From wednesday August 19th to friday August 21st we have assembled the ex situ shelter on site, with the generous help of Jonàs Macip, Ricard Pau, Eric Mora, Marc Faiges, Esteban Serrano and Jordi Adell.
Our friends at Fustes Sebastià are currently fabricating all the pieces of shelter 1.
We're building our first shelter in Rialp, at the Pyrenees.
We are cutting the timber for the first shelter in the Pyrenees, and letting it dry.
Cutero Bikes is making some bicycles for our Porrera camp. They are up cycled from old popular bikes made in Spain, the ones we rode when we were kids. We will use the energy stored in each single peddling to recharge our guests' appliances batteries.
Events like the OWS protests, the Arab Spring, the demonstrations in Greece and Spain, and so on, have to be read as such signs from the future. In other words, we should turn around the usual historicist perspective of understanding an event through its context and genesis. Radical emancipatory outbursts cannot be understood in this way: instead of analyzing them as part of the continuum of past and present, we should bring in the perspective of the future, taking them as limited, distorted (sometimes even perverted) fragments of a utopian future that lies dormant in the present as its hidden potential.
Slavoj Zizek, 'The year of dreaming dangerously'.
We aim to craft a cartography of the soul that flows from your residence at camp –there is no money involved.
But first we need to unmap. We strive to give you a direct path to your here and now. We don't just camp in a place, we camp in a feeling.
You will be able to share your ideas with the community either in camp or online –or both. Each camp is a place to share some peace and solitude. A place for campboarding.
We assemble three shelters. Each one is the weather of a specific moment in our environment.
Through the use of extremely simple dynamic elements, we search for the maximum climate regulation. These elements follow an air cushion principle, allowing ventilation and shade in summer, sun-heating and insulation in winter. It is not a layer strategy, or a second skin. It is a whole comprehensive transformable physiology.
In order to make our shelters as light and resistant as possible, they work with a synergy of rigid elements and traction forces. This strategy is implemented through different gradients. Ultimately there is no separation between structure and enclosure.
Every region has its wilderness. There is the fire in the kitchen, and there is the place less traveled. In most settled regions there used to be some combination of prime agricultural land, orchard and vine land, rough pasturage, woodlot, forest, and desert or mountain "waste." The de facto wilderness was the extreme backcountry part of all that. The parts less visited are "where the bears are." The wilderness is within walking distance—it may be three days or it may be ten. It is at the far high rough end, or the deep forest and swamp end, of the territory where most of you all live and work. People will go there for mountain herbs, for the trapline, or for solitude. They live between the poles of home and their own wild places. (...)
Between the extremes of deep wilderness and the private plots of the farmstead lies a territory which is not suitable for crops. In earlier times it was used jointly by the members of a given tribe or village. This area, embracing both the wild and the semi-wild, is of critical importance. It is necessary for the health of the wilderness because it adds big habitat, overflow territory, and room for wildlife to fly and run. It is essential even to an agricultural village economy because its natural diversity provides the many necessities and amenities that the privately held plots cannot. It enriches the agrarian diet with game and fish. The shared land supplies firewood, poles and stone for building, clay for the kiln, herbs, dye plants, and much else, just as in a foraging economy. It is especially important as seasonal or full-time open range for cattle, horses, goats, pigs, and sheep. (...)
The commons has been defined as "the undivided land belonging to the members of a local community as a whole." This definition fails to make the point that the commons is both specific land and the traditional community institution that determines the carrying capacity for its various subunits and defines the rights and obligations of those who use it, with penalties for lapses. Because it is traditional and local, it is not identical with today's "public domain," which is land held and managed by a central government. Under a national state such management may be destructive (as it is becoming in Canada and the United States) or benign (I have no good examples)—but in no case is it locally managed. One of the ideas in the current debate on how to reform our public lands is that of returning them to regional control. (...)
The commons is the contract a people make with their local natural system. The word has an instructive history: it is formed of ko, "together," with (Greek) moin, "held in common." But the Indo- European root met means basically to "move, to go, to change." This had an archaic special meaning of "exchange of goods and services within a society as regulated by custom or law." I think it might well refer back to the principle of gift economies: "the gift must always move." The root comes into Latin as munus, "service performed for the community" and hence "municipality."
The practice of the wild, Gary Snider
After a long stay in camp, we realize we need a lighter and more easily transportable system. The best places to camp are up the hill, and the path is too far.