55°54'28.3"N 12°41'48.0"E
Hven, Øresund Strait, Sweden
The Cosmos is full beyond measure of elegant truths; of exquisite interrelationships; of the awesome machinery of nature … The Cosmos is within us, we are made of star-stuff — we are a way for the Cosmos to know itself.
— Carl Sagan
In our modern urbanised world the night sky has made way for artificial lights, tall buildings and increasingly airborne traffic. Light pollution obscures all but the brightest of stars and smog further hinders the passage of light from the sky. There is a deep and fervent desire in the human species to understand our place in the universe — to locate our existence within the cosmos. Is there a connection between the regularity of heavenly phenomena and the events on Earth? Can we understand ourselves by observing the clock-like motions of the planets, the sun and the moon? Where do we come from? Can we become at one with the universe?
Ancient cultures began to use tools and machines to measure, document, observe and predict the ever-changing night sky, and to draw from it conclusions to the underlying mechanisms of the heavens. To know the will of the gods is to know our place in their plan.
Our experiences of the night sky changes each night and from place to place. The sky is a dynamic realm — the heavenly bodies of the moon, planets and comets engage in their elegant dances; man-made satellites catch the sunlight and strike a temporary etching of their path into the darkness; local weather conditions hinder observations, or indeed sometimes frame specific moments; and the nearby terrain can enhance the view or block certain horizons.
These interruptions, disturbances, events and moments cannot be quantitatively mapped — they do not appear in printed star charts or are presented in mechanical models of the sky. these are the momentary aspects of astronomy and observation that actively bring the body into the act of star gazing. We might move ourselves to a certain west facing cliff overlooking the sea to watch the sunset unobstructed. We might move halfway across a country to get a view of an eclipse in cloudless skies. A falling meteor might catch the corner of our eye and we whip our body around to witness the momentary bright streak fade from view.
An architecture that truly respects the night sky should respect these moments. It should respond to the unpredictable and quantitative dimensions of our shared experiences of the stars and should connect us in fundamental ways to the nature of the sky.
The architecture of connection will be spread out across the island of Hven. A series of pavilions and installations, ranging in scales, will tell the story of our place in the universe. This will not be a museum or institution, but a place of spiritual connection and awakening, one that engages and activates the body to imbue our senses with awe. These points form a network — a field of Leibnitzian interrelated bodies. Just like how ancient societies formed cultural images in the interconnecting of stars, imbuing qualitative characteristics into a quantitative sky, the network of installations is constellation where the sum of the whole is greater than the parts.
Matter tells space how to curve, and space tells matter how to move. There is no strict prescribed path that the visitors must undertake, instead there is just a hint, a guidance for where to go next. The user has agency and freedom, and must find their own way, their own journey, from one point to the next — and in doing so will come to reconnect with the universe through sense experience
Connections was awarded the Casapoli Residency Grant and the 3XN/GXN Travel Grant.
© Sean Lyon 2023