The Montreuil Conservatory, by Claude Le Goas, 1976. Each of the metal pods on the façade is an acoustically separated practice room. It is an exceptionally advanced building, featuring an irrigated steel structure which has beams filled with water to slow their disintegration in the case of a fire.
The physical patterns of PATTERNITY utilise the texture of the materials and forms they are made on to add an extra layer to their 2D shapes. Plus they have a sweet daily pattern section here : http://www.patternity.co.uk/
Matthew Houlding’s uninhabited hotel is the perfect setting for an African The Shining. His current exhibition at the Ceri Hand Gallery is based on and inspired by the now demolished Oceanic Hotel in Mombassa, Kenya – a beautiful Le Corbusier-style modernist building decorated with a vibrant palette of blues, yellows and red.
Houlding’s sculptures and collages draw us into a fantastic, retro-futuristic world, inspired by architectural forms and models, modernism and a childhood spent in East Africa. Houlding’s recent sculptures and collages are an homage to the utopian zeal of modern architecture. Drawing on Structuralist and Formalist ideas of architectural design and the relationships between intersecting materials and planes, contrasting geometry is framed by bold, primary coloured Perspex, which casts a Californian sunny glow over split level condo-like exteriors and interiors.The severe and forbidding geometry of his little houses is balanced by an air of almost utopian hedonism and luxury. The work is made all the more strong by the artist’s reluctance to admit whether these are desirable or dreadful properties.
121127 - Salvation Mountain, built by Leonard Knight (now 81), just outside Saltonsea.
“Knight was one of four children, born in Burlington, Vermont. He never liked school, got teased a lot, and dropped out in the 10th grade. In 1951, he joined the Army, was trained as a mechanic and got sent to Korea. Upon his return, he worked as a mechanic in Vermont, supplementing his income by picking apples, which helped him raise enough money to make trips to Caliornia to visit his sister. He treasured the trips, except for the fact that she would make him go to church. Leonard hated church, and religion, and God, at that point in his life, and he figured the feeling was mutual. “I wasn’t doin’ nothing that God would be pleased with,” he has pointed out. During one visit, after an argument with his sister, he stomped out and sat in his truck. There in the driver’s seat — for reasons he can’t explain — he found himself saying, “Jesus, I’m a sinner, please come into my heart” over and over again. Jesus, he says, did. For the first time in his life, Leonard had a sense of direction — and it would be, as it turned out, a very strange direction. In 1971, still in Vermont, he noticed a hot air balloon one day, advertising a brand of beer. What if, he thought, he could market God similarly? He began researching and seeking materials to build a hot air balloon, and praying to God to help provide them, but for nine years it remained a distant and unreachable dream. On a cross-country trip in 1980, he had engine trouble in Nebraska, and had to spend several days there. The mechanic working on his truck offered to help with the balloon project. They got a bargain on some material, and, for three years, Leonard stayed in Nebraska and sewed. Not one to do things on a small scale, Knight stitched together a balloon that was 200 feet high, 100 feet wide, and built a burner, complete with fans, to help fill the balloon. The balloon never got off the ground, though. When he came to the desert in Niland, California to make a final attempt to launch it, he discovered the material was rotted. It was then, in 1985, his 14-year quest to launch a God is Love balloon over — that he decided to build a small replica of the balloon, in the middle of the desert, out of adobe. He planned to stay for a week in Slab City — a makeshift community of desert-dwelling loners, snowbirds, RV’ers and on-the-verge of homelessness types. But what started as an 8-foot sculpture would become Salvation Mountain, rising about three stories high, an accumulation of tires and other junk salvaged and donated, coated with adobe and brightly painted with flowing rivers, budding flowers, a yellow brick road and Bible scripture –all topped by a big white cross.”
Take Highway 111 to Niland. Turn left (east) on Main Street (look for a stone house) Travel for a little over 3 miles. Look to the East. You absolutely cannot miss it.