I love things madly,
madly.
I like pincers,
scissors,
I adore
cups,
iron rings,
soup tureens
without mentioning, of course,
hats.

I love
all things,
not only the supreme,
but
the infinite-
ly
small,
the thimble,
spurs,
plates,
flower vases.

[...]

I go through houses,
streets,
in elevators,
touching things,
spying objects
I secretly covet:
one because it chimes,
another because
it’s smooth
as the smoothness of a hip,
another for its deep water color,
another for its velvety thickness..

[...]

The title of this Pablo Neruda poem is self-explanatory: in it, he praises several objects and characteristics that could be applied to them.
Here, only some fragments are reproduced, but the entire poem have this same feeling of love about, “in short, / everything / handmade / by man, all things”.

Oda a las cosas. Pablo Neruda. First published in Odas elementales, 1954. [Read the original poem]
Translated by George Schade, as found in:
Neruda, Pablo. Fifty Odes. Wooldridge: Host Publications, 1996.
Thanks to Luci Nussbaum for the tip.

AMO las cosas loca,
locamente.
Me gustan las tenazas,
las tijeras,
adoro
las tazas,
las argollas,
las soperas,
sin hablar, por supuesto,
del sombrero.

Amo
todas las cosas,
no sólo
las supremas,
sino
las
infinita-
mente
chicas,
el dedal,
las espuelas,
los platos,
los floreros.

[...]

Yo voy por casas,
calles,
ascensores,
tocando cosas,
divisando objetos
que en secreto ambiciono:
uno porque repica,
otro porque
es tan suave
como la suavidad de una cadera,
otro por su color de agua profunda,
otro por su espesor de terciopelo.

[...]

click CC for spanish subtitles

Lots of people know about the Penrose stairs through M.C. Escher’s Ascending and descending 1960 lithograph. In Inception, things change:
As John Berger noticed in the first episode of the documentary Ways of seeing: “In a film sequence the details have to be selected and rearranged into a narrative which depends on unfolding time. Yet, in a painting as a whole, all this elements are there simoultaneously. In paintings, there is no unfolding time.”
It is always in a 2D level that you can completely cheat the eye, but when you take the structure to a 3D level, and in motion, you can perfectly explain the paradox in this impossible object. If you can cheat the eye in a 3D level, you must be dreaming .

ARTHUR: Shall we take a look at paradoxical architecture?
You’re going to have to master a few tricks if you’re going to build three complete dream levels.
ARIADNE: What sort of tricks?
ARTHUR: In a dream, you can cheat architecture into impossible shapes. That lets you create closed loops, like the Penrose Steps. The infinite staircase. See… Paradox.

[...] and the carpet needs a haircut
and the spotlight looks like a prison break
cause the telephone’s out of cigarettes
and the balcony’s on the make
and the piano has been drinking…
[...]
and the bar stools are all on fire
and all the newspapers were fooling
and the ashtrays have retired
’cause the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking
Not me, not me, not me.

In these verses of a Tom Waits song, narrated with a smart sense of humor, human behaviors are assigned to the objects.

click CC for spanish subtitles

This is a must-see film for —at least— everyone related to architecture and design, and often discussed. Based on a novel by Ayn Rand, tells te story of Howard Roark (Gary Cooper), an architect that takes his vision of architecture until the last consequences.
He wants thinks done his way: “I don’t build in order to have clients. I have clients in order to build”. It may sound arrogant, but seeing the “touch of classical dignity” his clients want to introduce into his project, it sounds quite reasonable.
The film looks like is set in the 40s, although the analyzed discusion fits more in the 20s. Roark is clearly based on Frank Lloyd Wright —who even was approached by Ayn Rand to collaborate in the story—, and Henry Cameron seem to play Louis Sullivan’s role.

Nicholson didn’t say anything.
“But I could get out of the finite dimensions fairly often when I was four,” Teddy said, as an afterthought. “Not continuously or anything, but fairly often.”
Nicholson nodded. “You did?” he said. “You could?”
“Yes,” Teddy said. “That was on the tape … Or maybe it was on the one I made last April. I’m not sure.”
Nicholson took out his cigarettes again, but without taking his eyes off Teddy. “How does one get out of the finite dimensions?” he asked, and gave a short laugh. “I mean, to begin very basically, a block of wood is a block of wood, for example. It has length, width—”
“It hasn’t. That’s where you’re wrong,” Teddy said. “Everybody just thinks things keep stopping off somewhere. They don’t. That’s what I was trying to tell Professor Peet.” He shifted in his seat and took out an eyesore of a handkerchief—a gray, wadded entity—and blew his nose. “The reason things seem to stop off somewhere is because that’s the only way most people know how to look at things,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they do.” He put away his handkerchief, and looked at Nicholson. “Would you hold up your arm a second, please?” he asked.
“My arm? Why?”
“Just do it. Just do it a second.”
Nicholson raised his forearm an inch r two above the level of the armrest. “This one?” he asked.
Teddy nodded. “What do you call that?” he asked.
“What do you mean? It’s my arm. It’s an arm.”
“How do you know it is?” Teddy asked. “You know it’s called an arm, but how do you know it is one? Do you have any proof that it’s an arm?”
Nicholson took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “I think that smacks of the worst kind of sophistry, frankly,” he said, exhaling smoke. “It’s an arm, for heaven’s sake, because it’s an arm. In the first place, it has to have a name to distinguish it from other objects. I mean you can’t simply—”
“You’re just being logical,” Teddy said to him impassively.
“I’m just being what?” Nicholson asked, with a little excess of politeness.
“Logical. You’re just giving me a regular, intelligent answer,” Teddy said. “I was trying to help you. You asked me how I get out of the finite dimensions when I feel like it. I certainly don’t use logic when I do it. Logic’s the first thing you have to get rid of.”
Nicholson removed a flake of tobacco from his tongue with his fingers.
“You know Adam?” Teddy asked him.
“Do I know who?”
“Adam. In the Bible.”
Nicholson smiled. “Not personally,” he said dryly.
Teddy hesitated. “Don’t be angry with me,” he said. “You asked me a question, and I’m—”
“I’m not angry with you, for heaven’s sake.”
“Okay,” Teddy said. He was sitting back in his chair, but his head was turned toward Nicholson. “You know that apple Adam ate in the Garden of Eden, referred to in the Bible?” he asked. “You know what was in that apple? Logic. Logic and intellectual stuff. That was all that was in it. So—this is my point—what you have to do is vomit it up if you want to see things as they really are. I mean if you vomit it up, then you won’t have more trouble with blocks of wood and stuff. You won’t see everything stopping off all the time. And you’ll know what your arm really is, if you’re interested. Do you know what I mean? Do you follow me?”
“I follow you,” Nicholson said, rather shortly.
“The trouble is,” Teddy said, “most people don’t want to see things the way they are. They don’t even want to stop getting born and dying all the time. They just want new bodies all the time, instead of stopping and staying with God, where it’s really nice.” He reflected. “I never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters,” he said. He shook his head.

[Bold text not provided]

Salinger, J.D. “Teddy”, in Nine Stories. Toronto [etc.] : Bantam, 1964. p. 189-191.
First published in The New Yorker, January 31, 1953.

click CC for spanish subtitles

Miles Monroe (Woody Allen) wakes up in 2173, after two hundred years of cryopreservation. The society has changed so much that they don’t even know what a chattering teeth is. This “amusing device” was designed by Adolf Goldfarb in 1950.

Does the future will have space for this toys? Or only for electronic amusements?

Hello window, well I see that you’re still here
Aren’t you lonely since our darling disappeared?
Well look here, is that a teardrop in the corner of your pane?
Now don’t you try to tell me that it’s rain.

She went away and left us all alone the way she planned
Yes we’ll have to learn to get along without her if we can.

After losing someone, Willie Nelson talks to the walls before sharing feelings with the window.
Objects are keeping us company, and also can bring back memories…

click CC for spanish subtitles

There are three main issues in this fragment that makes it interesting:
First of all, the consideration of Europe as “nothing but a great big auction”. Then, the fact that if you have money, you almost become a thoughtless buyer.
And finally, the last sentence of the fragment: “The reason why [a man] buys everything he can, is because of a crazy hope that one of the things he buys will be life everlasting… which it never can be.”

I kind of disagree with this last one: an object can go beyond someone’s life… and should. For any designer this has to be the goal of his/her designs.

Spoon,
basin
of
man’s most
anciend hand,
we still
see in your metal
or wooden form
the mold
of the primitive
palm,
where
water
bore
freshness
and the savage
blood
the throb
of fire and hunt.

[...]

Man
added
to the hollow detached
from his hand
an imaginary wooden
arm
and
the spoon
sallied forth
into the world
ever
more
perfect,
accustomed
to passing
from plate to pink lips
or flying
from meager soup
to the forgotten mouths of the hungry.

[...]

With few words, Neruda describes the genesis, design and usage of this small utensil.



Oda a la cuchara. Pablo Neruda. First published in Tercer libro de las odas, 1957.
Translated by George Schade, as found in:
Neruda, Pablo. Fifty Odes. Wooldridge: Host Publications, 1996.
Thanks to Luci Nussbaum for the tip.

Cuchara,
cuenca
de
la más antigua
mano del hombre,
aún
se ve en tu forma
de metal o madera
el molde
de la palma
primitiva,
en donde
el agua
trasladó
frescura
y la sangre
salvaje
palpitación
de fuego y cacería.

[...]

El hombre
agregó
al hueco desprendido
de su mano
un brazo imaginario
de madera
y
salió
la cuchara
por el mundo
cada
vez
más
perfecta,
acostumbrada
a pasar
desde el plato a unos labios clavelinos
o a volar
desde la pobre sopa
a la olvidada boca del hambriento.

[...]

click CC for spanish subtitles

Barton Keyes gives a client the precise instructions on “how to open a door”.
Just in case he didn’t know…