This is the eighth essay in a collection of twelve written by Byron Ferris for the "Design Sense" feature of the Sunday Northwest Magazine insert of The Oregonian during 1984 and 1985. – Ed.
In an earlier column I spoke of Buckminster Fuller, the great American design philosopher. I must tell you about the great opportunity I had to chat with him several years ago in Yugoslavia.
In the eariy 1930s Fuller, feeling unsuccessful and frustrated about his contributions to humanity, had decided to spend a year of silence just thinking about the patterns of science and design. From that period to his cataloging of the Earth's natural resources in the late 1970s, "Bucky" earned the affection and respect of the nation's design and intellectual community. His lectures revealed a bright, encompassing mind that brought to light new ideas and connections. His insights sparkled with creativity.
Fuller had explored the crystalline structures of minerals – basalts, silicas, salts – and that's why I wanted to talk to him.
His explorations led him to question the form of home building, and he pointed out that if a builder connects four 2-by-4s to build a square wall the shape is unstable. This construction form produced many of the falling down barns that artists like to depict. However. if the builder connects only three 2-by-4s. The triangle shape is so strong that the strongest winds can't budge it.
Of course, a building constructed of four triangular walls would look like a pyramid and would be rather hard to live in. But, Fuller suggested. if enough of the triangles were flattened and connected, they could curve into an upside down bowl shape of exceptional strength, needing no interior supports for a dome the size of a house.
University of Oregon students built a giant "geodesic dome," using Fuller's triangles, with surprisingly few 2-by-4s for the size and strength of the building. The result was an expression of the triangulating crystalline structures of rock translated to using the strength of wood. Oregon's natural material.
Fuller also turned his mind to the problem of map-making, separating the globe's map surface into triangles and spreading it out so that his world map had little distortion of the distances and measurements of the land surfaces.
Unlike the Mercator projection map we're used to, his Dymaxian map shows Alaska in proper proportion to the "lower 48." Seeing how close Russia is to us over the North Pole is always surprising to me, as is seeing how large the continent of Antarctica really is.
I suppose that was Fuller's gift to us, showing us another way of looking at our world.
As I drove up the Dalmatian Coast of Yugoslavia to meet Fuller, I thought about the mountains that lined the Aegean Sea. White rock spotted with black rock outcroppings. Was that where the spotted Dalmatians – firehouse dogs – got their name?
I was on the way to the International Congress of Graphic Design Organizations in Bled. Yugoslavia where Fuller – I'd better not call him "Bucky," and you'll see why – was to be a participant.
"What if...." I thought. "What if the crystal bonds of this mineral, this rock could be broken scientifically to make use of such an abundant natural resource – to turn it into cloth and shoes and furniture?"
At dinner that night, I counted the materials we surround ourselves with: clothes made of wool and cotton; drapes and tablecloths made of life-grown stuff; shoes and belts of leather; houses made of wood – even the plastic products made from the petroleum that comes from vegetable matter trapped underground during the Silurian and Jurassic ages, 400 million to 140 million years ago.
On the table were plates baked from clay, glassware made from mineral silicates – and spoons, forks and knives made of metal, of course. But mostly, I realized, we live with life-grown resources.
The next day was the design conference's official cocktail party. The chance for participants and speakers to mix and my chance to ask Fuller my burning question: "Can the crystal structure of rock be broken to turn it into a more useable material?"
"Mr. Fuller'" I said, thinking that, because it was a cocktail party, I should be gracious, "we've just spent a pleasant afternoon with your daughter talking about modern dance."
His bright blue eyes stared at me through thick glasses and he turned and walked away. Later I learned that he hates cocktail party talk – not useful!
I missed my chance to propose my world-shaking idea that could make Yugoslavia rich – and Oregon as well. After all, we do have rock, fresh rock. About 165 million years ago, volcanic outbursts began to smother parts of the Pacific Northwest in hot basaltic lava, and only 14 million years ago this activity formed the Columbia River basin. The 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens was a continuance of that volcanic action.
I guess I bombed in Yugoslavia, but I came home to Oregon, always pleased to see its green and growing forests – at least that most important income-producing resource keeps growing and replenishing itself.
I'd rather not depend on Mount St. Helens.
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