The cube, an orthogonal parallelepipedic prism of six equal sides, is inextricably linked, from the time of the very first civilizations, to open, inhabitable spaces. For such a simple, sparse and symmetrical shape to achieve any sort of expressiveness there must be some irregularity involved or some relationship with its surroundings.
This cube game deals exclusively with the relationship between cubes that are identical to each other, each cube thus making use of a language inherent to itself and to its own properties as contemplated by the human eye. The game puts us in touch with an array of primordial, poetic sensations and feelings: precariousness, instability, rigidity, risk, audaciousness, solidity, levity, surprise, tension, fragility, reason, strength, functionality, rhythm, emptiness, fullness, strangeness, harmony, spontaneity, rigorousness, skill, complexity….
These are just some of the great many elements of the architectural poetics that arise in the final mixture, which is, of course, unquantifiable as well as undescribable; no words could possibly take the place of the lyricism of the final result.
In the words of Swiss writer Robert Walser, “All work well done, even the most trivial, requires poetic inspiration”. We present this cube game with the idea that it may serve to reveal in players the kinds of reactions that take place when observing and discovering unexpected sensations. These feelings, which often appear in a somewhat blurry form at first, may cause us to reevaluate ous sense of humor, our analytical abilities or our openness to – or rejection of – these novel feelings themselves.
The game consists of joining the cubes tangentially by the use of one of their edges, thus liberating the figures from the more predictable, mechanical logic of the supporting function. We feel that this gives a sensation of irreality that enhances the experience.
How do you play Tangram?
Tangram is no ordinary puzzle. The placement of the ‘tans’ and the observation of the figures come together to confer an aura of enigma and magic to the game, giving the Tangram its own special place in the world of puzzles and riddles. The possibilities that it provides for our imagination are virtually infinite. Much like when we put together a collage, the individual pieces of a Tangram lose their identity and appear before our eyes, magically, as part of a new form.
The tightrope walker balances over the precipice, risking life and limb as he walks over the thinnest of threads. They are not actors; rather, they relive what is essentially their life away from the wire. We are all tightrope walkers, though some more than others. Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all balanced on the edge. That is what they are trying to tell us.
Is it an inanimate object or is there something in it that gives it life? Could it be that he reminds us of the messenger boy, the newspaper vendor, the shoeshine or the apprentice of any number of jobs – one who depends on his arms and legs to carry out these menial jobs in order to scrape by? Where does our sympathy for an object come from? Where do our emotions spring from -weak and subtle as they may be – where if not from the emotions of life itself and the spirit that animates it?