty and function as separate, and even opposite, attributes. Some architects and designers have been able to look past this illusion of separation (which permeates every other aspect of our culture!), and have come up with the mantra ‘form follows function’ to express that if an object is designed solely according to its function, and that the mechanism to achieve the said function is chosen in the right way, the object will inevitably be beautiful in the end. The technical or mathematical aspects need not be cold and obscure, and can appear to the initiated eye with true elegance and beauty. Buckminster Fuller stated, on the topic of technical work:

“When I am working on a problem, I never think about beauty but when I have finished, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it is wrong.”

Perhaps we should go further and consider that our sense of beauty, whereby our vibrations are raised sometimes to the degree of pure bliss, is a natural evolutionary guide to what is most ‘fitting’ or more appropriate, and this applies not only to pure aesthetics, but also to utilitarian pursuits. If we understood this on a global scale, perhaps our technological artifacts, including our dwellings, would be warmer, more beautiful, and would exist in perfect, integrated, complementary harmony with the environment instead of being damaging.

Consider also this anonymous definition of engineering:

“A sense for the fitness of things.“

So, what I would call evolutionary science and engineering is when those endeavours are practiced with the sensibility of the artist, with beauty and intuition at the fore, and technical know-how constituting the expressive tools, the artist’s medium.

And what of architecture, where art and science have long been intertwined? At the vanguard of progressive architecture is the radical art of rightly called evolutionary architecture, created by visionary architect Eugene Tsui. His designs are radical departures from convention and are fundamentally nature-inspired. They are certainly works of art and their unique aesthetic, blending with the natural surroundings, brings a sense of well-being to their inhabitants. Some have reported that living in Tsui-designed dwellings was a life-changing experience, in one case inspiring a career change from lawyer to artist.

(images are from the Tsui Design and Research website)

And, appropriately enough, in the beauty of these buildings, in their shape itself, is embedded a simple and appropriate functionality, promoting the natural circulation of air, moderating temperature changes, and dramatically reducing the environmental / energetic footprint. Natural, non-toxic, and fireproof materials are used, and the houses are surprisingly inexpensive to build given their numerous long-term advantages.

This is but one striking example of what can be accomplished when applying whole systems / holistic thinking to a technological artifact - in this case a house - with true beauty as our evolutionary guide. And I agree with Dr. Tsui that radical change in this area - and in many others - is urgent, and that we can no longer afford to hold onto obsolete conventions (some of which are embedded in construction codes). Business as usual is no longer an option.

Continued in part III - what is wrong with conventional houses

I’ve just started working on my house, doing long overdue repairs. The roof in particular is in need of major overhaul. Its a metal roof, still quite sturdy in general, even after 20 some Quebec winters, but there are rusty screws, some holes and yes, minor leaks.

Of course, I tend to neglect these maintenance tasks just ever so slightly too long. My excuse? Well, the house just doesn’t make sense. Or at least, it doesn’t make sense to me. Mind you, it is a fairly good, solid, and comfortable house, entirely renovated 20 years ago (long before we purchased it).

But it is a conventional house, with all the quirks, idiosyncracies, and ecological offenses that it entails. Hence, whenever I get motivated to fix something, I immediately see basic design flaws and an urge comes over me to tear the whole thing down and build it anew properly.

Why not get somebody else to fix it then? Well, sometimes I do. But there really is no substitute to doing things by myself around the house. It is an opportunity to do something with my hands, to exercise practical problem-solving skills, to learn more about my house, in effect to really make it mine. I couldn’t really consider it my house if I didn’t really understand how it works and constantly had to rely on outside specialists with occasionally dubious professionalism. Perhaps it is my engineering background, but hey a house is an extension of oneself and ‘know thyself,’ says Socrates.

For the roof, we had a contractor lined up, specializing in metal roofs; we had agreed on the job and the price. He was supposed to come and do the work last Fall. He never did.

This is apparently typical of the construction business, these days. They are so busy that they will only come do your job after repeated delays, and then only if you continuously harass them.

No thank you, I’d rather do it myself.

I am also told that throughout Eastern Canada, fix-it-up people are becoming somewhat scarce; they are all leaving for the West where there’s plenty of work and the pay is much better. Sort of a gold rush, I guess.

But I forgot to mention what I really enjoy about doing work myself — the occasional opportunity to innovate, to find some trick, some technique to make whatever I’m fixing better than before, better aligned with my philosophy, with green, sound design principles.

You see, as I strive with humility to perfect myself, to broaden my horizons, and to evolve in a positive direction, I am increasingly acutely aware of the degree to which we are shaped by our physical environment, namely our homes and work places. We naturally want our houses to reflect who we are. After all, our house is our third skin (with clothing being the second skin) and in that sense can be viewed as an organic extension of the Self.

‘We shape our buildings and afterwards, our buildings shape us.‘

Winston Churchill

There is something profoundly and spiritually appealing about the notion of building our house ourselves, ideally from the ground up. Perhaps the appeal lies in reclaiming some creative freedom in an all-too-conformist society. Perhaps it is the satisfaction of building instead of buying ready-made. But ultimately, I believe it is a statement of freedom, as a metaphor for constructing our own life as we see fit. There was in fact a movie made around that theme (more or less) with the same title as this blog post.

Continued in part II…

Mr Jobs is an idealist and a visionary, and he fits my definition of a ‘creative agent of positive change.’ He is known as a charismatic leader, and his detractors accuse him of being single-minded; they talk about the ‘Jobs warped reality field.’

But that is because his leadership is profoundly inspired. Apple products for example may not be perfect, but they are examples of what I call ‘evolutionary design.’ Apple puts forth the idea of the computer as a tool to empower individuals. Their products are not so much built on this feature or that feature, but on how things fit together as a whole system. That’s synergy, ‘the whole is more than the sum of its parts,’ one of the fundamental principles in nature’s design.

And what about those Pixar movies? Each one is unique and a truly original work of art, with likeable characters and positive life lessons. I am reminded of Flick, the ant inventor in ‘A Bug’s Life,’ who sees potential where others see limitations, and is an outcast because of it. That is the road most innovators walk. In fact, if you want to leave a meaningful, purposeful life, and be true to your higher self, chances are you will feel alone for a while.

In 2005, Steve Jobs delivered the commencement address at Stanford University. It is an inspiring speech, brilliant in its simplicity and genuine quality. He reminds us that our time on this earth is limited, and that we should focus on the essentials, rejecting the illusions like pride and status. The core of its message lies in these words:

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.“

You can read the whole thing here.

I found it interesting and encouraging that while all of you have had a positive overall impression, each one has communicated a personal preference for a different article in the first issue of the Chronicles.

Here are some highlights of your comments.

“I am mightily impressed with The Omniverse Chronicles. I particularly like the philsophy of finding connections between things that are, seemingly, very disparate. I often see things in this light as well. [...]”

—Marcia Falconer, PhD
Biologist and Reiki master

“I find the Omniverse Chronicles to be a most refreshing read. I say this in the sense that the information presented therein brings up a series of incisive, very well thought-upon and documented reflexions on the not always evident triple liaison among scientific, social and environmental issues. It is particularly pleasant to notice the importance with which the editorial content refers to the human spirit and its inexorable bond to its surroundings. A remarkably clever feature is the way in which the articles are presented, which allows the reader to build a frame of reference before getting started. Briefly, it is truly an original, high-quality effort on behalf of the Omniverse Chronicles Project addressed to all people willing to broaden their minds and knowledge regardless of their background. I am certainly looking forward to reading the upcoming issues.”

—José Luis Lagunas Morales, M.Sc.
Electrical engineer and PhD candidate

“Finally, last night I had a chance to delve into your mystical musings, the Omniverse Chronicles, and especially enjoyed the section on “Bucky” [...] I’m in line with your “angle” on modern reality, though I am awed by the scope of what you propose to accomplish. I personally like to break ideas into smithereens, build them into diamonds, and then bury them forever–stone by stone [...] On the other hand, you seem to have the vast sweep of a hypermodern philosopher, voice riding the wind out of the wastes of the great Canadian north…”

—Richard Wolfe, M.A.
Businessman and language instructor, UCLA

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Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people the permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

The rest of this content is only available to members of the Omniverse Project. Please Login or become a member to gain access.

The rest of this content is only available to members of the Omniverse Project. Please Login or become a member to gain access.