Lemma Al-Ghanem
Fab BozzoloFabia
Aubrey Fan
Fatima Mohammed
Unnati Patel
Jonathan Der Yeong Wan
Nicholas Wheeler (Headspace)
Craig Brozowski
Elizabeth Gilman
Shane Joyce
Stanicka Mathurin
Abigail Peters
Morgan Smykowski
Ryan Vigiolto (Gradual Stillness)

Christopher Romano

ARC 606
Spring 2019

MArch

The Material Culture Graduate Research studio investigated the spatial implications of sound as a mode of multisensory architectural research. With the goal of creating a sub-zero decibel level space— an anechoic chamber—the studio began by reflecting on the experience of silence and experimenting with the masking of sound.

The wearable devices were meant to limit, eliminate, or direct sound while altering one of the other bodily senses. Shifting the balance of the sensorial experience affects how the body engages with and perceives space.

What would it feel like to experience a space of total silence? How would this fundamentally change the perception of space? The studio research drew attention to hearing capabilities, the spatial dimensions of hearing, the phenomenology of listening, and how people are situated and immersed in the world through sound. 

One enters Headspace to understand the “Self” with a clear mind. By separating the mind from the overwhelming physical experiences of the body in the outside world, one can reach a state of existential awareness. Headspace is composed of three main layers: the inside, the outside, and the in-between.

Outside the chamber is where curiosity and preconceptions are formed. 

A large cube is suspended above the gallery floor. Its mirrored finish produces a visual echo as the viewer is greeted with the current state of their self and the reflection of their immediate environment. The cube amplifies the activity around it, mirroring the dissonance, noise, and stimulus of the outside world. The pleated fabric underbelly suggests that there is more to the cube than meets the eye. It is with heightened interest that the viewer pauses to imagine the environment that might be contained within. All incoming light and sound is reflected off of the mirrored surface; nothing can penetrate except the human body.

Between the layers, external forces are wiped away.

To enter the chamber is to be consumed by it. A threshold tightly lined with thick, flexible fabric absorbs all external light and sound. This detailed manipulation of folds guides the body inwards to the center, where the body squeezes upwards through a series of soft layers: materials that embrace and accommodate the human form. The waist is compressed by layers of felt; the hands are occupied by the manifold texture of pleats, and the neck is gently restrained by the softness of the fleece shroud. Traversing through the threshold completely occupies the haptic senses of the body, helping to clear the mind of external distraction and direct attention inwards. Inside the chamber is where one faces existence.

Upon arrival to the inner chamber, one is immediately detached from the outside world. The mind is separated from the body, which is still housed in the soft, restrictive space of the felt. The space the head has now entered, and its sensorial effects, are entirely unexpected. It is as if one has been teleported to a different world. Inside the chamber, it is slightly illuminated and yet completely silent. All preconceived imaginations are forgotten as one attempts to reorient themselves to the newness of this inner world. Shapes begin to appear in the dimness—long, soft fingers of absorptive foam all point towards center, towards the occupant’s mind. The interior absorbs all sound and creates a feeling of detachment.

The mind is alone, held in absolute silence; the body is lost in space. This disconnect is disturbing at first, but once accepted, mind and body are brought to a state of heightened awareness. 

One exits as they came, but with a new experience—a new understanding of self.

The conventional design of the anechoic chamber has found a lot of success in amplifying the sounds of one’s body. Typical chamber construction has deemed thick, bunker-like spaces that utilize repetitive, soft wedge-like materials, complete with the absence of seams and a brief entrance, as the only method to create such a space. This has translated the anechoic chamber into something unappealing and unaccommodating to humans.

Contrary to utilizing a closed system, Gradual Stillness operates as a living organism, like a diaphragm, where openness and silence coexist.

The anechoic chamber challenges the user’s determination to reach its central space, where silence and curiosity are maximized. Traveling to the heart of the chamber is similar to a journey through a deep cave, a journey to find solitude.

Various pores subtly begin to trap and block sound from entering the interior space, provoking the user to question: “how many holes does it take to achieve silence?” The pores filter sound in air chambers within the membrane of each perforated wall to gradually impede the passage of sound. The compactness and density of the foam within the ceiling, floor, and chamber walls trap any unconsumed sound that makes it through the first filtration.

As the user meanders further into the depths of the chamber, their sense of touch is induced as they feel and push their way through scattered obstructions. Fin-like thresholds, referencing stalactites and stalagmites in a cave, intrude upon the space within the passageway, hindering sight and forcing the body to contort in response to their protrusions.

The complete absence of sound lies in the deepest chasm of the chamber, where the abundance of soft material that evokes a similarity to occupying the interior of a sponge. This metaphoric median between cave-like and sponge-like interiors shifts the user’s familiarity with the world, forcing them to inhabit a soft, yet self-responsive and contemplative space.