“”Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.”
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth, V.v.,”
–Lin Manuel Miranda, Hamilton, II
I had initially begun this post yesterday afternoon, so perhaps it’s fitting that I started it intending to talk about tomorrow. But tomorrow is here already, which probably sums up my time in Greece: time here is flying by me, yet the pace of life here moves so slowly, I’m having trouble focusing.
Yesterday, we went to the exhibition of Tomorrows: Urban fictions for possible futures at the Onassis Cultural Center. Essentially the basis for it is examining the manner in which architecture and design will provide alternatives for our future. I loved this because it’s entirely speculative and yet planning for a future, all the while basing the prediction of the future on the past.
There’s this interesting Autostraddle essay on science fiction’s inability to comprehend gender identity, because while the authors could imagine entirely new biomes, they couldn’t comprehend a world without gender binaries. Author Cheryl Morgan writes,
The authors don’t generally try to predict what our world will look like in years to come. They may suggest possible futures – perhaps ones we need to guard against – but often these imagined futures are simply discussions of the present dressed up with spaceships and aliens as a means of encouraging the readers to think outside of the box.
It was on my mind today as I looked at the designs, because they are based on scenarios that we believe to be plausible, such as climate change or the surveillance state. They are responses to these current issues, thinking outside of the box.
Which isn’t a true criticism, merely an observation, but it did get me to thinking. As journalists, we’re reporting on the past (although the recent past generally speaking) intending to alert the public in the present, while at the same time, leaving the reports for the future as a testimony of the past and present. Much like Erich Berger and Mari Keto’s Inheritance, we have to think about what we’re leaving behind and what we hope the future will inherit from us.
What am I leaving behind? What is the world inheriting from me?
One work, titled Air Shake, I unfortunately can’t find any information online about but here are the webpages of the two primary architects, Lydia Kallipoliti & Andreas Theodoridis, as well as a fascinating conversation on the Architecture of Discourse. The basic premise was the use of air and its pollutants to cure various diseases that our environment will cause. In one case, the architects assert that sensory overload produces anxiety. The solution? Forgetting.
What am I forgetting? What is forgetting me?