Yesterday was the annual Notting Hill Carnival in London, which is why I was in Kensington Gardens to visit this year's Serpentine Gallery Pavilion. Yes yes, I was missing thousands of elaborately spangled and befeathered celebrants shaking and bopping and pogoing to hundreds of steel bands, sustained by Red Stripe and Caribbean cooking and Mother Nature's finest. But I know from previous carnival experiences that five-foot-nothing me would end up sandwiched between boppers and pogoers, unable to see anything or to exercise free will as regards my ambulatory direction. And that gets old fast.
So here I was, sauntering in the sunshine towards Ai Weiwei's collaboration with Herzog and de Meuron: the twelfth annual Serpentine Gallery Pavilion architectural commission. The Chinese artist is confined to his country under government surveillance, but developed the project via Skype with the same team with whom he worked on the Bird's Nest Stadium for the Beijing Olympics.
The pavilion is cork-lined circular dugout with an infinity pool for a roof. The effect is that of a glorified child's fort: higgledy-piggledy stairs and levels and proportions, all hidden away from prying eyes from above. This resonates with me, because I had a phase at about eight years old when I was wildly enthusiastic about digging underground forts, which I would then cover with sheets of plywood “borrowed” from local building sites. I ended up with strong arms and an impressive collection of Native American arrowheads.
The 2012 Pavilion also has an archeological bent, as the design incorporates the footprints of the previous 11 pavilions, with their various patterns and lumps and bumps. This accounts for the higgledy-piggledyness.
A map of 11 architectural footprints. |
But the particular reason I wanted to visit the pavilion was for the smell, which is most marvelously integral to the experience. The site's accompanying blurb proclaims that cork has “great haptic and olfactory qualities”, and indeed it does. While kids giddily clambered over the mushroom shaped stools playing multi-level tag, the adults sat silently in a collective trance, together but alone, clustered on cork benches and cork stairs and cork toadstools, fingers absently stroking the warm, spongy material.
.
I hid behind a column and pressed my nose to the cork. It smelled dry, mellow, almost imperceptibly sweet. It was a scent on its way to wood, but not quite, hovering in a zone between lightly toasted and slightly spicy. I'd love to smell a perfume with a cork accord. The bottle could even be wrapped in cork, adding to its “haptic and olfactory qualities”.
Interior image © 2012 Luke Hayes
Wide image © 2012 Iwan Baan
The gallery visit sounds heavenly. Hey Katie, I built undergound forts too when I was a kid. And with "Borrowed" fence wood.
ReplyDeleteI never mastered building the infinity pool roof, though.
DeleteCork does have a smell. I was a teen in the 70's and I bought this fabbo pair of high, high cork wedges (yeah, I was cool back then! LOL ) and they did have this wonderful scent - when new.
ReplyDeleteI do remember a men's aftershave back then too with a real cork outer on the bottle -it was thick like my wedges. I do not remember the name but it was citrus and ozonic- very nice.
When I see cork shoes these days they are veneer - too expensive I guess . You rarely see corks in champers that are fully cork plugs - most now are cork bits compressed.
I Would love to see that gallery too Ms Katie!
Cork makes such a sensible platform sole, with its natural give and cushioning.
Deletelol..I built forts with TV trays and blankets...you were much more a tomboy then I....there is something about a fort that sitting in and blocking out the rest of the world makes it a magical place...I think mine smelled like downy fabric softener.....Cork sounds a whole lot cooler. ....thanks for sharing another magical moment in your adventures. xo M and M.
ReplyDeleteUsually I was constructing forts in the basement out of packing boxes, so cardboard was the smell of magic isolation for me.
DeleteThis structure sounds like heaven. Having two little kids means that people get hurt every five minutes or so, but cork would greatly reduce that problem.
ReplyDeleteI love to think of eight-year-old you, tomboyishly digging holes in the backyard. When you "borrowed" your plywood, did you disguise yourself with a hard hat and whistle at ladies, too?
The thought of doing something like this as an adult sounds nightmarish to me now. What a drag it is getting old.
No elaborate disguises required, no backyards ruined. I lived in a suburban development being built in the middle of Indiana cornfields, so there were plenty of empty lots and house-building materials lying around. And flint arrowheads! Which just seemed normal at the time, but now seems amazing.
DeleteOh, and the "nightmarish" part is digging a pit, climbing in, and covering myself with a board. Not dressing like a construction worker and wearing a hard hat, although I have dubious feelings about that, as well.
ReplyDeleteDo you still have your arrowhead collection?
ReplyDeleteInteresting choice of venue. Does seem rather gloomy and crypt-like in the photo, though, which probably lends itself to quiet meditation (for adults). I suppose the cork scent is intensified by the humidity and dampness of the English summer and being below grade.
Glad you shared your haptic, olfactory AND architectural experiences with us!
Maggie, I don't have my arrowhead collection, sadly - I wonder if they were dispersed via a house-moving garage sale?
ReplyDeleteThe day I went to the pavilion, the cork was nicely dry and toasty. Wet, smushy cork sounds like a less-pleasing haptic experience.
This sounds wonderful - you've been seeing such interesting exhibits in the UK - thanks for sharing these experiences! ~~nozknoz
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming along for the ride, nozknoz!
ReplyDeleteTrès jolie et très viable
ReplyDelete