Sunday, February 18, 2024

Wildetecture Locodonta city.



 

Wildetecture pachyderm city. 
Wildetecture Locodonta metropolis, the elephants graveyard can be a vibrant livable entity. This is a wildetects architectural vision. A huge straight line in the desert is great, however a huge pachyderm sculpture in the Kalahari , Karoo, Namib is something completely different.

Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Wildetecture

 




Wildetecture design







Haven't posted in awhile on blogger, as our content has all been posted on Twitter. However that medium has its own challenges currently. 

Here is a few wildetect style African fauvistic design sketches. We are working towards an art exhibition of our work. If it happens great, if not , it's an exciting imaginative synapse for an artist to conceptualize. Remember, design is as design does. So go and create. 

Thursday, August 18, 2022

Wildetecture habitable sculptural owl face mountain face abodes.

Wildetecture has been in the pursuit of creating habitable artistic sculptural dwellings for many years now. like this owl face , mountain face abode - to create this form of sculptural drama, requires a specific plot of land. preferably far off the beaten track, deep in the desert. very isolated from any other habitable structures. the pursuit of a unique plot of land in the deep desert is proving to be a challenge, however we will prevail. the idea of being ones own client is the dream that drives one forward - beholden to no one but your own thoughts towards ones own outcome. 

every creative needs to work towards being their own client - that way ones work remains undiluted and totally unique unto itself. 









Tuesday, July 12, 2022

story of a wildetect African farm - the road to crazyman

wildetecture has been exploring creating built offsite wild habitable architectural pods in the deep desert, very far off the beaten track. in our exploration we have now found a remote farm which is exactly that, as remote as an African farm could be. not a farm really - but a piece of raw African veldt , completely inaccessible,  a plateau on top of a huge mountain. the only squatters are leopards, black eagles and wild , wild life. water for days , just did i mention , its completely inaccessible.

so we have been offered this farm today, 300 hectares  of wild veldt - its exciting because the prospect of ironing out our wildetect vision,  is as remote , as if this piece of African veldt  was on Mars. there is nothing easy about anything at this embryonic phase - its a conversation from a farmer deep within the desert - who made his way to the nearest town today and phoned me 2 hours ago. i can buy the smaller farm out right - but its so remote , good luck getting to it, have fun building on it, the road to the top is a chasm on one side.  - man it sounds like complete madness -A king Solomon's mines crazyman venture - crashing ones life around an impossible dream - flip doesn't that sound hugely epic. i must say the thought of it being inaccessible to anyone else - makes the idea of it incredibly plausible. not sure if i should share the journey or hide all traces of it. 

the idea of remote wildetect wild nature architectural pods - built off site - droned on top of this Masada type citadel is becoming very exciting. not at  all an easy simple concept to execute - as i said,  it could be on mars at this stage. purchasing the land is way out the budget - will need specialized equipment just to get to site - its all so overwhelmingly impossible it seems possible - like when your offered keys to a kingdom and you look past all the broken vehicles, bombed out homes, non existent pathways, collapsed bridges and you look up high on the face of Everest and way out through the mist, ice and blizzards you catch a fleeting glimpse of a tiny wooden door. its kind of like that - ive now briefly seen the tiny door - but hang!! i feel like forest gump starting to run,  just as he heads out the door with no plan other than head for the next street corner. - just a rough wild looking route to crazyman, mapped out - the door beckoning - lets start  this show on the road. 

many a wagon deserted deep in the desert with a sad story to tell - well creating a home far from the maddening crowd , on an inaccessible citadel deep in the desert is the best darn idea i can possibly think of. sure beats the humdrum of city life - at least the wild animals in the deep desert that seek to kill you, don't smile , say hello first and then rip you to pieces. its straight pieces ripping - which sure beats all that phoney nibbling ear politeness before. 


Thursday, December 16, 2021

The creative mind in an age of complete destruction.

This last while has been an immensely challenging time for everyone that I know -  using ones personal difficulties as a reason for not pushing forward,  is not really received by others as sensitively as in the past. Mostly because every single person that  I know,  in the last year has had things happen, that are really incredibly difficult to try and process. so one just starts comparing personal tragedies and then that's not really a conversation to wrap around, to try go forward. 

This next concept is not exact science, more opinion than fact, however its my process of trying to understand a bigger conceptual picture. 

As an artist or creative person,  life works through ones very flesh and bones. My limited experience with analytical thinkers or engineering minds, they tend to have programs within their make up that can helpfully screen or deflect aspects of life. Perhaps it helps them cope better with world wide tragedy on a grand scale. It appears to me they don't process global tragedy in the same way as a creative artist does. 

An analytical engineering mind will look at a news article about a tragedy far across the globe , process that they cant really do anything to help - and move on with what they can control. An artistic mind takes in the same information and is completely shut down by the immense insecurity and suffering of it all. 

Perhaps one can liken it to the effects of a nuclear blast - some victims are instantly vaporized where they stand, the full intensity of the nuclear blast passing through their very flesh,  leaves their individual permanent shadow behind as the only evidence they ever existed. This is how an artist creates, to my mind the permanent shadow is the intensity of the artistic work left after dealing with the process of life. 

Engineering minds are able to stand behind a screen of sorts, so they don't experience the blast passing through them - so their is no permanent shadow as evidence. Both ways of dealing with the same scenario are necessary for human development to my mind. just one has a much greater toll on the individual at the end. Perhaps our perception that its mental illness is not correct, when its more than likely a reactive process to life passing through one like a nuclear explosion.

Artists work that resonates the most with me is  that which captures the intensity of living within this life,  as if life is passing through the creative,  leaving this permanent shadow as artistic evidence to behold, unpack and collectively experience. 

I used to think creativity left behind a portfolio of skeletal thought as evidence. mostly useless sketches of thought, all leading towards some type of proof towards the improving talent of artistic perfection in the individual. 

However as world wide tragedy escalates,  I'm seeing the role of the artist is to create permanent vaporized shadows as evidence of life. Perhaps for a warning to future sensitive minds. Alarmingly the tragic lesson being learnt after life has been lived fact.

Scientific observing minds that peer into the building blocks of life are vastly different to the creative scientific mind that actively seek to manipulate and weaponize its minute structures. 

Those that are content to observe, witness and those that will, "oh so easily", manipulate what they can. To then blindly stand back and watch the after effects of their sinister handy work , to carefully document so they can repeat cut paste. 

Well very sadly, we are now dealing with the after effects of those that scientifically fiddle and manipulate to watch effect. These little minded nameless greedy idiots that seek to carry greater weapons of control, simply prove that man is a complete fool, who has proven beyond a shadow of doubt, that he cannot rule himself. 

So as we now observe the stage being set for our own chaotic apocalypse, its the creative artists silent vaporized artistic shadows that will leave small evidence,  in an age of complete destruction!!








Friday, May 14, 2021

a short story - by wildetect 2009

 I have tried my hand at the short story, mostly writing to repack the periphery noise but perhaps someone might find they resonate. Experts on the subject will definetly (H?) know much better, however i prefer to dabble for me, rather than the reader.


The bird whisperer - 2009


Konraad Jacobus Smit was an intensely quiet man, introspective reflective to the point of being extremely rude. To Konraad, peripheral talk did not interest him at all. He enjoyed his own company and chose not to speak, let alone meet people. The very thought left him feeling cold and in a strange way violated. His small holding was a suitable distance from the Karoo town he chose to settle in. He never received visitors and his trips to town were short and decisive. When the townsfolk tried to include him initially, many years before, he made it known in no uncertain terms, he wanted to be left alone. So for 40 years he lived off the interest of his parent’s substantial inheritance, not knowing or caring about whatever happened to the family home in Stellenbosch and the holiday homes dotted around South Africa. Konraads parents passed away disenchanted by their only son, who was lavished with attention, only to reject all emotional advances unequivocally. From a very early age he willfully shunned all forms of human interaction. Now days the only time Konraad interacted with anyone was when he gruffly walked into the institution that had been managing his financial affairs. He cared not for the entire amount or for the wealth of the full portfolio, only for that which sustained him at present. Konraad knew exactly what was happening around him, he was aware of what was expected of him. For reasons not even fully understood by himself, he just did not want to give up his thoughts, feeling that every thought or notion was a valuable piece of treasure. A treasure that would get depleted with every word carelessly spilled from his lips.

Konraad had a mysterious gift, a gift his parents could never understand. Where did Konraad receive this gift, this strange but wonderful ability. They fathomed over the meaning of Konraad’s gift, whilst he sat silently wishing only to be left alone with his thoughts. He watched owlishly the numerous professional people who tried to unpack and unpick the sacred trove of his mind. Reverting ever further inwards into the deep dark recesses of his inner sanctuary. Simply put, his strange gift was that he could call the birds. Konraad would sit outside on the grass and make a gargling rasping sound with his throat. A single bird would flop down from the sky and land close to him, not so close as to appear startling. The bird would appear drugged and confused, staring transfixed at the source of this strange sound. Within a short space of time birds would appear from all over. It wasn’t just the shear volume of birds but the variety, all mesmerized by the strange little man quietly gargling and gasping. The trees surrounding this spectacle would become heavy with birds. Konraad would tilt his beaked nose this way and that, perfectly mimicking a clucking chicken. Konraad would keep this charade going waiting for his favorite bird to make an appearance. The beautifully green malachite sunbird would dart this way and that through the throng of feathers, its beautiful plumage catching Konraad’s peripheral vision, before disappearing in another direction or behind a more drab, dull counterpart. The sunbird perfectly reflected his own mind and thoughts, with concepts racing through his mind, out of reach. Konraad read thousands of manuals for appliances, cars, "how to books", mathematical reference material and scientific journals. He would inevitably have better ideas, more advanced concepts than the ones put forward. He zealously guarded these concepts, however, squirreling them away like a crow, to be recalled at will and ripped and pulled apart at his leisure like a giant bird of prey. He would chortle and chuckle to himself , budgie like, for improving the relativity theory or a mathematical formula. He knew he had the answers sought after by the great minds of the day, but he would not impart with his nuggets. They were safely stored in the vault of his mind, never to escape the tightly sealed chasm, never to see the light of day.
There came a point in the calling of the birds that a single sunbird would hover effortlessly in front of him, beating its tiny beautiful wings thousands of times a minute. He would sustain this moment for as long as he could, all the while staring transfixed at the tiny frail bird in front of him, taking in the extraordinary beauty of this truly magnificent bird. The 2 creatures locked in a strange frozen moment , with thousands of onlookers.
As he reached out next to him, he reflected how ironic it was that he had been given this unusual gift. He continued to marvel at his ability and the trust this tiny bird put into him, a strange cold hearted creature, like a moth to a flame. Konraad was still enchanted by his extraordinary ability and the irony as he took aim at this little bird and squeezed off a single shot that exploded the entire mass of birds into a flurry of activity. The vortex of this turmoil left Konraad with the slowly fading flapping of wings and thousands of tiny feathers , mostly green, slowly , silently drifting to earth.

Monday, May 10, 2021

poem - rise the dark age of man

Rise the Ibis with the crow,
Eire of nature they will us show.

Adjutants grow strong, await the feed,
staring wide eyes, mans rampant unchecked greed.

Diamond Tiara's, Gold ruby rings,
burning all flesh, painful red stings.

Harbingers of death flock in the periphery,
hooded creatures herald a dark, light epiphany.

Blazing red moon, controls our wild sea,
darkest day noon , we shall soon see.

The good in man shall yet him save,
from the conspirators pale rider & the grave.

Dont be hornswoggled by the impending storm,
the thunder klap signals mankind to warn.

Man awaits the end of his dark day rising.
free from his own blindness, is now not surprising.

Our vision is clear as we see beyond the dark night,
salvation is near as we walk thankfully towards light.

QJD 2017