The title of this 1972 documentary won't really come as much of a shock to anyone who's read Reyner Banham's Architecture of the Four Ecologies. But Julian Cooper's film is incredibly funny and quirky, making the most of pitting the eccentric English professor against the scorched, sunny and at times, abruptly sexy backdrop of Los Angeles. A wonderful documentary, and a treasure brought to us by the amazing UbuWeb, a resource of endless delights.
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Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles
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Dancing Advent Calendar
I love dancing. No, more than that. And Christmas makes me insanely sad. So what better than an utterly ridiculous and very funny dancing advent calendar to hoof those blues away? This seriously makes me want to dance.
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Olympic Heights, Olympic Lows
Now, I happen to love the Olympics. Yes, that's right. LOVE. THE. OLYMPICS. Not terribly fashionable but there we go. But it's interesting seeing the name being bandied about in the most extraordinary manner. Recently in Forest Hill an amazing sign was erected.
Look at that lovely suburban street, beautiful mature trees everywhere, cars parked along the frontage, a figure on the second floor looks out at a spacious view, perhaps of a park or over the charming rooftops of its neighbours. Well, em, not quite.
This is more or less the same view taken with my phone. Hmm, that quiet suburban street seems to be a red route. No parking here, because it's a very busy bit of the South Circular. And those trees...? Well, neither mature tree exists. By my reckoning, the one to the left of the drawing would have been growing in the middle of the road, and the other would have been on a footpath barely wide enough to wheel a pram. And that view... Hmmm...
Okay, so it's a railway bridge. And that person on the balcony would have been staring at those points. From a few feet away. And that dramatic corner so dynamically illustrated? That would be jammed right up against that crumbling bridge, so the view illustrated in the drawing could never exist.
Oh yes, and then...
See that red brick structure immediately behind the plot of land? That's Forest Hill Station. Handy. You could erect a rope slide.
But the plot's spacious at least, right? I mean, for eight flats it'd need to be a good size?
Well, not so much. More of a tiny wedge of cheese jammed between some crumbling old Victorian terraced houses and a dingy railway bridge, with trains thundering past inches from your nose every five minutes or so.
Look at the beautiful drawing in the middle, the space around the building, the trees, the parked cars on the quiet suburban street. It's like a brilliant new form of fantasy art: rather than depicting a barbarian princess clad in a centimetre of dragonskin wielding a twelve headed sword atop a glacier, what they've done here is visualise the most mundane piece of architecture and invented the entire banal suburban street around it. It's SimForestHill. Don't like the railway line? Ah, ditch it. Tired of the arterial road? Delete. Want a few trees and shit? Paste. It's amazing. And the poor old Olympics is taking the blame. It might transform London for a few weeks next year, but not THAT much.
Look at that lovely suburban street, beautiful mature trees everywhere, cars parked along the frontage, a figure on the second floor looks out at a spacious view, perhaps of a park or over the charming rooftops of its neighbours. Well, em, not quite.
This is more or less the same view taken with my phone. Hmm, that quiet suburban street seems to be a red route. No parking here, because it's a very busy bit of the South Circular. And those trees...? Well, neither mature tree exists. By my reckoning, the one to the left of the drawing would have been growing in the middle of the road, and the other would have been on a footpath barely wide enough to wheel a pram. And that view... Hmmm...
Okay, so it's a railway bridge. And that person on the balcony would have been staring at those points. From a few feet away. And that dramatic corner so dynamically illustrated? That would be jammed right up against that crumbling bridge, so the view illustrated in the drawing could never exist.
Oh yes, and then...
See that red brick structure immediately behind the plot of land? That's Forest Hill Station. Handy. You could erect a rope slide.
But the plot's spacious at least, right? I mean, for eight flats it'd need to be a good size?
Well, not so much. More of a tiny wedge of cheese jammed between some crumbling old Victorian terraced houses and a dingy railway bridge, with trains thundering past inches from your nose every five minutes or so.
Look at the beautiful drawing in the middle, the space around the building, the trees, the parked cars on the quiet suburban street. It's like a brilliant new form of fantasy art: rather than depicting a barbarian princess clad in a centimetre of dragonskin wielding a twelve headed sword atop a glacier, what they've done here is visualise the most mundane piece of architecture and invented the entire banal suburban street around it. It's SimForestHill. Don't like the railway line? Ah, ditch it. Tired of the arterial road? Delete. Want a few trees and shit? Paste. It's amazing. And the poor old Olympics is taking the blame. It might transform London for a few weeks next year, but not THAT much.
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Of Mies and Men
Fantastic BBC4 documentary from the early noughties on Mies van der Rohe called Visions of Space– on YouTube in its entirety.
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Modern University Buildings
So, this was a splendid Christmas present from my mate Silvia: a set of 1971 postage stamps representing four brilliant modernist university buildings: Percy Thomas and Sons's international style Physical Sciences Building at the University College of Wales, Aberystwyth (3p); Basil Spence's Faraday Building at the University of Southampton – with shades of his hulking Home Office building (5p); that collision of half-solved Rubik's Snake, Cube and Pyramid – Stirling and Gowan's Engineering building for the University of Leicester (7½p); and the University of Essex's Hexagon Restaurant by those clever johnnies at Architects' Co-Partnership (9p).
The stamps themselves are beautifully illustrated by Nicholas Jenkins, and the accompanying booklet has contrasting, but still delightful, sketches by Ronald Maddox – The British Postal Museum blog has an interesting insight into how both artists pitched for the job and ended up splitting it.
Now I just need to find a way of framing them and the booklet – they're too beautiful to be hidden away in a drawer.
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So long, Soho
John H. Hutchinson's Flickr photos of Soho and Piccadilly from 1973 are wonderful, both a great record of areas intended to be comprehensively redeveloped and a glorious slice of social history.
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Home Sweet Home
Went to a small exhibition in Peckham yesterday at the Shopwork gallery. Artists Batchelor and Colson have spent a couple of years documenting the Ferrier estate in Kidbrooke, before and during demolition. The estate was built on the old Kidbooke Depot site between 1968 and 1972, designed by the GLC and system built by Wates, and its demolition has been barely remarked on compared to the array of articles on the Heygate's demise. Batchelor and Colson's work consists of coolly composed photographs of the decaying buildings and their isolated residents, and needlework samplers of CCTV cameras (that give the exhibition its title: Home Sweet Home). The centrepiece is a documentary produced with Zanuka adopting the same studied style as the photographs to record the residents' views on being left in barely functioning blocks while the community is siphoned off elsewhere. 200 homes were occupied when they started, now just five residents remain. Many of the stories of the residents in the film and on the captions under the photographs made me pretty angry.
HOME SWEET HOME from zaunka on Vimeo.
Batchelor and Colson hope to hold a much bigger exhibition of their work on the Ferrier soon, and I hope that goes ahead. The book of their exhibition is brilliant, containing many of the images as well as more in depth interviews with the subjects. Even the small selection housed at Shopwork is a powerful examination of the decline of an estate, the plight of its residents and the meaning of home.
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And now for the science bit
Here are some pictures from a 1959 edition of Design magazine on new breakthroughs in marketing and product development research: 'recordings of the ways in which consumers or operators use their eyes could provide unique guidance to the designers of products or displays'.
I am proud to work in marketing.
I am proud to work in marketing.
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He likes small people, he likes tall steeples...
Cliff Richard's torrid affair with postwar modern architecture peaked twice. There was his 1973 flop musical film Take Me High, set in the world of big business in Birmingham, most notably Richard Seifert's Alpha Tower (sample YouTube comment: 'Absolutley Bostin!!!! I'm sure I saw my Mum and Dad shopping in the background').
And then eight years later there was his video for Wired for Sound, filmed in the shiny new Milton Keynes shopping centre with Cliff on rollerskates listening to a walkman (sample YouTube comment: 'fuck yeah Milton Keynes'). Walking through MK shopping centre with m'bloke a couple of weeks ago he pointed out the stretch next to John Lewis that had been used in the video. Better than 'Elizabeth I slept here' any day.
And then eight years later there was his video for Wired for Sound, filmed in the shiny new Milton Keynes shopping centre with Cliff on rollerskates listening to a walkman (sample YouTube comment: 'fuck yeah Milton Keynes'). Walking through MK shopping centre with m'bloke a couple of weeks ago he pointed out the stretch next to John Lewis that had been used in the video. Better than 'Elizabeth I slept here' any day.
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Concretopia
Book update – I've been rather behind schedule since the shingles/bells palsy episode, but my editor and agent have sorted me out and now I feel more confident again. I'm probably about 2/3 of the way through the narrative, with a couple of gaps due to a lack of interviewees. I have an interviewee in York to talk to about living in prefabs after the war, and a Milton Keynes pioneer I need to see too, but I could always do with more.
My office block and shopping centre chapters are a little under-weight too, so I'm still keeping an eye out for people who designed, built or worked in Richard Seifert offices, Elephant and Castle shopping centre or the Bull Ring or Croydon's rebuilt town centre in the sixties. The good news is that people I have interviewed have been brilliant.
The title has changed too. Initially it was going to be called Britain by Jetpack, and then This Concrete Isle. The final title is Concretopia, which I think I'm happy with. I'm doing some rewriting at the moment. It feels like it's beginning to turn into a story, thankfully...
Do get in touch if think you fit the bill for any of the missing slots, and you are interested in being interviewed. (john dot grindrod at gmail dot com)
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Jon-Marc Creaney's amazing architectural photographs
In November 2011 young Scottish architect Jon-Marc Creaney passed away from cancer. There were many wonderful tributes posted online from people who knew him, but I couldn't claim more than a passing acquaintance, developed through a shared fascination with Cumbernauld and its megastructure. We never met – I'd only come to know him after befriending him on Twitter. Even so, he'd been generous enough to send me a copy of the thesis he'd written on the town when he heard I was there interviewing some of the original designers.
One thing that keeps making me think of Jon-Marc is the extraordinary archive of his photos on Flickr. There's a quality to those images that keeps drawing me back, a magnificent sense of elemental forces at work. His photos of Cardross Seminary are incredible - luminous and post-apocalyptic. He made Red Road look enchanted (or haunted), and Aberdeen University's library appear lighter than air.
The partial demolition of Red Road took me back to his peerless photographs of the towers, now suffused more than ever with feelings off loss. It's clear that he saw things with an incredible intensity. Sharing his brilliant photographs seems a fitting tribute.
One thing that keeps making me think of Jon-Marc is the extraordinary archive of his photos on Flickr. There's a quality to those images that keeps drawing me back, a magnificent sense of elemental forces at work. His photos of Cardross Seminary are incredible - luminous and post-apocalyptic. He made Red Road look enchanted (or haunted), and Aberdeen University's library appear lighter than air.
The partial demolition of Red Road took me back to his peerless photographs of the towers, now suffused more than ever with feelings off loss. It's clear that he saw things with an incredible intensity. Sharing his brilliant photographs seems a fitting tribute.
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Closed Book
There's a campaign up and running to save John Madin's fabulous and appallingly neglected Birmingham Central Library building. You can sign the petition here.
Sad sitting in the reference department looking down into the derelict atrium. Sad passing all of the wilfully bodged alterations. Sad seeing the hairnet of chicken wire over the frontage. Sad seeing McDonalds and Wetherspoons inhabiting what should have been the library's shop windows to the city.
Yes, it's good to see a city investing in libraries, and I'm sure the new building will be terrific, much as Newcastle's central library is a great asset. But Birmingham is always a city in transition, always junking its past for a taste of the new. Recognising a terrific bit of recent history doesn't always have to be beyond the council.
Sad sitting in the reference department looking down into the derelict atrium. Sad passing all of the wilfully bodged alterations. Sad seeing the hairnet of chicken wire over the frontage. Sad seeing McDonalds and Wetherspoons inhabiting what should have been the library's shop windows to the city.
Yes, it's good to see a city investing in libraries, and I'm sure the new building will be terrific, much as Newcastle's central library is a great asset. But Birmingham is always a city in transition, always junking its past for a taste of the new. Recognising a terrific bit of recent history doesn't always have to be beyond the council.
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Ian Nairn Across Britain
Some splendid soul has uploaded the incomparable architectural critic Ian Nairn's 1972 documentary Across Britain– From Leeds into Scotland. The bit about the building of viaducts is particularly good, if you like that sort of thing.
It's all a bit elegiac, the washed out film colours just adding to it.
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Chemical Weapons
Athletics has been the only sport I have followed since I was a kid. Like many who grew up in the Coe-Ovett-Cram era I have strong memories of evenings watching Grand Prix events from Oslo, Brussels and Zurich, or European, World and Olympic championships sprawling over weeks in the summer. We even used to go to Crystal Palace to see the shocking speed these runners reached in real life, which never really translates to TV.
One of the strongest memories is of the invincible success of female 'Eastern Bloc' athletes. It seemed pointless Britain entering the likes of Cathy Cook or Kirsty Wade into events when the Soviets, the Czechs, the Romanians, and above all, the East Germans, appeared to have such a crushing stranglehold over the proceedings. Here's Marita Koch, the quintessential East German sprinter, setting the world record for the 400 metres of 47:60 in Canberra in 1985.
This record still stands, and as one of the commenters on YouTube notes, no runner has come within a second of this record for more than fifteen years.
One of the strongest memories is of the invincible success of female 'Eastern Bloc' athletes. It seemed pointless Britain entering the likes of Cathy Cook or Kirsty Wade into events when the Soviets, the Czechs, the Romanians, and above all, the East Germans, appeared to have such a crushing stranglehold over the proceedings. Here's Marita Koch, the quintessential East German sprinter, setting the world record for the 400 metres of 47:60 in Canberra in 1985.
This record still stands, and as one of the commenters on YouTube notes, no runner has come within a second of this record for more than fifteen years.
Also running in that race was Jarmila Kratochvílová from Czechoslovakia, who still holds the 800 metre world record with an incredible 1:53.28, set in 1983. To give you some context, only two runners have got under 1:55 since the eighties. In this clip she's running the second fastest 400 metres of all time – the record Koch was breaking in the above clip.
The Soviet Union produced a number of phenomenal middle distance runners in this era too, the most enduring being Tatyana Kazankina who won gold in the 800 and 1,500 metres at the Montreal Olympics in 1976 and a further gold in front of her home crowd at the Moscow games of 1980. Her 1,500 metres world record of 3:52 was set in Zurich in 1980.
The athletics doping programmes of the seventies and eighties are still talked of with a sense of disbelief. Yet both sport and art were politicised during the Cold War. Frances Stonor Saunders wrote a brilliant book on the CIA's cultural Cold War, Who Paid the Piper. Similar tactics were employed by the 'Eastern Bloc' (and, who knows, by the CIA too– thanks, inner conspiracy nut). Although drug tests were primitive in this period, records were found and published by Brigitte Berendonk and Werner Franke after the fall of the wall showing that Marita Koch had been part of a highly organised programme of GDR state-funded steroid use. Her team-mate, Olympic gold medalist long-jumper and sprinter Heike Drechsler, had an even more extraordinary story. Franke and Berendonk asserted that Drechsler was a Stasi agent, spying on her team-mates for the secret police. Drechsler family friend Heinz Bergner was a Stasi officer who opened a file on an informant called Jump for the Seoul Olympics of 1988. Drechsler has always denied the Stasi connection, and also of being involved in any GDR doping programme, and successfully sued the authors when they suggested it. In 2007 she was elected to the International Olympic Committee. Soviet runner Kazankina's career came to an abrupt end when she refused to take a drug test in September 1984 and was banned. Nothing has ever been proved against Kratochvílová.
As a coda to this story of Cold War athletics, Kazankina's 1,500 world record stood for a decade, until a generation of Chinese athletes emerged from nowhere on the international stage and swept aside all women's track middle and long distance records in 1993. Their coach Ma Junren was later disgraced, partly for seeing a great number of his athletes fail drug tests for the Sydney Olympics, and more worryingly because his 'training techniques' included physical violence against his runners. Here's a Chinese 1-2 from the 1993 Stuttgart World Championships, where China scooped the 1,500, 3,000 and 10,000 metres.
So many mysteries surround these amazing runs. The athletes involved have shown no desire to do any straight talking about their performances, the scientists and training teams have kept quiet, and the whole period from the seventies to the eighties is being lost to history. It's a shame, as it will only lead the uneducated like me or the angry commentators on YouTube to make uninformed guesses at what seems like a case of chemically-enhanced battery farming gone out of control.The Soviet Union produced a number of phenomenal middle distance runners in this era too, the most enduring being Tatyana Kazankina who won gold in the 800 and 1,500 metres at the Montreal Olympics in 1976 and a further gold in front of her home crowd at the Moscow games of 1980. Her 1,500 metres world record of 3:52 was set in Zurich in 1980.
The athletics doping programmes of the seventies and eighties are still talked of with a sense of disbelief. Yet both sport and art were politicised during the Cold War. Frances Stonor Saunders wrote a brilliant book on the CIA's cultural Cold War, Who Paid the Piper. Similar tactics were employed by the 'Eastern Bloc' (and, who knows, by the CIA too– thanks, inner conspiracy nut). Although drug tests were primitive in this period, records were found and published by Brigitte Berendonk and Werner Franke after the fall of the wall showing that Marita Koch had been part of a highly organised programme of GDR state-funded steroid use. Her team-mate, Olympic gold medalist long-jumper and sprinter Heike Drechsler, had an even more extraordinary story. Franke and Berendonk asserted that Drechsler was a Stasi agent, spying on her team-mates for the secret police. Drechsler family friend Heinz Bergner was a Stasi officer who opened a file on an informant called Jump for the Seoul Olympics of 1988. Drechsler has always denied the Stasi connection, and also of being involved in any GDR doping programme, and successfully sued the authors when they suggested it. In 2007 she was elected to the International Olympic Committee. Soviet runner Kazankina's career came to an abrupt end when she refused to take a drug test in September 1984 and was banned. Nothing has ever been proved against Kratochvílová.
As a coda to this story of Cold War athletics, Kazankina's 1,500 world record stood for a decade, until a generation of Chinese athletes emerged from nowhere on the international stage and swept aside all women's track middle and long distance records in 1993. Their coach Ma Junren was later disgraced, partly for seeing a great number of his athletes fail drug tests for the Sydney Olympics, and more worryingly because his 'training techniques' included physical violence against his runners. Here's a Chinese 1-2 from the 1993 Stuttgart World Championships, where China scooped the 1,500, 3,000 and 10,000 metres.
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Basil Spence is a Pacemaker
Lovely 1973 documentary called The Pacemakers looking at Basil Spence, that most unlikely modernist. Great watching him sketch, as dandyish and romantic as I'd imagined.
Something dodgy about the uploading or my internet connection meant this version kept crashing when I was watching it – here's hoping it's kinder on you. Luckily I have the film on this brilliant BFI DVD set, Design for Today– highly recommended.
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The Beatles, Picasso, Maria Callas and Cumbernauld
Our World was a landmark in TV broadcasting - the first international live multi-country satellite link-up, a two and a half hour special dreamed up by a producer at the BBC. The content was strange and mixed: Marshall McLuhan talked TV in Canada, in Japan they showed the Tokyo subway system being built, and in Australia they showed a deep space object being tracked via an observatory. These days it's best remembered for The Beatles who used London's slot to premiere their new single All You Need is Love (in much the same way that George Michael did at the 2012 Olympics closing ceremony).
This video shows over an hour and a half of the broadcast. I was fascinated by the segment on the experimental new town of Cumbernauld which sneaked in amid the high profile featurettes on Picasso and Maria Callas. It starts at 23:3, with Magnus Magnusson narrating over shots of a branch of Halfords in the town's famous megastructure, children's drawings of the year 2000 and hipsters dancing at the groovy Golden Eagle hotel. All the cliches of New Town promotional film are there - stats on road safety, footage of a family in their new home, and sweeping statements about building a downhome utopia. But its setting, in this worldwide broadcast, is in its own way as incongruous and proudly local as a sequence in Danny Boyle's opening ceremony theatrics.
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Charley in New Town
Here's the lovely 1948 public service film, Charley in New Town. It's an animation promoting the idea of new towns, shortly after Stevenage, Harlow, Crawley, Hemel Hempstead and Newton Aycliffe had been designated as part of the first wave of Britain's postwar rebuilding.
The jolly, naive, patrician style, with its Ealing Comedy voiceover and cheeky Carry On soundtrack uses similar matey tricks the Ministry of Information had employed in wartime campaigns such as Dig For Victory. It feels much closer to those than it does to later promotional films for the towns, which gradually came to resemble less these cosy British comedies and more the serious kitchen sink dramas of the late fifties, albeit given a utopian spin. But before all that, Charley was pure Potato Pete, and proud.
The jolly, naive, patrician style, with its Ealing Comedy voiceover and cheeky Carry On soundtrack uses similar matey tricks the Ministry of Information had employed in wartime campaigns such as Dig For Victory. It feels much closer to those than it does to later promotional films for the towns, which gradually came to resemble less these cosy British comedies and more the serious kitchen sink dramas of the late fifties, albeit given a utopian spin. But before all that, Charley was pure Potato Pete, and proud.
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Glasgow is Go!
Here's a Lovely Thing – a photographic study of Glasgow's sixties and seventies buildings by Ross Brown for Strathclyde University's architecture department – set to the Thunderbirds theme.
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Motopia – what are we waiting for?
'Designer Geoffrey Jellicoe (in glasses)...' – click the pic below for a video.
Here's a great Pathe News clip of Jellicoe proudly showing off his Pilkington Glass model of Motopoia, 50s experimental town design, where the roads are on the roofs of a grid of buildings, each overlooking park quads. His book, Motopia, is brilliant and quite bizarre, jumping around through history making lots of not terribly joined-up points but illustrating them with beautiful illustrations. Here's one by Gordon Cullen of Motopia's residents.
Pilkington sponsored many other experimental design concepts in the postwar period too, such as High Market, a million square ft shopping platform connecting hills near Dudley. Incredible stuff.
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Insulin wallpaper
Five years ago I discovered I was diabetic. It's quite as tedious as you would imagine. A couple of years later I visited the Wellcome Collection, a brilliant though oddly quiet museum opposite Euston Station, and there to my delight I found something that connected my two-a-penny illness with one of my all time favourite things: the Festival of Britain. Because their From Atoms to Patterns exhibition told the story of the biologists and designers who worked together for the Festival of Britain to create futuristic items based on molecule and cell diagrams. And my favourite would be insulin wallpaper, designed by Robert Sevant for manufacturer John Line and Sons, inspired by images produced by one of the great names of British science, Dorothy Hodgkin. Here's the design:
And here's curator Mary Schoeser on just how those scientists and designers worked together from the late forties in the Festival Pattern Group.
Here's a lovely audio slideshow from the BBC to commemorate the 100th anniversary of her birth. Wonderful hearing stories about great scientists working with great designers to produce something amazing, just for the joy of it. Even this eeyoreish diabetic left the exhibition with a spring in his step.
And here's curator Mary Schoeser on just how those scientists and designers worked together from the late forties in the Festival Pattern Group.
Here's a lovely audio slideshow from the BBC to commemorate the 100th anniversary of her birth. Wonderful hearing stories about great scientists working with great designers to produce something amazing, just for the joy of it. Even this eeyoreish diabetic left the exhibition with a spring in his step.
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