At følge stedets bevægelse

Tim Ingold er britisk antropolog (1948), uddannet fra Cambridge University og professor emeritus ved University of Aberdeen. 

Ingold arbejder i krydsfeltet mellem socialantropologi, filosofi, design og miljøstudier. Hans forskning undersøger, hvordan mennesker sanser, bevæger sig i og skaber relationer til deres omgivelser – og hvordan steder, materialer og handlinger formes gennem levende processer snarere end faste strukturer.

www.timingold.com 

Den britiske antropolog Tim Ingold minder os om, at design og wayfinding ikke handler om at kontrollere menneskers bevægelse, men om at forstå bevægelsens rytme – om at skabe rammer, hvor mennesker selv kan finde vej, fysisk og mentalt.

Tim Ingold er socialantropolog og professor emeritus ved University of Aberdeen.

Han ser verden som et væv af linjer – af bevægelse, rytme og relationer i konstant forandring. For ham er verden ikke blot bygget af objekter, men af forbindelser: de stier, spor og handlinger, der opstår, når mennesker og omgivelser mødes og påvirker hinanden.

Alt, hvad vi gør, tegner nye linjer i dette væv – og det er her, steders identitet vokser frem. I sine bøger beskriver han, hvordan vi som designere ikke bør lægge forudbestemte strukturer ned over et sted, men hellere indgå i samtale med det, der allerede er i bevægelse.

Det handler om at lade designet vokse ud af stedet selv – gennem iagttagelse, sansning og samspil. At lytte til dets rytme, materialitet og brug – og skabe i dialog med det, snarere end at forme det udefra.

En tanke, der ligger tæt på vores eget arbejde i Le bureau, hvor design handler om at lytte, reagere og skabe forbindelser til det, der allerede er.

Vi har fået mulighed for at spørge Ingold om, hvordan vi som designere kan arbejde mere lyttende, undersøgende og medfølende i mødet med steder, materialer og mennesker. 

Her er hvad vi spurgte ham om, og hvad han svarer:

You often describe the world as a meshwork of lines — paths, movements, and relations — rather than a network of fixed points. How might this way of seeing the world inspire how we design for place, especially when creating visual and spatial experiences that seek to connect with the life already unfolding there?

It means thinking of place as something like a knot, rather than a container. The container has a boundary line around it, separating what is inside from what is outside. But the knot has no boundary, and knows no separation between inside and outside. It is rather where movements and paths converge, before going their separate ways. To design for place as a knot means joining with these movements. And it means thinking of vision in a sense more haptic than optical – the kind of close-up vision that probes and peers, looking for ways through and around things rather than seeking an overall, panoramic view.      

Your concept of correspondence describes making as a process of listening and responding. How can designers working with signs, materials, wayfinding, or visual markers practically work in correspondence with a place?

I’m not sure whether you can -actually correspond with a place, since the place is where correspondence happens, where it is going on. You would really be corresponding with all the people, materials and so on, that participate in creating the place. To these, you would simply add a thread of your own. The most the designer can do, then, is join the correspondence, or perhaps coax other lines into correspondence with one another, which might not have done so of their own accord. 

The designer, in this sense, acts as a kind of go-between. I suppose you could say that every design is a stitch-up.  

You have written that movement is a way of knowing. As we work extensively with wayfinding, we constantly gather insights about how people move. 

Could you elaborate on how the experience — and the movement — through a place — walking, turning, changing pace, pausing — might contribute to people’s sense of belonging, understanding or orientation?

Perhaps we could start by thinking of what happens when strangers move through a place. What is it about their movement that shows they do not belong there? They carry straight on, at an even pace, without pausing or turning. Focusing only on their destination, they don’t notice anything on the way. They are going from A to B. 

But life doesn’t go from A to B. It is always meandering, turning this way and that, circling around, ever hesitant, wondering where to go next. Places and things are eddies in which life temporarily turns on itself before going on its way. There are places to which you can belong, and things to understand, only because of these detours of life.