At the outset, when starting to consider the multisensory perception of architecture, it is worth noting that it is rarely something that we attend to. Indeed, as Benjamin (1968, p. 239) once noted: “Architecture has always represented the proto type of a work of art the reception of which is consum mated in a state of distraction.”

To the extent that such a view is correct, one can say that multisensory architec ture is rarely foregrounded in our attention/experience. Juhani Pallasma, meanwhile, has suggested that: “An architectural experience silences all external noise; it focuses attention on one’s very existence.” (Pallasmaa, 1994, p. 31).

Once again, the suggestion here would appear to be that attention is directed away from the building and toward the individual and their place in the world. Given that, on an everyday basis, architecture is typically not foregrounded in our attention/experience, one might legitimately wonder as to whether the multisensory integration of atmospheric/environmental cues takes place, given that they are so often unattended.

According to the laboratory research that has been published on this question to date, the evidence would appear to suggest that while the multisensory integration of unattended cues relating to an object or event certainly can occur, it is by no means guaranteed to do so (see Spence & Frings, 2020, for a review). Perhaps the more fundamental question here, though, is whether we need to attend to ambient/environmental sensory cues for them to influence us. However, the research that has been published to date would appear to suggest that very often environmental cues influence us even when we are not consciously aware of, or thinking about them. 

One particularly striking example of this was reported by researchers who manipulated whether French or German music was played in a supermarket (North, et al., 1997, 1999). The results showed that the majority of the wine purchased was French when French music was played, with this reversing to a majority of German wines being sold when German music was played.

The even more striking aspect of these results was the fact that the majority of those interviewed after coming away from the tills denied that the background music had any influence over the choices they made. A number of studies have also shown that scents that we are unaware of, either because they are presented just below the perceptual threshold or because we have become functionally anosmic to their constant presence, can nevertheless still influence us (Li, Moallem, Paller, & Gottfried, 2007).

Similarly, there is also a suggestion that inaudible infrasound waves (i.e., < 20 Hz) may also affect people without their necessarily being aware of their presence (Weichenberger et al., 2017). Meanwhile, in terms of visual annoyance, it has been reported that flickering LED lights that look no different to the naked eye can nevertheless trigger a significantly greater number of headaches that non-flickering lights (e.g., see Wilkins, 2017; Wilkins, Nimmo-Smith, Slater, & Bedocs, 1989).

Once again, therefore, this suggests that ambient sensory phenomena do not necessarily need to be perceptible in order to affect us, adversely or otherwise. On the benefits of multisensory design:

bringing it all together One demonstration of just how dramatic the benefits of designing for multiple senses can be was reported by Kroner, Stark-Martin, and Willemain (1992) in a tech nical report.

Indeed, those who take up the challenge of designing for the multisensory mind might well take a tip from one commentator, writing in Adver tising Age when talking about product innovation who suggested that: “… the most successful new products ap peal on both rational and emotional levels to as many senses as possible.” (Neff, 2000, p. 22).

Architectural de sign practice, I suggest, would be well-advised to strive for much the same in order to optimally stimulate the multisensory mind. Although not the primary interest of the present re view, it is perhaps also worth noting in passing, how a very similar debate on the importance of designing for the non-visual senses has been playing out amongst those interested specifically in landscape design/architec ture (Lynch & Hack, 1984; Mahvash, 2007; Treib, 1995).

The garden is a multisensory space and as Mark Treib wrote once in an essay entitled “Must landscape mean?”: “Today might be a good time to once more examine the garden in relation to the senses.” Designing for the multisensory mind: architectural design for all the senses The architect must act as a composer that orches trates space into a synchronization for function and beauty through the senses– and how the human body engages space is of prime importance.

As the human body moves, sees, smells, touches, hears and even tastes within a space– the architecture comes to life. The rhythm of an architecture can be felt by occu pants as a result of the architect’s composition– or arrangement of all the sensorial qualities of space. By arranging spatial sensorial features, an architect can lead occupants through the functional and aes thetic rhythms of a created place. Architectural building for all the senses can serve to move occu pants– elevating their experience. (quote from a blogpost by Lehman, 2009).

One of the most exciting developments in cognitive neuroscience in recent decades has been the growing realization that perception/experience is far more multi sensory than anyone had realized (e.g., Bruno & Pavani, 2018; Calvert et al., 2004; Levent & Pascual-Leone, 2014; Stein, 2012). That is, what we hear and smell, and what we think about the experience, is often influenced by what we see, and vice versa (Calvert et al., 2004; Stein, 2012). The senses talk to, and hence influence, one an other all the time, though we often remain unaware of these cross-sensory interactions and influences.

In fact, wherever neuroscientists look in the human brain, activity appears to be modulated by what is going on in more than one sense, leading, increasingly, to talk of the mul tisensory mind (Ghazanfar & Schroeder, 2006; Talsma, 2015). The key question here must therefore be what implications this growing realization of the ubiquity of multisensory cross-talk has for the field of architectural design practice?

The problem is that, as yet, there has been relatively little research directed at the question of how atmospheric/environmental multisensory cues actually inter act. Mattila and Wirtz (2001, pp. 273–274) drew attention to this lacuna some years ago when writing that: “Past studies have examined the effects of individ ual pleasant stimuli such as music, color or scent on consumer behavior, but have failed to examine how these stimuli might interact.”

The suggestion here that “colours in general … often evoke … [a] taste” seemingly linking to the widespread literature on the crossmodal 11. Indeed, one might wonder whether the latter quote refers more to oral stereoagnosis (Jacobs, Serhal, & van Steenberghe, 1998), than specifically to gustation (see also Waterman Jr., 1917, for the suggestion that the tongue can be more revealing than the hand). correspondences that have increasingly been docu mented between colour and basic tastes (see Spence et al., 2015, for a review).

However, rather than describ ing this in terms of architecture that one can taste, one might more fruitfully refer to the growing literature on crossmodal correspondences instead (see below for more on this theme). When, in his book Architecture and the brain, Eber hard (2007, p. 47) talks about what the sense of taste has to do with architecture, he suggests that: “You may not literally taste the materials in a building, but the design of a restaurant can have an impact on your ‘conditioned response’ to the taste of the food.” Environmental multi sensory effects on tasting is undoubtedly an area that has grown markedly in interest in recent years (e.g., see Spence, 2020c, for a review).

It is though worth noting that just as for the olfactory case, some atmospheric ef fects on tasting may be more cognitively-mediated (e.g., associated with the priming of notions of luxury/ex pense, or lack thereof) while others may be more direct, as when changing the colour (see Oberfeld, Hecht, Allendorf, & Wickelmaier, 2009; Spence, Velasco, & Knoeferle, 2014; Torrico et al., 2020) or brightness (Gal et al., 2007; Xu & LaBroo, 2014) of the ambient lightingchanges taste/flavour perception. “An architecture of the seven senses”? So far in this section, we have briefly reviewed the uni sensory contributions of architectural design organized around each of the five main senses (vision audition, touch, smell, and taste).

However, seemingly not content with the traditional five, Pallasmaa (1994) goes further in the title of one of his early articles entitled “An architec ture of the seven senses.” While the text itself is not altogether clear, or explicit, on this point, the skeleton and muscles would appear to be the extra senses that Pallasmaa has in mind here. Indeed, the embodied re sponse of people to architecture is definitely something that has captured the imagination, not to mention in trigued, a number of architectural theorists in recent years (e.g., see Bloomer & Moore, 1977; Pallasmaa, 2011; Pérez-Gómez, 2016). The vestibular sense is also worthy of mention here (see Gulden & Grüsser, 1998; Indovina et al., 2005). Anyone who has tried out one of the VR simulations of walking along the outside ledge of a tall building will have had the feeling of vertigo.

Call it medicinal urbanism.” (Hosey, 2013). Effects on people’s mood resulting from exposure to ambient scent have been reported in some by no means all studies (Glass &Heuberger, 2016; Glass, Lingg, & Heuberger, 2014; Haehner et al., 2017;Weber&Heuberger, 2008). It re mains somewhat uncertain though whether the beneficial effects of aromatherapy scents can be explained by prim ing effects, based on associative learning, as in the case of the clean citrus scents mentioned above (see Herz, 2009), versus via a more direct (i.e., less cognitively mediated) physiological route (cf. Harada, Kashiwadani, Kanmura, & Kuwaki, 2018).

The olfactory scentscapes, and scent maps of cities, that have been discussed by various researchers (see Fig. 6) have also helped to draw people’s attention to the often rich olfactory landscapes offered by many urban spaces (e.g., https://sensorymaps.com/; Bucknell, 2018; Henshaw, 2014; Henshaw et al., 2018; Lipps, 2018; Lupton & Lipps, 2018; Margolies, 2006).

The notion of the healing garden has also seen something of a resurgence in recent years, and the benefits now, as historically, are likely to revolve, at least in part, around the healing, or restorative effect of the smell of flowers and plants (e.g., Pearson, 1991; see also Ottoson & Grahn, 2005). One building that is often mentioned in this regard, namely in terms of its olfactory design   credentials, is the Silicon House by architects, SelgasCano, situated on the outskirts of Madrid (https://www.archi tectmagazine.com/project-gallery/silicon-house-6143).

This house is set in what has been described as “a garden of smells”, which emphasize the olfactory, while also stressing the tactile elements of the design. Hence, while the olfactory aspects of architectural design practice have long been ignored, there are at least signs of a revival of interest in stimulating this sense through both architectural and urban design practice.

Architectural taste The British writer and artist Adrian Stokes once wrote of the “oral invitation of Veronese marble” (Stokes, 1978, p. 316). And while I must admit that I have never felt the urge to lick a brick, Pallasmaa (1996, p. 59) vividly recounts the urge that he once experienced to explore /connect with architecture using his tongue. He writes that: “Many years ago when visiting the DL James Residence in Carmel, California, designed by Charles and Henry Greene, I felt compelled to kneel and touch the delicately shining white marble threshold of the front door with my tongue.

The sensuous materials and skilfully crafted details of Carlo Scarpa’s architecture as well as the sensuous colours of Luis Barragan’s houses frequently evoke oral experiences. Deliciously coloured surfaces of stucco lustro, a highly polished colour or wood surfaces also present themselves to the appreci ation of the tongue.”

Perhaps aware of many readers’ presumed scepticism on the theme of the gustatory contribution to architecture,11 Pallasmaa writes elsewhere that: “The suggestions that the sense of taste would have a role in the appreciation of architecture may sound preposterous. However, polished and coloured stone as well as colours in general, and finely crafted wood details, for instance, often evoke an awareness of mouth and taste. Carlo Scarpa’s architectural details frequently evoke sensation of taste.” (Pallasmaa, 2011, p. 595).

Brooklyn Nets, as a case in point. On its opening in 2013, various commentators in the press drew attention to the distinctive, if not immediately identifiable, scent that appeared to pervade the space, and which appeared to have been added deliberately- almost as if it were intended to be a signature scent for the space (e.g., Al brecht, 2013; Doll, 2013; Martinez, 2013).

That said, the idea of fragrancing public spaces dates back at least as far as 1913. In that year, at the opening of the Marmor haus cinema in Berlin, the fragrance of Marguerite Carré, a perfume by Bourjois, Paris, was deliberately (and innovatively, at least for the time) wafted through the auditorium (Berg-Ganschow & Jacobsen, 1987). Meanwhile, in what may well be a sign of things to come, synaesthetic perfumer Dawn Goldsworthy and her scent design company 12:29 recently made the press after apparently creating a bespoke scent for a new US$40 million apartment in Miami (Schroeder, 2018). What further opportunities might there be to design distinctive “signature” scents for spaces/buildings, one might ask (Henshaw et al., 2018; Jones, 2006; Trivedi, 2006)?

Evidence that the olfactory element of design can be used to affect behaviour change positively includes, for example, the observation that people tend to engage in more cleaning behaviours when there is a hint of citrus in the air (De Lange, Debets, Ruitenburg, & Holland, 2012; Holland, Hendriks, & Aarts, 2005). In the future, it may not be too much of a stretch to imagine public spaces filled with aromatic flowers and blossoming trees, introduced with the aim of helping to discourage people from littering, and who knows, perhaps even reducing vandalism (see also Steinwald, Harding, & Piacentini, 2014).

In terms of the cognitive mechanism underlying such crossmodal effects of scent on behaviour, the suggestion, at least in the citrus cleaning example just mentioned, is that smelling an ambient scent that we associate with clean and cleaning then activates, or primes, the associated concepts (Smeets & Dijksterhuis, 2014). Having been primed, the suggestion is thus that this makes it that bit more likely that we will engage in behaviours that are congruent or consistent with the primed concept (though see Doyen, Klein, Pichon, & Cleeremans, 2012).

Elsewhere, researchers have already demonstrated the beneficial effects that lavender, and other scents normally associated with aromatherapy, have on those who are ex posed to them. So, for instance, the latter tend to show re duced stress, better sleep, and even enhanced recovery from illness (see Herz, 2009; Spence, 2003, for reviews; though see also Haehner, Maass, Croy, & Hummel, 2017). According to one commentator writing in The New York Times: “While these findings have obvious implications for health care, the opportunities for architecture and urban planning are particularly intriguing. Designers are trained to focus mostly on the visual, but the science of design could significantly expand designers’ sensory palette.

According to Donnell Jr. et al. (1989), these complaints of odours may well have heightened the perception of poor air quality by some employees in the building.

This, in turn, may have led to an epidemic anxiety state resulting in the SBS outbreak (Faust & Brilliant, 1981). In fact, workers suffering from SBS were more than twice as likely to have noticed a particular odour in the work area before the onset of their symptoms than those who were working in the same building who were unaffected by the outbreak.9

At the same time, however, it should also be borne in mind that our tendency to focus on what we see and hear means that we often exhibit olfactory anosmia to ambient scents (Forster & Spence, 2018). To give a sense of the potential scale of the problem, Woods (1989) estimated that 30–70 million people in the USA alone are exposed to offices that manifest SBS. As such, anything (and everything) that can be done to reduce the symptoms associated with this reaction to the indoor environment (Finnegan, Pickering, & Burge, 1984) will likely have a beneficial effect on the health and well-being of many people.

At the same time, however, it is perhaps also worth bearing in mind here that the incidence of SBS would seem to have declined in recent years (though see also Joshi, 2008; Magnavita, 2015; Redlich, Sparer, & Cullen, 1997), perhaps suggesting that building design/ventilation has improved as a result of the earlier outbreaks.10

That said, it is perhaps also worth noting that there continues to be some uncertainty as to whether the very real symptoms of SBS should be attributed to airborne pollutants, or may instead be better understood as a psychosomatic response to a particular environmental atmosphere (see Fletcher, 2005 and Love, 2018). What is more, there has been a move by some researchers to talk in terms of the less pejorative-sounding building-related symptoms (BRS) in stead (Niemelä, Seppänen, Korhonen, & Reijula, 2006).

One more psychological factor that may be relevant here concerns the feeling of a lack of control over one’s multisensory environment that many of those working in ventilated buildings where the windows cannot be opened manually have may indeed play a role in the elicitation of SBS. Scent and the city: designing fragrant spaces There are, however, signs that the situation is slowly starting to change with regards to the emphasis placed on olfaction in both architectural and urban design prac tice.

For instance, a number of commentators have noted, not to mention sometimes been puzzled by, the distinctive, yet unexplained, pleasant- and hence, one assumes, deliberately introduced- fragrances that some new constructions appear to have. Just take the case of the Barclays Center arena in Brooklyn, NY, home of the Brooklyn Nets, as a case in point.

9. It is also worth noting how suggestible people can be concerning the presence of an odour, as first demonstrated by Slosson’s(1899) classic classroom demonstration of students in the lecture theatre detecting a fictitious odour in the air.

10. It has also been suggested that the energy crisis in the 1970s may also have been partly to blame, as that tended to result in lower ventilation standards.

Some years later, Jim Drobnik introduced the latter phrase in order to highlight the fact that too many spaces are seemingly deliberately designed to have no smell, nor to leave any lasting olfactory trace, either.8

6. Writer Tanizaki (2001), in his essay on aesthetics In Praise of Shadows, also draws attention to the close interplay that exists, or better said, once existed, between architectural design and food/ plateware design in traditional Japanese culture.

7. Intriguingly, Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (1991, p. 416) describes the white cube as an apparatus for “single-sense epiphanies”.

8. This despite Baudelaire’s line that the smell of a room is “the soul of the apartment” (quoted in Corbin, 1986, p. 169)

And thinking back to my memories of visiting my own grandfather, long since deceased, on his fairground wagon in Bradford, it was undoubtedly the intense smell of “derv” (English slang for diesel-engine road vehicle), the liquid diesel oil that was used for trucks at the time, that I can still remember better than anything else. The residents of buildings tend to adapt to the positive and neutral smells in the buildings we inhabit.

This is evidenced by the fact that we are typically only aware of the smell of our own home, what some call building odour, or BO for short, when we return after a long trip away (Dalton & Wysocki, 1996; McCooey, 2008). Sick building syndrome and the problem of poor olfactory design Improving indoor air quality might well also provide an effective means of helping to alleviate some of the symptoms of sick building syndrome (SBS) that were mentioned earlier (Guieysse et al., 2008).

It is certainly striking how many large outbreaks of this still mysterious condition reported in the 1980s were linked to the presence of an unfamiliar smell in closed office buildings with little natural ventilation (Wargocki, Wyon, Baik, Clausen, & Fanger, 1999; Wargocki, Wyon, Sundell, Clausen, & Fanger, 2000). For instance, in June 1986, more that 12% of the workforce of 2500 people working at the Harry S. Truman State Office Building in Missouri came down with the symptoms of SBS over a 3-day period (Donnell Jr. et al., 1989).

The symptoms presented by some of the workers (including dizziness and difficulty in breathing) were so severe they had to be rushed to the local hospital for emergency treatment. And while a thorough examination of the building subsequently failed to reveal the presence of any particular toxic airborne pollutants that might have been responsible for the outbreak, in the majority of cases, it turned out that the symptoms of SBS were preceded by the perception of unusual odours and inadequate airflow in the building.

There, she points to examples such as the hearth, the sauna, and Roman and Japanese baths as archetypes of thermal delight about which rituals have developed, the shared experience reinforcing social bonds of affection and ceremony (see also Lupton, 2002; Papale et al., 2016). At this point, one might also want to mention the much-admired Therme Vals Spa by Peter Zumthor, in Switzerland with their use of different temperatures of both water and touchable surfaces (Ryan, 1997, though see also Mairs, 2017).

The tactile element is, in other words, fundamental to the total (multisensory) experi ence of architectural design. This is true no matter whether the materiality is touched directly or not (i.e., merely seen, inferred, or imagined). So, for example, here one might only think about how looking at a cheap fake marble or wood veneer can make one feel, to realize that touch in often not required to assess material qual ity, or the lack thereof (see also Karana, 2010).

An architecture of the chemical senses Talking of an architecture of scent, or of taste (these two of the so-called chemical senses), might seem like a step too far. That said, one does come across titles such as Eating Architecture (Horwitz & Singley, 2004) and An Architecture of Smell (McCarthy, 1996; see also Barbara & Perliss, 2006).6 Unfortunately, however, all too often, consideration of the olfactory in architectural design practice has focused on the elimination of negative odours. When thinking about the mundane experience of odours in buildings, what immediately comes to mind includes the smell of wood (i.e., building materials), dust, mould, cleaning products, and flowers.

As Eberhard (2007, p. 47) puts it: “We all have our favorite smells in a building, as well as ones that are considered noxious. A cedar closet in the bedroom is an easy example of a good smell. The terrible smell of a house that was rav aged by fire or floods is seared in the memory of those who have endured one of these disasters.”

This is perhaps no coincidence, given that it tends to be the bad odours, rather than the neutral or positive ones, that have generally proved most effective in immersing us in an experience (Baus & Bouchard, 2017; see also Aggle ton & Waskett, 1999).

Research by Schifferstein, Talke, and Oudshoorn (2011) investigated whether the nightlife experience could be enhanced by the use of pleasant fra grance to mask the stale odour after the indoor smoking ban was introduced a few years ago.

Once again, notice how the focus here is on the elimination of the negative stale odours rather than necessarily the introduction of the positive (the latter merely being introduced in order to mask the former). Jim Drohnik captures the idea of olfactory absence when talking about not just the “white cube” mentality but the “anosmic cube” (Drobnick, 2005). The former phrase was famously coined by O’Doherty (1999, 2009) in order to describe the then-popular practice of display ing art in gallery spaces that were devoid of colour or any other form of visual distraction. 7

Designing for “the eyes of the skin”

The tactile element of architecture is often ignored. In fact, very often, the first point of physical contact with a building typically occurs when we enter or leave. Or, as Pallasmaa (1994, p. 33) once evocatively put it: “The door handle is the handshake of the building”.

However, once inside a building, it is worth remembering that we will also typically make contact with flooring (Tonetto, Klanovicz, & Spence, 2014), hand rails (Spence, 2020d), elevator buttons, furniture, and the like (though this is, of course, likely to change somewhat in the era of pan demia). As Richard Sennett, author of Flesh and Stone, laments in his critical take on the sensory order of mod ernity: “sensory deprivation which seems to curse most modern buildings; the dullness, the monotony, and the tactile sterility which afflicts the urban environment” (Sennett, 1994, p. 15).

The absence of tactile interest is also something that Witold Rybczynski author of The Look of Architecture acknowledges when writing that: “Although architecture is often defined in terms of abstractions such as space, light and volume, build ings are above all physical artifacts. The experience of architecture is palpable: the grain of wood, the veined surface of marble, the cold precision of steel, the tex tured pattern of brick.” (Rybczynski, 2001, p. 89).

No tice here how Rybczynski mentions both texture and temperature, two of the key attributes of tactile sensa tion(see also Henderson, 1939). Temperature change, and change in the flooring material (tatami matting or cedarwood), is also something that the Tom mu seum for the blind in Tokyo also plays with deliber ately (Classen, 1998, p. 150; Vorreiter, 1989;Wagner, 1989). There is also a braille poen on the knob of the exit door too.

The careful use of material can evoke tactility as the viewer (or occupant) imagines or mentally simulates what it would feel like to reach out and touch or caress an intriguing surface (Sigsworth, 2019; see also Lupton, 2002). Juhani Pallasmaa, who has perhaps written more than anyone else on the theme of the tactile, or haptic in architecture, writes that “Natural materials- stone, brick and wood- allow the gaze to penetrate their sur faces and they enable us to become convinced of the veracity of matter …

But the materials of today- sheets of glass, enamelled metal and synthetic materials present their unyielding surfaces to the eye without conveying anything of their material essence or age.” (Pallasmaa, 1994,p.29). Lisa Heschong, architect, and partner of architectural research firm Heschong Mahone Group, has written ex tensively on the theme of thermal (as opposed to tex tural) aspects of architectural design in her book Thermal Delight in Architecture (Heschong, 1979).

Intriguingly, subjective restoration was significantly higher amongst those who thought that they were listening to the nature sounds than in those who thought that they were listening to industrial noise instead. As might have been expected, the results of the control group, fell somewhere in between.

Paley Park in New York has often been put forward as a particularly elegant solution to the problem of negating unwanted traffic noise in the context of urban design (e.g., Carroll, 1967; Prochnik, 2009). In 1967, the empty lot resulting from the demolition of the Stork Club on 53rd Street was transformed into a small public park (a so called pocket park). The space was developed by Zion and Breen.

In this case, the acoustic space, think only of the sounds, or better said noise, of the city, is effectively masked by the presence of a waterfall at the far end of the lot (see Fig. 5). What is more, the free-standing chairs allow the visitor to move closer to the waterfall should they feel the need to drown out a little more of the urban noise.

The greenery growing thickly along the side walls also likely helps to absorb the noise of the city. Music plays an important role in our experience of the built environment- think here only of the Muzak of de cades gone by (Lanza, 2004). This is as true of the guest’s hotel experience (e.g., when entering the lobby) as it is elsewhere (e.g., in a shopping centre or bar, say).5

The sound that greets customers in the lobby is apparently very important to Ian Schrager, the Brooklyn-born entrepreneur who created fabled nightclub Studio 54 in New York. In recent years, he has been working with Marriott to launch The EDITION hotels in a number of major cities, including London and New York. Music plays a key role in the Schrager experience.

As the entrepreneur puts it: “The sound of a hotel lobby is often dictated by monotonous, vapid lounge muzak– a zombie-like drone of new jazz and polite house, with the sole purpose of whiling away the waiting time between check-in and check-out.” As might have been expected, the music in the lobbies of The EDITION hotels is carefully curated (Eriksen, 2014, p. 27).

However, the thumping noise of the music from the nightclub/bar that is often also an integral part of the experience offered by these hip venues means that meticulous architectural design is also required in order to limit the spread of unwanted noise through the rest of the building (e.g., so as not to disturb the sleep of those who may be resting in the rooms upstairs). Note here that there are also some increasingly sophisticated solutions- including sound-absorbing panels, as well as active noise cancellation systems- to dampen unwanted sound in open spaces such as restaurants and offices (Clynes, 2012).

5Here, one might also consider the Abercrombie & Fitch clothing brand. For a number of years, the chain also managed to craft a distinctive dance sound to match the dark nightclub-like appearance of their interiors.

However, more often than not, discussion around sound and architectural design tends to revolve around how best to avoid, or minimize, unwantednoise(seeOwen,2019, on growing concerns re garding the latter). Indeed, as J. Douglas Porteous notes: “with the rapid urbanization of the world’spopulation, far more attention is being given to noise than to environmental sound …

Research has concentrated almost entirely upon a single aspect of sound, the concept of noise or ‘unwanted sound.’” (Porteous, 1990, p. 48). Some years earlier, Schafer (1977, p. 222) had made much the same point when he wrote that:

“The modern architect is designing for the deaf …. The study of sound enters modern architecture schools only as sound reduction, isolation and absorption.” The fact that year-on-year, noise continues to be one of the top complaints from restaurant patrons, perhaps tells us all we need to know about how successful designers have been in this regard (see Spence, 2014, for a review; Wagner, 2018).

There is also an emerging story here regarding the deleterious effects of loud background noise, and the often-beneficial effects of music and soundscapes, on the recovery of patients in the hospital/healthcare setting (see Spence & Keller, 2019, for a review). Meanwhile, one of the main complaints from those office workers forced to move into one of the open plan offices that have become so popular (amongst employers, if not em ployees) in recent years (see ‘Redesigning the corporate office’, 2019) is around noise distraction (Borzykowski, 2017; Burkus, 2016; Evans & Johnson, 2000).4

Once again, one might want to ask what responsibility architects bear. Experimental evidence documenting the deleterious effect of open-plan working has been reported by a number of researchers (e.g., Bernstein & Turban, 2018; De Croon, Sluiter, Kuijer, & Frings-Dresen, 2005; Otterbring, Pareigis, Wästlund, Makrygiannis, & Lindström, 2018). There is research ongoing in a number of countries to investigate the use of nature sounds, such as, for example, the sound of running water, to help mask other people’s distracting conversations (Hongisto, Varjo, Oliva, Haapa kangas, & Benway, 2017). 


4 This an issue close to my own heart currently, as the Department where I work was closed due to the discovery of large amounts of asbestos (see BBC News, 2017). The university and the latest firm of architects involved in the project are currently battling it out to determine how much of the new building will be given over to individual offices versus shared open-plan offices and hot-desking. The omens, I have to say (at least pre-pandemic), from what is happening elsewhere in the education sector, do not look good (Kinman & Gar field, 2015).
Intriguingly, however, it turns out that people’s beliefs about the source of masking sounds, especially in the case of ambiguous noise, can sometimes influence how much relief they provide (Haga, Halin, Holmgren, & Sörqvist, 2016). So, for instance, Haga and her colleagues played the same ambiguous pink noise with interspersed white noise to three groups of office workers. To one control group, the experimenters said nothing, a second group of participants was told that they could hear industrial machinery noise, while a third group was told that they were listening to nature sounds, based on a waterfall, instead.

One might consider here whether Lee’s comments can be scaled up to describe how we move through the city. Does the visually striking building shown in Fig.4, for instance, really promote joyfulness and a carefree travel through the urban environment.
It seems doubtful, given the evidence suggesting that viewing angular shapes, even briefly, has been shown to trigger a fear response in the amygdala, the part of the brain that is involved in emotion (e.g., LeDoux, 2003). Meanwhile, Liu, Bogicevic, and Mattila (2018)have noted how the round versus angular nature of the servi cescape also influences the consumer response in service encounters. The height of the ceiling has also been shown to exert an influence over our approach-avoidance responses, and perhaps even our style of thinking (Baird, Cassidy, & Kurr, 1978; Meyers-Levy & Zhu, 2007; Vartanian et al., 2015).

However, here it should also be born in mind that the visual perception of space is significantly influenced by colour and lighting (Lam, 1992; Manav, Kutlu, & Küçükdoğu, 2010; Oberfeld, Hecht, & Gamer, 2010; von Castell, Hecht, & Oberfeld, 2018). Given many such psy chological observations, it should perhaps come as no surprise to find that links between cognitive neurosci ence and architecture have grown rapidly in recent years (Choo, Nasar, Nikrahei, & Walther, 2017; Eberhard, 2007; Mallgrave, 2011; Robinson & Pallasmaa, 2015). At the same time, however,

it is also worth remembering that it has primarily been people’s response to examples or styles of architecture that have been presented visu ally (via a monitor), with the participant lying horizontal, that have been studied to date, given the confines of the brain-scanning environment (though see also Papale, Chiesi, Rampinini, Pietrini, & Ricciardi, 2016).3 3Relevant here, Mitchell (2005) has suggested that there are, in fact, no uniquely visual media.

At the same time, however, it is important to realize that it is not just our visual cortex that re sponds to architecture. For, as Frances Anderton writes in The Architectural Review: “We appreciate a place not just by its impact on our visual cortex but by the way in which it sounds, it feels and smells. Some of these sensual experiences elide, for instance our full understanding of wood is often achieved by a perception of its smell, its texture (which can be ap preciated by both looking and feeling) and by the way in which it modulates the acoustics of the space.” (Anderton, 1991, p. 27).

The multisensory appreciation of quality here linking to a growing body of research on multisensory shitsukan perception shitsukan, the Japaneseword for “a sense of material quality” or “material perception” (see Fujisaki, 2020; Komatsu & Goda, 2018; Spence, 2020b). The following sub-sections summarize some of the key findings on how the non-visual sensory attributes of the built and urban environment affect us, when considered individually.

The sound of space: are you listening? What a space sounds like is undoubtedly important (Bavis ter, Lawrence, & Gage, 2018; McLuhan, 1961; Porteous & Mastin, 1985;Thompson,1999). Sounds can, after all, pro vide subtle cues as to the identity or proportions of a space, even hinting at its function (Blesser & Salter, 2007;Eber hard, 2007; Robart & Rosenblum, 2005). As Pallasmaa (1994,p.31) notes:“Every building or space has its charac teristic sound of intimacy or monumentality, rejection or invitation, hospitality or hostility.”

Meanwhile, Howes (2014) writes of the sensory monotony of the bungalow filled suburbs and of the corporeal experience of sky scrapers as their presence looms up before those on the sidewalk below. At the same time, however, there is also a sense in which it is the gaze of the inhabitants of those tall buildings who are offered the view that is prioritized over the other senses.

However, very often the approach as, in fact, evidenced by Malnar and Vodvarka (2004) has been to work one sense at a time. Until recently, that is, one finds exactly the same kind of sense-by-sense (or unisensory) approach in the worlds of interior design (Bailly Dunne & Sears, 1998), advertising (Lucas & Britt, 1950), marketing (Hultén, Broweus, & Dijk, 2009; Krishna, 2013; Lind strom, 2005), and atmospherics (see Bille & Sørensen, 2018, on architectural atmospherics; and Kotler, 1974, on the theme of store atmospherics).

Recently, there has been a growing recognition of the importance of the non-visual senses to various fields of design (Haverkamp, 2014; Lupton & Lipps, 2018; Malnar & Vodvarka, 2004). As yet, however, there has not been sufficient recognition of the extent to which the senses interact. As Wil liams (1980, p. 5) noted some 40years ago: “Aside from meeting common standards of performance, architects do little creatively with acoustical, thermal, olfactory, and tactile sensory responses.” As we will see later, it is not clear that much has changed since.

The look of architecture There are a number of ways in which visual perception science can be linked to architectural design practice. For instance, think only of the tricks played on the eyes by the trapezoidal balconies on the famous The Future apartment building in Manhattan (see Fig. 2). They
appear to slant downward when viewed from one side while appearing to slope upward instead, if viewed from the other. The causes of such a visual illusion can, at the very least, be meaningfully explained in terms of visual perception research (Bruno & Pavani, 2018).


Cognitive neuroscientists have recently demonstrated that we have an innate preference for visual curvature, be it in internal space (Vartanian et al., 2013), or for the fur niture that is found within that space (Dazkir & Read, 2012; see also Lee, 2018; Thömmes & Hübner, 2018). We typically rate curvilinear forms as being more approach able than rectilinear ones (see Fig. 3). Angular forms, espe cially when pointing downward/toward us, may well be perceived as threatening, and hence are somewhat more likely to trigger an avoidance response (Salgado-Montejo, Salgado, Alvarado, & Spence, 2017).

As Ingrid Lee, former design director at IDEO New York put it in her book, Joyful: The surprising power of ordinary things to create extra ordinary happiness: “Angular objects, even if they’re not directly in your path as you move through your home, have an unconscious effect on your emotions. They may look chic and sophisticated, but they inhibit our playful impulses. Round shapes do just the opposite. A circular or elliptical coffee table changes a living room from a space for sedate, restrained interaction to a lively center for conversation and impromptu games” (Lee, 2018,p.142).

Given that those of us living in urban environments, which as we have seen is now the majority of us, spend more than 95% of our lives indoors (Ott & Roberts, 1998), architects would therefore seem to bear at least some responsibility for ensuring that the multisensory attributes of the built environment work together to de liver an experience that positively stimulates the senses, and, by so doing, facilitates our well-being, rather than hinders it (see also Pérez-Gómez, 2016, on this theme).

Crucially, however, a growing body of cognitive neuro science research now demonstrates that while we are often unaware of, or at least pay little conscious attention to the subtle sensory cues that may be conveyed by a space (e.g., Forster & Spence, 2018), that certainly does not mean that they do not affect us.

In fact, the sensory qualities or attributes of the environment have long been known to affect our health and well-being in environments as diverse as the hospital and the home, and from the office to the gym (e.g., Spence, 2002, 2003, 2021; Spence & Keller, 2019). What is more, according to the research that has been published to date, environmental multisensory stimulation can potentially affect us at the social, emotional, and cognitive levels.

It can be argued, therefore, that we all need to pay rather more attention to our senses and the way in which they are being stimulated than we do at present (see also Pérez-Gómez, 2016, on this theme). You can call it a mindful approach to the senses (Kabat-Zinn, 2005),2 though my preferred terminology, coined in an industry report published almost 20years ago, is “sensism” (see Spence, 2002).

Sensism provides a key to greater well being by considering the senses holistically, as well as how they interact, and incorporating that understanding into our everyday lives. The approach also builds on the growing evidence of the nature effect (Williams, 2017) and the fact that we appear to benefit from, not to men tion actually desire, the kinds of environments in which our species evolved.

As support for the latter claim, consider only how it has recently emerged that most people set their central heating to a fairly uniform 17–23°C, meaning that the average indoor temperature and humidity most closely matches the mild outdoor conditions of west central Kenya or the Ethiopian highlands (i.e., the place where human life is first thought to have evolved), better than anywhere else (Just, Nichols, & Dunn, 2019; Whipple, 2019).

Architectural design for each of the senses It is certainly not the case that architects have uniformly ignored the non-visual senses (e.g., see Howes, 2005, 2014; McLuhan, 1961; Pallasmaa, 1994, 2011; Ragaven dira, 2017).

For instance, in their 2004 book on Sensory design, Malnar and Vodvarka talk about challenging
visual dominance in architectural design practice by giving a more equal weighting to all of the senses (Malnar & Vodvarka, 2004; see also Mau, 2019). 

2 Or, as Tuan (1977, p. 18) once put it: “an object or place achieves concrete reality when our experience of it is total, that is, through all the senses as well as with the active and reflective mind” a more equal weighting to all of the senses (Malnar & Vodvarka, 2004; see also Mau, 2019).

Indeed, many years ago, the famous modernist Swiss architect Le Corbusier (1948) made the intriguing suggestion that architectural forms “work physiologically upon our senses.” Inspired by early work with the semantic differential technique, researchers would often attempt to assess the approach avoidance, active-passive, and dominant-submissive qualities of a building or urban space. This approach was based on the pleasure, arousal, and dominance (PAD) model that has long been dominant in the field. However, it is important to stress that in much of their research, the environmental psychologists took a separ ate sense-by-sense approach (e.g., Zardini, 2005).

The majority of researchers have tended to focus their empirical investigations on studying the impact of changing the stimulation presented to just one sense at a time. More often than not, in fact, they would focus on a single sensory attribute, such as, for example, investi gating the consequences of changing the colour (hue) of the lighting or walls (e.g., Bellizzi, et al., 1983; Bellizzi & Hite, 1992; Costa, Frumento, Nese, & Predieri, 2018; Crowley, 1993), or else just modulating the brightness of the ambient lighting (e.g., Gal, Wheeler, & Shiv, 2007; Xu & LaBroo, 2014).

Such a unisensory (and, in some cases, unidimensional) approach undoubtedly makes sense inasmuch as it may help to simplify the problem of studying how design affects us (Malnar & Vodvarka, 2004). What is more, such an approach is also entirely in tune with the modular approach to mind that was so popular in the fields of psychology and cognitive neuro science in the closing decades of the twentieth century (e.g., Barlow & Mollon, 1982; Fodor, 1983). At the same time, however, it can be argued that this sense-by-sense approach neglects the fundamentally multisensory na ture of mind, and the many interactions that have been shown to take place between the senses.

The visually dominant approach to research in the field of environmental psychology also means that far less attention has been given over to studying the impact of the auditory (e.g., Blesser & Salter, 2007; Kang et al., 2016; Schafer, 1977; Southworth, 1969; Thompson, 1999), tactile, somatosensory or embodied (e.g., Heschong, 1979; Pallasmaa, 1996; Pérez-Gómez, 2016), or even the olfactory qualities of the built environment (e.g., Bucknell, 2018; Drobnick, 2002, 2005; Henshaw, McLean, Medway, Perkins, & Warnaby, 2018) than on the impact of the visual. Furthermore, until very re cently, little consideration has been given by the envir onmental psychologists to the question of how the senses interact, one with another, in terms of their influ ence on an individual.

This neglect is particularly striking given that the natural environment, the built environment, and the atmosphere of a space are nothing if not multisensory (e.g., Bille & Sørensen, 2018). In fact, it is no exaggeration to say that our response to the environments, in which we find ourselves, be they built or natural, is always going to be the result of the combined influence of all the senses that are being stimulated, no matter whether we are aware of their influence or not (this is a point to which we will return later).

However, while such a suggestion might well be appropriate in Mexico, where Barragán’s work is to be found, many of us (especially those living in northern latitudes in the dark winter months) need as much natural light as we can obtain to maintain our psychological well-being. That said, Barragán is not alone in his appreciation of darkness and shadow. Some years ago, Japanese writer Junichirō Tanizaki also praised the aesthetic appeal of shadow and dark ness inthenativearchitectureof hishomecountry in his extended essay on aesthetics, In praise of shadows (Tanizaki, 2001).

One of the problems with the extensive use of win dows in northern climates is related to poor heat reten tion, an issue that is becoming all the more prominent in the era of sustainable design and global warming. One solution to this particular problem that has been put for ward by a number of technology-minded researchers is simply to replace windows by the use of large screens that relay a view of nature for those who, for whatever reason, have to work in windowless offices (Kahn Jr. et al., 2008).

However, the limited research that has been conducted on this topic to date suggests that the benefi cial effects of being seated near to the window in an of fice building cannot easily be captured by seating workers next to such video-screens instead. Similarly, the failure to fully consider the auditory as pects of architectural design may help to explain some part of the global health crisis associated with noise pol lution interfering with our sleep, health, and well-being (Owen, 2019).

The neglect of architecture’s fundamental role in helping to maintain our well-being is a central theme in Pérez-Gómez’s (2016) influential book Attunement: Architectural meaning after the crisis of modern science. Pérez-Gómez is the director of the History and Theory of Architecture Program at McGill University in Canada. Along similar lines, geographer J. Douglas Por teous had already noted some years earlier that: “Not withstanding the holistic nature of environmental experience, few researchers have attempted to interpret it in a very holistic [or multisensory] manner.” (Porteous, 1990, p. 201).

Finally, here, it is perhaps also worth noting that there are even some researchers who have wanted to make a connection between the global obesity crisis and the obesogenic environments that so many of us inhabit (Lieberman, 2006). The poor diet of multisensory stimulation that we experience living a primary in door life has also been linked to the growing sleep crisis apparently facing so many people in society today (Walker, 2018).

Designing for the modular mind Researchers working in the field of environmental psychology have long stressed the impact that the sensory features of the built environment have on us (e.g., Mehrabian & Russell, 1974, for an influential early volume detailing this approach).

At the same time, however, this review also highlights how the contemporary focus on synaesthetic design in architecture (see Pérez-Gómez, 2016) needs to be reframed in terms of the crossmodal correspondences (see Spence, 2011, for a review), at least if the most is to be made of multisensory interactions and synergies that affect us all. Later, I want to highlight how accounts of multisensory interactions in architecture in terms of synaesthesia tend to confuse matters, rather than to clarify them.

Accounting for our growing understanding of crossmodal interactions (specifically the emerging field of crossmodal correspondences research) and multisen sory integration will help to explain how it is that our senses conjointly contribute to delivering our multisen sory (and not just visual) experience of space. One other important issue that will be discussed later is the role played by our awareness of the multisensory atmosphere of the indoor environments in which we spend so much of our time.

Looking to the future, the hope is that architectural design practice will increasingly incorporate our growing understanding of the human senses, and how they influence one another. Such a multisensory approach will hopefully lead to the development of buildings and urban spaces that do a better job of promoting our so cial, cognitive, and emotional development, rather than hindering it, as has too often been the case previously.

Before going any further, though, it is worth highlighting a number of the negative outcomes for our well-being that have been linked to the sensory aspects of the environments in which we spend so much of our time.

Negative health consequences of neglecting multisensory stimulation

It has been suggested that the rise in sick building syndrome (SBS) in recent decades (Love, 2018) can be put down to neglect of the olfactory aspect of the interior environments where city dwellers have been estimated to spend 95% of their lives (e.g., Ott & Roberts, 1998; Velux YouGov Report, 2018; Wargocki, 2001).

Indeed, as of 2010, more people around the globe lived in cities than lived in rural areas (see UN-Habitat, 2010 and United Nations Department of Economic and Social Af fairs, 2018).

One might also be tempted to ask what responsibility, if any, architects bear for the high incidence of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) that has been documented in northern latitudes (Cox, 2017; Heerwagen, 1990; Rosenthal, 2019; Rosenthal et al., 1984).

To give a sense of the problem of “light hunger” (as Heerwagen, 1990, refers to it), Terman (1989) claimed that as many as 2 million people in Manhattan alone experience seasonal affective and behavioural changes severe enough to require some form of additional light stimulation during the winter months.

According to Pallasmaa (1994, p. 34), Luis Barragán, the self-taught Mexican architect famed for his geometric use of bright colour (Gregory, 2016) felt that most contemporary houses would be more pleasant with only half their window surface.

编註：联觉（英语：Synesthesia），又译为共感觉、通感或联感，是一种感觉现象，指其中一种感觉或认知途径的刺激，导致第二种感觉或认知途径的非自愿经历。 联觉感知的意识因人而异。 在一种普遍的联觉形式中，被称为“字位→颜色联觉”或“颜色-字素联觉”，当中字母及数字被认为具固有颜色。

Figure 1 schematically illustrates the hierarchy of attentional capture by each of the senses as envisioned by Morton Heilig, the inventor of the Sensorama, the world’s first multisensory virtual reality apparatus (Hei lig, 1962), when writing about the multisensory future of cinema in an article first published in 1955 (see Heilig, 1992).

Nevertheless, while commentators from many different disciplines would seem to agree on vision’s current pre-eminence, one cannot help but wonder what has been lost as a result of the visual dominance that one sees wherever one looks in the world of architecture (“see” and “look” being especially apposite terms here). While the hegemony of the visual (see Levin, 1993) is a phenomenon that appears across most aspects of our daily lives, the very ubiquity of this phenomenon cer tainly does not mean that the dominance of the visual should not be questioned (e.g., Dunn, 2017; Hutmacher, 2019).

For, as Finnish architect and theoretician Pallas maa (2011, p. 595) notes: “Spaces, places, and buildings are undoubtedly encountered as multisensory lived experiences. Instead of registering architecture merely as visual images, we scan our settings by the ears, skin, nose, and tongue.”

Elsewhere, he writes that: “Architecture is the art of reconciliation between ourselves and the world, and this mediation takes place through the senses” (Pallasmaa, 1996, p. 50; see also Böhme, 2013). We will return later to question the visual dominance

account, highlighting how our experience of space, as of anything else, is much more multisensory than most people realize. Review outline While architectural practice has traditionally been domi nated by the eye/sight, a growing number of architects and designers have, in recent decades, started to con sider the role played by the other senses, namely sound, touch (including proprioception, kinesthesis, and the vestibular sense), smell, and, on rare occasions, even taste.

It is, then, clearly important that we move beyond the merely visual (not to mention modular) focus in architecture that has been identified in the writings of Juhani Pallasmaa and others, to consider the contribu tion that is made by each of the other senses (e.g., Eber hard, 2007; Malnar & Vodvarka, 2004). Reviewing this literature constitutes the subject matter of the next sec tion.

However, beyond that, it is also crucial to consider the ways in which the senses interact too. As will be stressed later, to date there has been relatively little recognition of the growing understanding of the multisen sory nature of the human mind that has emerged from the field of cognitive neuroscience research in recent de cades (e.g., Calvert, Spence, & Stein, 2004; Stein, 2012).

The principal aim of this review is therefore to provide a summary of the role of the human senses in architec tural design practice, both when considered individually and, more importantly, when the senses are studied col lectively.

For it is only by recognizing the fundamentally multisensory nature of perception that one can really hope to explain a number of surprising crossmodal environ mental or atmospheric interactions, such as between light ing colour and thermal comfort (Spence, 2020a) or between sound and the perceived safety of public spaces (Sayin, Krishna, Ardelet, Decré, & Goudey, 2015), that have been reported in recent years.

Introduction

We are visually dominant creatures (Hutmacher, 2019; Levin, 1993; Posner,Nissen, & Klein,1976).
That is, we all mostly tend to think, reason, and imagine visually.

As Finnish architect Pallasmaa (1996) noted almost a quarter of a century ago in his influential work The eyes of the skin: Architecture and the Senses, architects have traditionally been no different in this regard, designing primarily for the eye of the beholder (Bille & Sørensen, 2018; Pallasmaa, 1996, 2011; Rybczynski, 2001; Williams, 1980).

Elsewhere, Pallasmaa (1994, p. 29) writes that: “Thearchitectureofour time is turning into the retinal art of the eye. Architecture at large has become an art of the printed image fixed by the hurried eye of the camera.”

The famous Swiss architect Le Corbusier (1991, p. 83) went even further in terms of his unapologetically oculocentric outlook, writing that: “Iexist in life only if I can see”, going on to state that: “IamandI remain an impenitent visual—everything is in the visual” and “one needs to see clearly in order to understand”.

Commenting on the current situation, Canadian designer Bruce Mau put it thus: “We have allowed two of our sensory domains—sight and sound—to dominate our design imagination. In fact, when it comes to the culture of architecture and design, we create and produce almost exclusively for one sense—the visual.” (Mau, 2018, p. 20; see also Blesser & Salter, 2007).

Such visual dominance makes sense or, at the very least, can be explained or accounted for neuroscientifi cally (Hutmacher, 2019; Meijer, Veselič, Calafiore, & Noppeney, 2019). After all, it turns out that far more of our brains are given over to the processing of what we see than to dealing with the information from any of our other senses (Gallace, Ngo, Sulaitis, & Spence, 2012).

For instance, according to Felleman and Van Essen (1991), more than half of the cortex is engaged in the processing of visual information (see also Eberhard, 2007, p. 49; Palmer, 1999, p. 24; though note that others believe that the figure is closer to one third). This figure compares to something like just 12% of the cortex primarily dedicated to touch, around 3% to hearing, and less than 1% given over to the processing of the chemical senses of smell and taste Information 1.


1 It is, though, worth highlighting the fact that the denigration of the sense of smell in humans, something that is, for example, also found in older volumes on advertising (Lucas & Britt, 1950), turns out to be based on somewhat questionable foundations.


For, as noted by McGann (2017) in the pages of Science, the downplaying of olfaction can actually be traced back to early French neuroanatomist Paul Broca wanting to make more space in the frontal parts of the brain (i.e., the frontal lobes) for free will in the 1880s. In order to do so, he apparently needed to reduce the size of the olfactory cortex accordingly. theoris ts such as Zimmerman (1989) arrived at a similar hierarchy, albeit with a somewhat different weighting for each of the five main senses.

In particular, Zimmermann estimated a channel capacity (in bits/s) of 107 for vision, 106 for touch, 105 for hearing and olfaction, and 103 for taste (gustation).

Looking to the future, the hope is that architectural design practice will increasingly incorporate our growing  understanding of the human senses, and how they influence one another. Such a multisensory approach will hopefully lead to the development of buildings and urban spaces that do a better job of promoting our social, cognitive, and  emotional development, rather than hindering it, as has too often been the case previously.

Significance statement

Architecture exerts a profound influence over our well being, given that the majority of the world’s population liv ing in urban areas spend something like 95% of their time indoors. However, the majority of architecture is designed for the eye of the beholder, and tends to neglect the non visual senses of hearing, smell, touch, and even taste.

This neglect may be partially to blame for a number of problems faced by many in society today including everything from sick-building syndrome (SBS) to seasonal affective disorder (SAD), not to mention the growing problem of noise pollution.

However, in order to design buildings and environ ments that promote our health and well-being, it is necessary not only to consider the impact of the various senses on a building’s inhabitants, but also to be aware of the way in which sensory atmospheric/environmental cues interact. Multisensory perception research provides relevant insights concerning the rules governing sensory integration in the perception of objects and events.

This review extends that approach to the understanding of how multisensory environments and atmospheres affect us, in part depending on how we cognitively interpret, and/or attribute, their sources. It is argued that the confusing notion of synaes thetic design should be replaced by an approach to multi sensory congruency that is based on the emerging literature on crossmodal correspondences instead.

Ultimately, the hope is that such a multisensory approach, in transitioning from the laboratory to the real world application domain of architectural design practice, will lead on to the development of buildings and urban spaces that do a better job of promoting our social, cognitive, and emotional development, rather than hindering it, as has too often been the case previously.


(Source: Senses of place: architectural design for the multisensory mind by  Charles Spence;  in Cognitive Research: Principles and Implications (2020) 5:46 https://doi.org/10.1186/s41235-020-00243-4 Keywords: Multisensory perception, Architecture, The senses, Crossmodal correspondences；Correspondence: charles.spence@psy.ox.ac.uk Department of Experimental Psychology, Crossmodal Research Laboratory, University of Oxford, Anna Watts Building, Oxford OX2 6GG, UK )

Senses of place: architectural design for the multisensory mind

Abstract

Traditionally, architectural practice has been dominated by the eye/sight. In recent decades, though, architects and designers have increasingly started to consider the other senses, namely sound, touch (including proprioception,  kinesthesis, and the vestibular sense), smell, and on rare occasions, even taste in their work.

As yet, there has been little  recognition of the growing understanding of the multisensory nature of the human mind that has emerged from the field of cognitive neuroscience research. This review therefore provides a summary of the role of the human senses in architectural design practice, both when considered individually and, more importantly, when studied collectively.

For it is only by recognizing the fundamentally multisensory nature of perception that one can really hope to explain a number of surprising crossmodal environmental or atmospheric interactions, such as between lighting colour and thermal  comfort and between sound and the perceived safety of public space.

At the same time, however, the contemporary focus on synaesthetic design needs to be reframed in terms of the crossmodal correspondences and multisensory  integration, at least if the most is to be made of multisensory interactions and synergies that have been uncovered in  recent years. （Con't Below）


(Source: Senses of place: architectural design for the multisensory mind by Charles Spence; in Cognitive Research: Principles and Implications (2020) 5:46 Keywords: Multisensory perception, Architecture, The senses, Crossmodal correspondences)

說回来，還是綠皮火車親

在成都的一個寧靜的咖啡館裡，陽光透過窗戶灑在木質地板上，營造出一種溫馨而舒適的氛圍。趙明，一個對火車充滿熱情的銀行職員，正和朋友熱烈討論著最近的一個話題——綠皮火車的回歸。

「你知道嗎？最近很多地方都在討論綠皮火車的回歸。」趙明的眼睛裡閃爍著興奮的光芒，仿佛這個話題對他來說有著無盡的魅力。


「綠皮火車？那不是很久以前的交通工具了嗎？」朋友有些不解地問道。

「沒錯，綠皮火車的確有著悠久的歷史，但它所代表的不僅僅是一種交通工具，更是一種情懷和記憶。」趙明解釋道，「而現在，隨著社會的發展和人們環保意識的提高，綠皮火車的回歸也許正是一種新的趨勢。」

幾天後，趙明親自體驗了一次綠皮火車之旅。他早早地來到了成都火車站，等待著那趟熟悉而又陌生的綠皮火車的到來。當火車緩緩駛入站台時，趙明不禁感嘆歲月的流逝和時代的變遷。

車廂裡，趙明觀察和記錄下了旅客們的反應和火車的運行情況。他發現，雖然綠皮火車的速度不如高鐵快捷，但它卻有著獨特的魅力。旅客們在車廂裡聊天、打牌、看書，享受著旅途中的悠閒和愜意。而火車在鐵軌上緩緩行駛，仿佛在訴說著一段段歷史的故事。

通過這次實地考察，趙明對綠皮火車回歸現象有了更深入的理解。他認為，綠皮火車的回歸不僅僅是一種懷舊情懷的體現，更是對當前社會可持續發展和環境保護的積極響應。相比高鐵等現代交通工具，綠皮火車在能源消耗和成本方面有著明顯的優勢，這符合當前社會對環保和經濟的雙重需求。

此外，綠皮火車還能夠到達一些高鐵無法覆蓋的偏遠地區，為當地居民提供更加經濟實惠的交通選擇。這不僅促進了區域經濟的平衡發展，也讓更多的人能夠享受到便捷的交通服務。

對於普通消費者來說，選擇綠皮火車作為出行方式，不僅可以欣賞沿途的風景、體驗慢生活的樂趣，還能為環境保護做出貢獻。這種交通方式讓人們重新審視自己的生活方式和價值觀，提醒我們在追求快速便捷的同時，不要忽視了對環境的保護和對可持續發展的追求。

在未來，隨著環保意識的不斷提高和技術的不斷進步，我們或許會看到更多類似綠皮火車這樣的環保和經濟兼顧的交通方式出現。它們將為我們的生活帶來新的可能性和選擇，讓我們在享受現代科技帶來的便利的同時，也能更好地保護我們的地球家園。

在綠皮火車的轟鳴聲中，趙明結束了他的旅程。他站在站台上，目送著火車漸行漸遠，心中充滿了對未來的期待和希望。他知道，這個世界正在發生變化，而他和他的朋友們將繼續關注這些變化，並為推動社會的可持續發展貢獻自己的力量。（本文作者：常高俊；原題：高鐵將不再是首選？綠皮火車回歸大眾視野，聽聽內行人怎麼說；2024-04-05 搜狐）

延續閱讀：

丹南怀旧火车之旅

北婆罗洲蒸汽火车

文本轉譯知覺：策劃空間的多向度異變

策劃視野的引導、路徑的假設、空間的分隔等皆基於形式組織的理性規劃與感性體悟，而游牧理論下對展覽空間的邊界設定在當代極高效信息傳播的語境下不斷受到碰撞，物質與觀念雙重維度上的界限被打破。

（一）邊界重置：桎梏流變的感官空間

1.視覺延展

策劃空間的呈現一貫致力於側重視覺作用於體驗的表達，而負責紐約現代藝術博物館殘疾人長期項目的卡裡·麥吉質疑了視覺中心主義，博物館自20世紀70年代開始邀請盲人參觀展覽，後拓展至可直接觸摸畫作，展覽對視障的關懷並不同於傳統美術館以展覽預錄制聲音描述的形式呈現展覽，而是以藝術家向導描述現場聲音為對應人群提供強連接、逼近現實的體驗。展覽中藝術作品的概念框架在更探索性、試驗性的多感官體驗間來回游走，偏袒視覺的感官等級制度崩塌，展覽不僅傳達了一種策展需要破開視覺空間屏障的觀念與邏輯導向，同時探索了無障礙行動的闡釋和轉譯方式，拓展了策展實踐思考無障礙的方式。

2.聽覺解碼

聲音是聯結人與世界的基本交流媒介之一，當代聲景設計以人的聲音機能為核心，創造性地將聲環境、聲信息和聲技術融合成新的媒介。當代策展性手法通過新興媒介對體驗的引導探索聲音可超越的維度，2021年於於木木美術館由難波祐子主策劃的「阪本龍一：觀音·聽時」展覽以敏銳的情緒洞察力打磨聽覺的呈現，其中的《你的時間》將空曠場所兩側並排放置音響與LED面板，鋼琴跟隨地震數據彈奏其因為海浪沖擊而異變的音律，人類定義的鋼琴原音所謂符號定義因自然活動被消除，聲音意味的游離與搖擺在被刻意打造的沉浸場域中被感知。

3.嗅覺祛魅

長期以來，受到嗅覺本身複雜性質的局限，以視聽為主要內容的藝術史中很少出現嗅覺的身影，嗅覺的表達潛能處於被忽視的狀態。當代嗅覺策展正以大量的實踐作品中累積而逐步形成自身的話語場域，但嗅覺藝術的豐碩成果並非是一蹴而就的，它經歷了長久的冷落和漸進的嘗試。2012年策展人Chandler Burr受紐約藝術與設計博物館所委托策劃的「The art of scent香氛藝術」消除了視覺材料的所有參考而僅留下承載氣味的香龕、被懸掛的容器，並給予體驗者比較與討論的嗅覺體驗的游牧場所，以一向被忽視的、私人的嗅覺體驗借由公開交流的主動權調動想象，擺脫被規訓的參展體驗形式而以反向的知覺路徑對當代策展的可能性進行突破。

中心隱匿：多維重塑的觀念敘事——能動的策展性突破展覽的邊界、挑戰規范式空間、超越媒介與感官體驗，使得展覽能夠作為發聲、社交、賦權場拋出問題、催生意義。

（盧錦程·德勒茲「游牧空間」理論下當代策展性手法與觀展空間的關係；[原載：中國民族博覽2023年6期]）

（續上）由於外部文化因素而造成環境的突然變化，或者對另一個環境的進入也會帶來身份上不可避免的變化。作為符號結構的個體和文化為了自我維持總會要求某種語境，因此，當之前的環境消失時，對和新環境相關的新的符號關係的創造就開始了。

換句話說，如果語境缺失了，那麼文化和個體就會創造出他們自己的語境。 當一個人將他/她的自然環境替換成人工環境，在自己周圍創造出存儲他身份的新媒介，並以這樣的方式來試圖彌補記憶傳統的遺失時，我們就可以看到這樣的符號過程。 霍恩伯格將這一過程描述為用感覺和語言符號來取代更多的、沒有鮮明特點的、表示價值交換的經濟符號。①

但是， 對新語境的創造往往會帶來標准化和簡單化的問題，因為，如果沒有環境可以通過多種模式和隨機的過程來提供創造性和新穎性，文化就可能(pg 43)對現有的模式產生最大的依賴。

①Niklas Luhmann, 「Sign as form，」Cybernetics and Human Knowing,vol.6, no.3，1999, p.27.

②Tim Ingold,「The temporality of the landscape,」World Archaeology, vol.25, no.2, 1993, pp.152-175;「Building, dwelling, living: How animals and people make themselves at home in the world,」in M. Strathern eds., Shifting Contexts，London: Routledge, 1995, pp.57-80.

③Alf Hornborg,「Vital signs: An ecosemiotic perspective on the human ecology of Amazonia,」Sign Systems Studies, vol.29, no.1, 2001,p.128.

較之於全球規模的文化，地方文化的唯一優勢往往就在於它和周圍環境的聯系。全球文化是自足的，通過抽象的、向外投射的觀念和價值，如經濟價值、抽象象征和理想來獲得自己的身份。 而地方文化的關注點則更多地導向它周圍的環境以及它的模式和特性。約瑟夫·米克（Joseph W. Meeker）描述了這兩種研究世界的方法的對立，他將自足性歸因於西方哲學傳統，歸因於悲劇這種體裁和生物群落中的更新物種，而將環境和地方文化的中心性歸因於喜劇體裁和本地物種。 ②

符號主體的地方性和語境性概念和強調自然與文化的二元主義截然對立。 在概念上，宣稱自然是文化的產物， 不可能學習處於文化之外的自然，這對於地方文化甚至是危險的。 ③

這種論述使未然文化的自然環境，以及文化與它特有的地方環境之間的關係變得不重要。 另一方面，對文化在語境安置上的理解也可能會和自然科學、自然保護的看法相沖突。 為了保護自然環境，我們也應該保護它的非物質成分，即文化傳統，因為它支撐著這個環境，並增加了它的價值，這種思考方式有別於建立在荒野概念上的、二元式的自然保護。

在《風景和記憶》（Landscape and Memory）一書中，西蒙·沙瑪（Simon Schama） 勾勒出了不同文化和自然環境中的各種關係，特別是討論了地方的自然環境被納入文化記憶、被文化采用並在文學、藝術和神話中得以反映的那些方面。④

我們可能時常會發現，如果不在解釋中考慮環境本身的模式和過程———或者說非人類動物的符號活動，或者說交流活動的結果，就無法對與自然相關的文化文本，如自然書寫、自然文獻、環境藝術作出解釋。 從符號學上來說，這樣的文化文本具有雙重的特點， 除了文本本身展現的意義，它們還包括了或者說指涉著環境中在場的信息。被納入文化記憶的那部分自然不可避免地屬於作為地方實體（local entity）的自然環境，通過對自然的描述，文化將自己和自然聯系在一起。

正如文化擁抱自然，使自然成為自己的一部分並賦予它意義一樣，文化本身也開始和自然、和自然中的具體地方變得類似；也正如文化賦予自然以意義一樣，它也和它的自然環境變得相像。

五、結論

現代社會最顯著的特征就是文化語境的同一化。 地方之間的自然環境無疑是有所差異的，而同一化的過程使得人對於地方性的自然符號的適應性降低了。與主體和環境相關的信息的一致性會受到阻礙，或者更直白地說，人們不再明白如何在自然中存在。 同時，大眾媒體一直試圖減弱地方文化和地方自然環境之間的聯系，因為只有這樣，文化同質化這一全球化的先決條件才能實現。

要研究這樣的過程需要有合適的理論概念。符號學對符號和語境之間的關係討論良多，而理論生物學全面地研究了生命體和環境之間的關係。生態符號學源於這兩門學科能夠積極地參與對文化和地方自然環境之間關係的討論。這裡提出了地方性的概念，而語境、語境性的概念和它們在文化理論上的歷史以及霍夫梅耶的符號適應性觀念，都可以是可能的、適合的起點。

①Alf  Hornborg,「Vital signs: An ecosemiotic perspective on the human ecology of Amazonia,」Sign Systems Studies, vol.29, no.1, 2001,p.128.

②Joseph W. Meeker,「The comic mode,」in Cheryll Glotfelty, Harold Fromm, eds., The Ecocritisism Reader，Landmarks in Literary Ecology，Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1996, pp.155-169.

③這種危險意識適用於所有「現代主義」的世界觀，這些觀點認為人只能從已經受意識所影響的世界中進行學習。

④Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory，New York: Alfred A. Knop,1995.

（原題：地方性：生態符號學的一個基礎概念① ☉[愛沙尼亞]蒂莫·馬倫文 湯 黎譯，見：鄱陽湖學刊，2014年第三期，37頁—43頁）

遊學·把自我故事說好的快意

沙巴丹南～保佛鐵路遊

札哈哈蒂：房子能浮起來嗎？05

（續上）作為圍繞文本或符號的一種結構，語境對符號的形式以及主體可能賦予符號的意義都有影響。語境存在於符號之外，同時通過符號關係規定著符號的局限和特征。 如此，新的詞語在形態上的形式和意義不僅取決於語言中已經存在的概念，還取決於語言中意義與形式之間罅隙的存在。

在不同的語境中，一個詞語的意義會有所不同，行為是否合宜也取決於它的語境。 一件藝術作品或文學作品，以及文藝評論家對它們的批評，也是在更為寬廣的文化語境中獲得部分意義的。 在對符號的解釋中，西比奧克強調了語境的作用，用以證明這一點的例子是信息與語境的沖突：作為信息接收者的人基於語境作出解釋，而完全忽略了信息。 ⑤ 「限制」（restraint）這一概念源自控制論，它被引入符號學中，在描述語境所起到的決定作用上具有核心意義。

這一概念認為，語境帶來了對符號冗餘（redundancy）的限制。 從冗餘開始，這種限制就有可能規定符號可能具有的意義，但是，符號本身也能夠負載語境的相關信息。我們可以引用格雷格里·貝特森（Gregory Bateson）的話來說明這種符號對彼此具有約束性的影響：

如果我對你說「下雨了」，這就將冗餘引入了宇宙、信息和雨點之中；由此，單單從這到某物一條信息你就可以猜到，如果你看向窗外，就會看，而這種推想可不是隨機遇上的。 ⑥

任何已經有效的符號過程都會部分地決定這一過程未來的發展可能——在時間的軸線上，語境的作用本身得到了擴展。 在讀小說或看電影時，我們可以發現，經歷過的事會影響到將來的結果。 同樣，每一篇科學論文或藝術作品都部分地決定了正在被觀察著的話語的發展可能。符號與文本之間關系的這種特征讓我們想到了符號過程中的因果關系——皮爾斯已經對此進行了描述：一個符號過程是如何引導未來符號過程的可能的。這種傾向似乎成為符號過程的概括性特點， 尼古拉斯·盧曼（Niklas Luhmann）如是說：比如說，如果為了交流和思想而將符號和符號相結合，那麼，就必須對期待（expectation）進行引導，並且對將來聯接的可能性作出限制。 隨之而來的符號不能被預先決定，不能太出人意料。 因此，每一個符號不僅必須將自己作為一個實體來發生作用，它還會提供多餘的信息。 ①

①Eugene Nida,「A problem in the statement of meanings,」Lingua, no.3, 1952, pp.126. 轉引自 Winfred NO ǖth, Handbook of Semiotics, Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1990.

②Eugene Nida, Contexts in Translating, Amsterdam, Philadelphia: Benjamins, 2001, pp.31-32.

③I. A. Richards, 「Functions of and factors in language,」Journal of Literary Semantics， vol.1, 1972, p.34.

④Thomas A. Sebeok,「Semiotics and ethology,」in T. A. Sebeok, Perspectives in Zoosemiotics， Janua Linguarum. Series Minor, The Hague: Mouton, 1972, pp.122-161.

⑤Thomas A. Sebeok,「Communication,」in Thomas A. Sebeok, eds., A Sign is Just a Sign， Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991,pp.29-30.

⑥Gregory Bateson, Steps to an Ecology of Mind， Granada: Paladin, 1973, pp.383-384

符號學理論將語境作為某種類型的一般抽象物來進行檢視，由此可能會導致這樣的疑慮：將和語境有關的某種適應性作為較之於對其他語境而言的某種語境偏好來談論，這樣做是否切題。因為，從更大的意義上來說，語境總是圍繞著所有的符號結構，即使在語境意味著符號結構的缺失時也是如此。 而且，當我們想到符號結構的自我組織能力時就會明白，這樣的疑慮是無法駁斥的。 主體通過符號活動建立了與語境相關的、對冗餘的限制，從而使周圍的語境變得有價值。 因此，我們不能僅僅從客觀的角度來描述主體與語境的關係，還要考慮到個體的、現象學上的、質性的關係。符號學上的適應性和語境、或者說環境的價值性源於具體語境中主體的存在和主體在其間的符號活動。 對環境而言，存在於其間的時間是一個價值標准。

四、地方身份與環境

地方文化和環境相互作用，這種關係支撐著地方文化的身份。英國人類學家提姆·英戈爾德（Tim Ingold） 在他的著作中描述了一個雙重的過程——人類和動物在其間適應了他們的生活環境，同時也使這個環境個體化了。 ②地方創造這種身份的機制在人類文化的所有層面上進行運作：主體所在的本土之地以及種種因素支撐著它個體的自我定義，語言成為描述環境對象和現象的手段；而與主體的身份聯系在一起的記憶和環境也是地方所特有的。主體和環境的關係也可以是非語言的， 瑞典人類學家、符號學家阿爾夫·霍恩伯格（Alf Hornborg）在對生活於亞馬遜的印第安人的環境關係進行研究時，對感覺符號 （sensory sign）、 語言符號（linguistic sign）和經濟符號（economical sign）進行了區分。 包括「眼睛、耳朵、舌頭、皮膚的感覺——其中只有一小部分被我們思考並歸入語言學范圍」 ③ 在內的各種感覺符號允許人和環境進行最為深入的交流。如果我們回到以控制論為中心的方法上去，就可以斷言，通過對原有文化的積極參與，將主體和所在環境聯系在一起的所謂冗餘信息的量會得到增加。當信息逐漸累積，個體就能夠預知環境的過程，並由此依賴於他/她的環境。（下續）

然而， 對這座花園的描述使它看起來好像是自我展現在人們眼前一樣， 導致了房子的居住者對這幅畫卷完全無視……每一所房子都有俯瞰這座花園的窗戶：光線之窗、聲音之窗、 氣味之窗和味覺之窗以及許多扇觸覺之窗。

從房子看出去， 花園的景象隨著窗戶的結構和設計而變化： 它不會是更大的世界的一部分； 它是這所房子擁有的唯一世界——它的環境界。 ①

Jakob von Uexküll, 「The Theory of Meaning,」Semiotica , vol.42, no.1, 1982, p.73.

（图）

① 參見Jakob von Uexküll,「The Theory of Meaning.」

如果我們從烏克斯庫爾的符號學范式出發，當我們對生命體及其環境的關係進行檢視時， 那麼，在某個特定環境中對生命體的安置就變得至關重要——而環境與生命體的特征則在主體的解釋行為，即符號過程中得以呈現。 環境規定了生命體的一些代表性特征，由此，作為主體的生命體可以對環境因素賦予自身物種特有的意義。在其他環境因素的情況下，整個意義系統就會有所不同———它們和符號載體相互關聯。主體及其環境之間的關係也為符號過程產生的次現象作出了很好的定義：

經驗（從之前的符號過程中積累而來），記憶（使得之前的經驗可以被辨認出來）， 物種層面上的累積以及在進化過程中得到部分發展的特征（後者可以被稱為符號選擇）。 主體及其環境之間的每一個以反應為基礎的交流模式都可以被作為結構方式進行檢驗，這種結構方式允許了主體及其環境之間一致性的發展，或者說允許了適應。或許最廣為人知、被引用最多的就是烏克斯庫爾的功能圈模式，主體在其間通過感覺和行為與對象發生關聯。（見上圖）在烏克斯庫爾的功能圈模式中，主體和對象經由感知世界（merkwelt）和行動世界（wirkwelt）相互關聯。 ①

生物符號學界的其他權威學者也發現了生命體和所在環境之間關係的獨特性，以及這種獨特性導致的符號決定。 霍夫梅耶（Jesper Hoffmeyer）寫道：考慮進化時，重要的不是物種的適應性，而是符號學上的適應性。 畢竟，適應性取決於關係——
—只有在給定的語境中，某物才能夠去適應。 但是，如果基因類型和環境類型相互
構成了度量適應性的語境，那麼，我們似乎就該在適應者的關係整體中去討論它，這種關系能力是一種符號能力。 ②

以霍夫梅耶的解釋為基礎，更寬泛意義上的符號學適應性可以被定義為：主體成功地適應了它所在的環境，它借助符號過程把來自自身和環境的信息聯接在一起。如果生命體能夠成功地與周遭環境的信息進行互譯，它就具有符號學上的適應性。 在對環境的適應中，主體將自己地方化了，因此，符號學上的適應性就暗示了地方化的成功。 另一方面，它也顯示出：如果主體脫離了環境，它的結構會受到什麼樣的影響。 鑑於這種雙重結構，地方化不應被理想化為一種合適的條件，因為關聯也就意味著依賴。 在生物學中，特化（specialization）與協同進化的適應 （co-evolutionary adaptations）被作為生命體獨特的生命策略來進行研究。對於獨特的環境條件的、顯著的特化和作為生存策略的稀有性是攜手而行的，而特化的種族往往在面對環境變化時更為脆弱。

三、符號過程的語境性（contextuality）在符號學和文化理論的討論中，作為符號結構特征的地方性也相當引人注目，它和語境及語境性的概念相關。 有好幾種符號學方法都認為，意義是由語境所調節的。 在這些方法中，諾特認為英國語境學派 （British contextual school） 和分指語言學（distributive linguistics）較為重要。 例如，尤金·尼達（Eugene Nida）在他發表於 1952 年的論文中提出：

「意義是由環境賦予的。」①在他以後的著作中，也可以注意到類似的觀點（如討論單詞 「run」的意義是如何取決於文字和環境語境的②）。

②Jesper Hoffmeyer,「The unfolding semiosphere,」Gertrudis Van de Vijever et al., eds., Evolutionary Systems， Biological and Epistemological Perspectives on Selection and Self-Organization，Dordrecht：Kluwer Academic Publishers，1998，pp.290-291.

瑞恰慈 （I. A.Richards） 則補充了源自過去的時間軸對意義和環境間關係的意義：像任何其他符號一樣， 一個詞語是通過屬於一組再現的事件而獲得意義的， 這組事件可以成為語境。 由此，在這個意義上，一個詞的語境是過去的一組事件的某種再現模式，我們說它的意義取決於它的語境，也就是說它的意義取決於它在其中獲得意義的那個過程的某一點。 ③

在布拉格符號學派的著作中，語境的概念也起到了重要的作用。 雅柯布森發展了卡爾·比勒（Karl Burhler） 的語言模式， 在他的語言交流模式中，他將文本和語言的指涉功能聯系在一起。 在雅柯布森的學生、 美國著名的符號學家西比奧克（Thomas A. Sebeok） 對動物交流的符號學研究，也就是動物符號學中，這一思想得到了進一步的推進。④

因此，與尋求共性的「大」的文化相反，源於這樣一個文化的學術傳統的優勢在於，它是以差異為主題的。而且，就小型文化而言，在對象層面和元語言層面描述和驗證其不同與特性的科學概念都尤為寶貴。由於缺乏對地方之軸進行描述和評估的方法，在融合地方文化和全球科學的道路上，全球性就成為最顯而易見的、令人憂心的障礙。 而我們的理論語言對於表現地方的獨特性是否足夠靈敏，這也可能成為阻礙發展對文化與自然之研究的一個問題。 填補這一罅隙的一個方法可能就是，創造出綜合性的理論概念，它可以為描述地方文化指明一些方向， 同時又使這種描述的確切本質保持開放性。

在元層次上，作為描述人與自然環境之間的關係，描述人類在生物系統中的位置以及人類文化中的自然的學科，符號學的興起可算姍姍來遲。 盡管自20世紀90年代起，生態學的符號學研究就在不同的語境中以不同的形式被提出，但作為范式的生態符號學是直到諾特 （Winfred NO ǖth）1996 年的論文發表後才有跡可循的。①在該文中，諾特將生態符號學定義為：研究生命體及其環境之間的關係之符號學方面的科學。 ②

兩年後，庫爾縮小了這個詞的范疇，認為它包含了發生在人類及其所在的環境之間的符號過程， 即「生態符號學可以被定義為自然與文化之間關係的符號學」，③由此將生態符號學與生物符號學區別開來。2000年，在伊馬特拉國際暑期研究所進行的符號學與結構研究，以及幾家符號學期刊的專刊④也見證了這一新范式的產生。 生態符號學最近的發展則包括了在系統生態學⑤、 風景生態學⑥和生態批評⑦之間建立聯系的努力。

①Kalevi Kull,「Semiotic ecology: Different natures in the semiosphere,」Sign Systems Studies, vol.26, 1998, pp.347-348.

 ①Winfred NO ǖth,「Oǖkosemiotik,」Zeitschrift für Semiotik,1996,vol.18, no.1, pp.7-18. 轉引自 Winfred NO ǖth, 「Ecosemiotics,」 Sign Systems Studies, vol.26, 1998, p.333.

 ③Kalevi Kull,「Semiotic ecology: Different natures in the semiosphere.」

 ④Semiotica，127-1/4，1999；Tartu Semiotic Library，vol.3, 2002；Sign System Studies，vol.3, 2002；Zeitschrift für Semiotik，8-3,1986.

 ⑤Soeren Nors Nielsen,「Towards an ecosystem semiotics: Some basic aspects for a new research programme,」Ecological Complexity, vol.4, no.3, 2007: 93-101.

 ⑥Almo Farina, Andrea Belgrano,「The eco-field hypothesis: toward a cognitive landscape,」Landscape Ecology, vol.21, no.1,

 2006, pp.5-17; Almo Farina, 「The landscape as a semiotic interface between organisms and resources,」Biosemiotics, vol.1,  no.1, 2006, pp.75-83.

 ⑦Timo Maran，「Towards an integrated methodology of ecosemiotics: The concept of nature-text,」Sign Systems Studies, 35(1/ 2), 2007, 269-294; Alfred K. Siewers, Strange Beauty，Ecocritical Approaches to Early Medieval Landscape，New York:  Palgrave Macmillan, 2009

接下來，我們將要探問：生態符號學方法的何種知識可以運用於研究人與自然之關係的話語，運用於融合了生態批評、文化生態學、環境美學、科學生態學、環境哲學和其他學科的討論。 本文旨在嘗試一種謹慎的可能：將地方性視為主體及其環境之關係的、一以貫之的特性，並對這一以符號學為基礎的概念提出一個定義。 這裡，我把地方性作為符號結構的一個特征來進行分析，這些符號結構以如此的方式和環境一起出現，以致如果不大大改變結構或是結構所包含的信息， 它們就無法脫離環境。

這一概念源於如下理解：一個符號過程總是包含著特別的、獨有的現象。 在皮爾斯（和西比奧克）的符號學傳統中，文化和自然的絕大部分可以被視為符號過程的結果或者模式，這些符號過程不可避免地將重點放在文化與自然的地方性身份之上。另一方面，地方性的概念強調了環境關係的質性特點。

後文將會提到，主體及其所在的環境之間互為條件性是生命體與人類起源的符號系統的典型特征，並且，我們是從理論生物學和理論符號學——即產生生態符號學的兩門主要學科——的角度來討論這一問題。因此，在這裡提出的方法認為，對生態符號學而言，自然是特征性的，而且，這種方法能夠運用於更廣意義上的，對文化與自然之關係的研究。 在本文的最後部分，我們將會討論在文化認同的塑造中，作為安置的地方性在一個特定的自然環境中所起到的作用。

二、作為生命體特征的地方性

每個生命體都在或多或少的程度上適應於它所在的環境，這一理念是達爾文主義的進化論生物學的主要觀點，屬於生態學的核心部分。但是，在現代進化論生物學中，生命體及其環境仍然是相當抽象的，它是在某種間接的、抽象的指標，比如適應性、適應價值之上被定義的。 如果我們對某一物種的個體行為進行觀察，那麼，作為圍繞真實的生命體、具有特征的媒介，環境可以成為行為研究、自然史研究或是生物學領域其他形式研究的對象。

動物及其環境的適應關係， 可以分為兩個方面：生理上的相應性，如動物的身體構造、生理及其環境之間的一致性； 交流與符號學上的一致性，作為個體的動物在其間對特有的環境進行感知、作出反應。這兩個方面是必然相關的，比如說，像哺乳動物的眼睛構造這樣的生理適應，使得人類能夠以我們的方式來感知風景。 同時，這兩個方面內容也有著明顯的不同： 交流和符號學上的一致性是質性的，並且和個體的解釋與發展相關。 只要我們將生命體作為主體來進行檢視，允許它有某種解釋和選擇的自由，生命體及其環境之間的關係就會是特別的、獨一無二的。 生物符號學的主要締造者烏克斯庫爾（Jakob von UexKüll）對這一主體性的現象學觀點進行了很好的闡述：

動物的身體可以被比作一所房子， 以此來進行研究， 解剖學家一直詳細地研究它是如何被建造的； 生理學家則研究房子裡的機械應用；而生態學家描述和研究的，是這個房子所在的花園。

地方性：生態符號學的一個基礎概念

[摘要]本文立足於小型文化體系，提出了微觀生態符號學的一個基本概念—— 地方性，將其作為考察地方文化和生態系統的一個基礎單位。由於符號活動的語境性和生命與環境之間密不可分的意義關係，地方性作為生態符號學研究的一個可能起點，具有足夠的理論支撐和高度的可操作性。 並且，這種強調符號主體的地方性、語境性的概念，為解構自然與文化的二元對立將起到重要作用。

[關鍵詞]地方性；語境性；生態符號學；環境；符號主體

 [作者簡介] 蒂莫·馬倫（Timo Maran），愛沙尼亞塔爾圖大學符號學系高級研究員，主要從事生態符號學研究和自然文學研究。

[譯者簡介] 湯 黎（1982—），女，四川內江人，西南民族大學外國語學院講師，主要從事西方文論研究。（四川成都 610041）

一、引言

要研究自然與文化之間的關係，就需要在不同的科學領域內進行討論，因為，沒有一門所謂的純學科可以處理這樣一個豐富的主題。自上世紀60年代始，幾門不同的學科，如生態批評、文化生態學、環境美學、環境哲學等，就開始了對這一問題的探討。這些由文學批評的理論基礎以及藝術哲學理論產生的學科試圖解釋人與自然之間的關係。

此種研究情形可以概括為四個相互交織的方面：理論框架、研究對象、文化語境和自然語境。 我們可以認為，其中的第一項，即理論框架承載了學術認同和科學的歷史遺產，而後三項則有賴於特別的研究對象和地方性的條件。

上述邊界學科的理論背景大多（盡管並非絕對地、獨一地）源於英美學術傳統，由此產生了一個問題：源自一個科學傳統的理論和方法，如何對另一個傳統中的、地方性的材料進行分析呢？

①本文較早的一個版本發表於由弗維·薩拉皮克（Virve Sarapik）、卡迪裡·圖烏爾（Kadri Tuur）和馬里·拉恩裡梅茲（Mari Laanemets）主編的《地方與場所》（Place and Location）的第二卷，題名為《地方性的生態符號學舉出》(Ecosemiotic Basis of Locality)，第 68-80 頁。

例如，在思考愛沙尼亞這個芬蘭-烏戈爾語系的小型文化體時，這就會成為一個問題——我正好來自那裡。 在研究愛沙尼亞的文化與自然關係時，我們很快會發現，許多生態批評的重要概念，如「荒野」、「環境書寫」、甚至「文化」與「自然」，它們本身的對立都不具有操作性。 較之於英國和美國，我們的文化環境、歷史遺產和自然經驗都有所不同。 或許在較大的文化體與較小的文化體之間，以及由這些文化產生的范式之間的最大不同在於它們的普遍程度有所差異。

大型的文化以及由其衍生的大的科學傳統可以自然而然地宣稱自己代表了普遍的經驗和知識，而對於小型文化，學術界總持有這樣的懷疑：它們所取得的知識是否只代表地方性的實踐，或者是否與普遍性相關。此外，對小型文化體而言，自我身份的問題也要重要得多。

（原題：地方性：生態符號學的一個基礎概念① [愛沙尼亞]蒂莫·馬倫文 湯 黎譯，見：鄱陽湖學刊，2014年第三期，37頁—43頁；註①①Kalevi Kull,「Semiotic ecology: Different natures in the semiosphere,」Sign Systems Studies, vol.26, 1998, pp.347-348.）

吳青科《詩性空間與體驗危機》

[摘要】文藝的審美表現力某種意義上需要依靠詩性空間來實現。詩性空間對於文藝創作實踐、審美意識形態研究具有的重要意義需要得到重視和挖掘。詩性空間本身的豐富內涵及其與文本特征、主觀體驗之間的互動關係需要更為細致而深刻地理解和闡述。隨著審美觀念的變化，詩性空間的功能意義及其審美體驗出現了不同於以往的普遍現象．呈現出更為隱晦、病態的蛻變危機，從而從本質上深刻影響了當下文藝作品的審美特征。

某種意義上，由行為、特征、場景等構成的文本細節就其本身而言並無特別寓意，但若從主觀創作角度或客觀文本進行考察，往往能從中體驗到特殊而神秘的審美內涵，以有別於主觀性的依托文本傳遞審美意味的方式呈現出獨立的審美的「詩性空間」。從生成的角度來看「詩性空間」可大致分為如下代表性的幾類。

一類是單純的動作、特征，表現為時間短暫、動作單一等，如無意間的一瞥、靜止的觀望、一顆痣、某方面生理缺陷等；一類是封閉而隱秘的空間、行為等，如廁所、幽暗的車庫、浴室、自殺等；一類是持續性的單純行為，如無端地凝視、賞花落淚等。

關於文藝的「詩性空間」的描述、討論在作品中以及批評性文章中倒不陌生。但對其本身所具有的文本審美意義生成功能、情感體驗功能、其他學類的引申功能的詳細論述就比較少了，尤其是集中針對「詩性空問」的封閉式的意義闡釋以及基於此而進行的發散性的意義發掘．本論文的寫作意義即在於對之進行探索性的嘗試分析。（疫情文創）

華語流行歌曲互文性研究的「跨樂」范式
lenggong  Lahad Dato  Tanjung Aru

生產地方符號（惠安美女）

生產地方性·古達樂育學校

詩性空間

[火車聲]

包圍著我的，是列車各種運動那令人鎮靜的活動。這各種運動伴著我，如果我沒有睡意。他們會主動過來和我聊聊，它們的聲響像搖籃曲那樣催我入眠。……好像我在一瞬間得以化身為某種魚類在大海中安睡，睡意朦朧中被水流和浪濤蕩來蕩去，或者化成一隻鷹，仰臥在暴風雨這唯一的支柱上。

[旅行：想出各種生活畫面]

由於種種原因，人們為自己設想的圖景是永遠不會成為現實的……人們構想出各種生活畫面，小至在日落中品嚐鱸魚，為此一個深居簡出的人會決心乘一趟火車，大至渴望某天晚上乘坐一輛豪華馬車停在一個高傲的女出納面前讓她大吃一驚，為此一個不擇手段的人會謀財害命，或者巴不得親人死掉好獨吞遺產，這要看他是膽大包天還是懶惰成性，是不達目的決不罷休還是停留在醞釀計劃的第一步，總之，不管構想什麼樣的畫面，為了實現這一畫面所采取的行動——旅行、結婚、犯罪等等，會使我們起深刻的變化，以致我們在自己成為旅客、丈夫、罪犯、孤獨者（後者為獲得榮譽而開始工作，但工作又使她對榮譽的渴望變得淡泊）之前構想的畫面不再重現，我們也許連想都不去想了。再說，縱然我們下定決心不肯徒勞無益，也有可能日落景象未達到預想的效果，或者到那時我們因感到寒冷而寧願在火爐邊喝湯而不想在露天品鱸魚，也可能我們的馬車絲毫未打動女出納的心，她出於別種原因本來對我們十分敬重，而我們陡然擺闊反倒引起了她的猜疑。

[火車鳴笛]

我聽到火車鳴笛的聲音，忽遠忽近，就像林中鳥兒的囀鳴，標明距離的遠近。汽笛聲中，我仿佛看見一片空曠的田野，匆匆的旅人趕往附近的車站；他走過的小路將在他的心頭留下難以磨滅的回憶，因為陌生的環境、不尋常的舉止、不久前的交談，以及在這靜謐之夜仍縈繞在他耳畔的異鄉燈下的話別，還有回家後即將享受到的溫暖，這一切使他心緒激蕩。

[火車站]

火車站幾乎不屬於城市的組成部分，但是包含著城市人格的真諦。這聖拉扎爾車站，在開了膛破了肚的城市高處，展開廣闊無垠而極不和諧的天空，戲劇性的威脅成團成堆地聚集，使天空顯得沉重……在這樣的天空下，只會完成某一可怕而又莊嚴的行動，諸如坐火車動身或豎起十字架。

[適應：醒來之後和人說話]

……說出這些話，而不是我這個處於剛剛醒來狀態的睡眠者正在繼續思考的那些話，這樣做要求我拿出平衡的力量，就像有人從一列行進的火車上跳下來，沿途跑上一段時間，最終得以站穩，沒有跌倒。他奔跑一段時間是因為他離開的是一個高速運轉的環境，與靜止的環境不同，他的腳一時難以適應。

（摘自：《追憶似水年華》[法語：À la recherche du temps perdu，英语：In Search of Lost Time: The Prisoner and the Fugitive]，[法国]馬塞爾·普魯斯特 [Marcel Proust ，1871年—1922年] 的作品，出版時間：1913–1927，共7卷）

陳明發（舒靈）1979年的詩〈夜雨〉

雨也有友善的一面
一路和和氣氣送我們
放工回家，才大發雷霆

罵孩子，時候不早了
髒兮兮的還不洗澡
不怕天气涼會感冒
說着點了燈，風中忽暗忽明
水喉開得嗶哩叭啦傾盆大泄

我們坐想雨底两面
從前是雨裏不懂得寒冷
現在，雨外響往温暖

（8.1.1979 發表于八打靈青團運同年會刊）

朵漁詩選·那就是愛

細雨中，小區窗戶的燈光漸次亮起

當他拖著疲憊的身子回到家裡

在她無休止的責備聲中

享用他的晚餐

並不知道

那就是愛。


陳明發評註：關鍵在于一句“并不知道”。朵魚這首〈那就是愛〉，使我想起自己45年前寫的〈夜雨〉。朵魚是中國“下半身”詩派前驅，素以人體器官與生理活動重口味入詩，以呈現肉身在場的境界。這詩派的存在，儀式意義多過文學價值；就像有人說他要步上尼采後塵，却只顧着四處叫喊“上帝已死”，不願在《查拉圖斯特拉如是說》之外，多讀幾本他其餘的著作。這回還是給朵魚記上了幾筆，主要因為他在〈那就是愛〉中所寫的，很接近我1979年那首〈夜雨〉的經驗。人啊，特别是現代城市人，真的是折騰于尼采所說的“永恒輪迴”：下班時段；遇上雨；天色一下子提早暗下来，燈火乍亮；匆匆穿過潮濕的空氣，回到住處，在正需要安頓下来之際，生活的不寧静却發生了......。

寫〈夜雨〉時，我二十歲，未婚。住的地方緊挨簡陋的木屋區，說話聲量大些都聽得清清楚楚，而雨水忽急忽緩，擠壓後的聲音變得很魔幻。

(續上) 21世紀起的後現代實驗文學，充分利用各類圖文符號，激活人的感知體驗、情感和認知加工；這類文學的日漸興盛也充分說明了多模態符號體認性對文學的影響。 因此，我們有必要拓寬體認語言學的外延，從廣義的符號層面，考察體認的過程；如針對後現代實驗文學的多模態組合特征，闡釋該類文學得以產生、接受、形成獨特文學樣類背後的體認機制；通過透視讀者的閱讀體驗和認知加工過程，揭示多模態文學交流背後的規律性特征。這一「多模態體認詩學」的研究路徑是對語言及其他符號體認性的有力補充，有助於更加全面立體考察語言及多模態符號交際全過程中的體認性，揭示符號的人本性、唯物性和互動性本質。

其次，豐富體認語言學的理論蘊含。體認語言學傾向於在人類群體意義上闡發體認的意義，多模態體認詩學則可以關注真實、個體讀者的體認經驗，即關注真實的沉浸於文學作品中的真實讀者，考察他們沉浸於文學自然閱讀過程中的真實體認過程。 這可以通過實證檢驗的手段得以實現。

我們可以從文本表層符號結構和讀者實際體認之間的關聯性角度，闡述多模態文學交流過程中體認的多模態性、交互性、複雜系統性。 讀者在多模態文學閱讀過程中的身體行為、多感官感知體驗及其對認知加工的影響，反映出符號接受方具有「主動而複雜的互動體驗和認知加工潛勢」（Gibbons， 2021：19）。 多模態符號之間的協同互動誘發多模態感官的聯動反應，使多模態體認具有了相當程度的「一體化」特征，正如加桑費爾等（Ghazanfar et Al． 2006： 278） 所論：「我們與世界的交互涉及一系列感官輸入，我們的感知是對世界的一體化表征。 新皮質按照使認知加工過程盡可能快速有效的方式組織起來。」多模態文學中的表征手段豐富多樣，互動方式多元，給習慣於傳統小說閱讀的讀者帶來了很大挑戰，同時也誘發了新奇的閱讀體驗。 多模態形成多感官刺激，使讀者調用多個感覺器官及其處理各自信號的神經認知系統。 在閱讀過程中，隨著多種模態符號形式的鋪展協同，讀者的「多模態感官系統」和「神經認知系統」不斷動態連接，調整變化，從而推動「體」和「認」的多維複雜聯動。 概言之，多模態體認詩學對體認的闡發考察，可以極大豐富體認的內涵，有助於我們從人類話語交際的角度更加全面闡釋和理解符號「體認」的本質和特征。

最後，推動體認語言學和詩學的交叉融合。 雖然從多模態話語交際的角度來說，語言交際和視覺交際是兩種相互獨立的符碼系統，模態或模態組構不同，所激活的認知體驗有所差異，但是從多模態體認觀出發，我們就會發現，事實上在多種符號交際的背後存在某些更深層、更抽象的符碼體認機制，如圖形—背景、概念隱喻、轉喻、概念整合等。 對此，克雷絲等（Ｋress et al．1996：188） 明確指出：「語言的信息結構與視覺中的橫向組織結構極為相近，這一點也印證了存在某種更深層、更抽象的符碼傾向，這些傾向在不同的符號模態中有不同的體現形式而已。」因此，我們不應該把圖像結構與語言結構進行簡單的機械類比，語言和圖像都是心理過程的外在符號表現形式，我們應該探尋其背後共同的心理加工機制（Gibbons，2021： 15）———體認機制。 從話語交際的實際過程來說，符號構成的文本是體認的語境，是唯物性基礎，具有誘發性，誘發交際接受方的身體反應和心理感知。

基於這一認識，多模態體認詩學應該高度重視人的視覺感知（Visual Perception）結構，理解和闡釋人的視覺感知機能（Gordon，1997； Haber et Al． 1973； Posner et al． 1997； Styles，1997），如哪些色彩與尺寸特征吸引感知者的注意力，或事物之間的相似如何使感知者把它們視為一類，視知覺調整如何影響心理的認知加工等（Gibbons，2021：16）。 基於此，通過既具體又綜合的多模態體認分析，體認語言學所闡述的「體認」性分析可以被拓展到多模態話語交際層面，拓展其應用范圍，而多模態文學交流體認的獨特性也可以反過來豐富體認語言學的理論意蘊，在更高維度上推動體認語言學和詩學的交叉融合。

3　結語

作為共同關注後現代哲學和文化思潮的兩大研究領域，體認語言學和多模態認知詩學在理論觀點和應用分析方面存在諸多相同、相通之處，如都強調符號的認知性和社會性，都強調身體體驗與認知加工的互動，都遵循「現實—認知—語言（符號）」原則，闡釋體認性。 多模態認知詩學對多模態文學交流過程中體認的多模態性、交互性、複雜系統性的論述，為體認語言學開辟了一個新視角，豐富了語言體認觀的內涵，拓展了其應用范疇。

本文提出應從拓寬體認語言學的外延、豐富體認語言學的理論蘊含、推動體認語言學和詩學的交叉融合三個方面，構建和推動「多模態體認詩學」研究。 多模態體認詩學研究不但可以從真實讀者體認角度「打破語言和圖像研究之間的藩籬」（Kress et al．1996：183），闡釋多模態文學交流的意義和價值，還可以從更深層的超越具體符碼表征機制的角度，推動體認符號學研究。 本研究從文學和語言學跨學科視野，探討人類符號交際的體認性，有助於在後現代語境下切實推動多領域的互動交流對話，踐行體認語言學的後現代主義哲學觀，推動學術研究更加多元和開放。

（原題：多模態體認詩學—基於體認語言學的研究；作者趙秀鳳&崔亞霄；原載：外國語文 [雙月刊]；2023 年9 月；第39 卷　第5期；82至92頁；作者單位： 中國石油大學 外國語學院，北京10224：9；關鍵詞：多模態認知詩學；體認語言學；多模態文學；體認詩學；參考文獻略，請看原文）

（續上）以上實例分析表明，多模態文學語篇充分運用多種模態符號，調動讀者的多維交互體驗，無論是人與符號資源在物理意義上的本體互動，還是文本內多種模態符號之間互動所引發的讀者在身體感知和心理認識之間的互動，都反映了多模態符號對讀者整體體認過程的影響。

1·3　體認的複雜系統性

從複雜動態系統理論視角來看（Complex Dynamic Systems，簡稱：CDS），在多模態文學的交流過程中，讀者的體認也呈現出複雜動態系統性特征。根據CDS理論，複雜系統具有以下突出特征：「複雜性，即構成元素和施動體豐富多樣、互動方式多元；動態性，即構成元素與施動體始終變化，互動方式亦始終在變；開放性，即新元素和施動體隨時可進入系統；非線性，即系統的整體變化不可預測，無法以變量分析法找到規律；此外，系統可具自發組織性和共適性，有時體現為相對穩定的狀態。」（單理揚，2019：94）

就多模態文學交流而言，一方面，讀者的體認具有多模態感官聯動性，另一方面，多模態文學的構成要素豐富多樣，這些都對多模態文學的理解體認過程產生直接影響，使體認本身成為一種複雜的動態系統，呈現出複雜系統的一般特征。首先，多模態文學交流的對象，文學作品本身就是一個由多個子模態符號系統構成的複雜系統，如後現代實驗小說系統往往包含圖像、圖形、頁面設計、空間佈局、字體、顏色、詞匯、語法、篇章結構、文學常規等等多個子系統。 多模態小說尤其是後現代實驗文學達到了高度的形式自覺，大量運用元小說和互文指涉手段、彰顯實體性、創新文本排版形式等。 吉本斯（Gibbons， 2021： 2） 把這種形式自覺在符號上的主要體現概括為以下八類：存在明顯的文本佈局和頁面設計；排印方式多樣，在文字和圖像中運用色彩；類似於具象詩，把文本文字具象化；使用包括元小說寫作在內的多種手段；吸引讀者關注文本的物質屬性；使用腳注和其他形式傳遞自我質疑；使用翻頁書技巧設計部分章節；混合使用多種文學樣類，包括文學創作風格上的混搭，如恐怖，也包括視覺效果的混搭，如剪報和劇本對白。 每個子系統之間相互聯系，相互制約，表征和建構小說世界，創建文學意義。

其次，讀者個體也可以看作一個高度複雜的動態系統，對多模態符號的閱讀理解過程本身也受個體、社會、認知、文化和環境等多因素的影響。 如在識讀魯賓（Robin） 的花瓶圖像（圖4：）時，某人可能第一眼傾向於解讀為「看到了一個置於白色背景的黑色花瓶」，而另一個人則解讀為「黑色背景下的兩張白色面孔」；「圖像閱讀並沒有線性結構的強制要求，即讀者具有主體性選擇，當然即使有個體差異，在特定社會文化群體中，也一定有規律性體驗閱讀路徑」（Gibbons，2021：14：）。 因此，他們又都可以在這兩種解讀之間任意切換，體現了讀者體驗的個體性差異。
圖4：　魯賓的花瓶圖像（吉本斯，2021：35，源自 Rubin， 1958／1915：201）

多模態文學交流是一個多要素相互作用的系統，文學構成要素和認知主體要素的多樣性和動態變化性，使文學意義的理解和體悟過程本身也呈現出複雜動態系統特征，多模態符號系統內部諸要素與讀者的多模態感官系統及認知系統之間存在「競爭、互補、對立和適應等多種交錯疊加的互動關係」（曾小燕，2017：35）。

在真實交際活動中，體認的複雜動態性既體現於讀者與文學作品及其環境之間的互動，又存在於讀者個體多種素質和能力的互動，多維互動在多模態文學符號的誘發下呈現出高度的動態性和自組織性。例如，當讀者翻開多模態小說《書頁之屋》，讀到的開篇之句是「This is not For you」（這不是為你寫的）（Daniele Wski， 2000： ix）。 該句的否定語法結構 「not」和指向故事外讀者的第二人稱代詞「you」，都令讀者感到某種「不適」，該句似乎在實施一種禁止性言語行為，阻止讀者進入小說世界。 這顯然違背小說常規，與讀者固有閱讀體驗及打開小說的閱讀衝動和欲望之間形成直接衝突，令讀者感到「認知失調」（Cognitive dissonance）。 事實上，作者是「希望借此激將法誘使讀者深入閱讀」（Gibbons， 2021： 51）。 「失調給人帶來心理不適感，會促使人們努力減少不適，達到協調。」（Festinger， 1957： 3）當人們的行為和認知發生衝突時，內心急求緩解這種失調的願望便會異常強烈（Gibbons， 2021：53），因此，讀到這句阻止性否定句後，讀者反而往往會做出「認知對抗」（Cognitive reactance）反應，即產生強烈的反抗心理，就會反其道而行之。 可見，常規、語言、讀者的閱讀欲望、心理預期及其個體心理調整適應等多要素聯動，相互作用與制衡。 該句的閱讀理解過程——從體會到符號意義表層上的被排斥，經認知對抗，做出逆反性繼續閱讀行為——充分體現了體認的動態性、複雜性和自組織性，是多種子系統連接互動的結果。此外，該句單獨構成一頁，位於按照常規應該是獻詞頁的位置，這一空間位置本身又形成了激活文學常規的符號要素，與文學作品的語類結構及其相應的閱讀常規圖式形成聯動關係，直接影響閱讀個體的體驗和認知，以及隨之產生的對抗認知反應。

2　走向多模態體認詩學

綜上所述，「多模態體認觀」拓寬了「語言體認觀」的適用視域。 多模態文學實例表明，語言符號具有認知性、社會性和文化性，多模態符號更是如此；多模態符號的協同、組合、應用更涉及身體體驗和認知加工的循環互動。 多模態文學交流也遵循「現實—認知—符號」這一核心原則，也大量啟用圖形－背景、意象圖式、概念隱喻等體認機制。 因此，我們可以說，體認語言學理論為我們闡釋多模態文學的交流過程提供了強有力的理論工具。 我們可以通過拓展體認語言學的應用范疇，從多模態符號的體認性出發，闡釋讀者與文學作品之間的互動體驗，推動「多模態體認詩學」研究。 筆者

認為可以從以下三個方面展開：

首先，拓寬體認語言學的外延。 體認語言學側重從語言生產角度論述體認的作用，闡述「現實—認知—符號」三者之間的關係。 作為揭示語言人本性的體認語言學，理應從語言產生的一般規律出發探討本源問題，但事實上人類用於交際的所有符號都具有體認性特征。(下續)

在文字和視覺模態的協同作用下，讀者「多模態器官」體驗且認識到身體與書籍之間不僅是概念上的跨域映射關係，也是自己身體和心理互動體驗下的「合二為一」。 這一實例完美地揭示了多模態文學對多模態體認的「前景化」調用，突出了體認的多模態性。

1·2 體認的交互性

體認語言學在闡述其核心原則「現實—認知—語言」時，格外強調體認的「互動性」：一是人通過對外部現實世界（包括自然、社會、文化等）直接感性接觸所產生的互動體驗，二是人在外界感性接觸基礎上進行的認知加工。 從「體的互動體驗」到「認的認知加工」，再返回到體驗，循環升華 （王寅，2020: 22）。 從語言的產生、語言的發展到語言的習得都是以人的體認為基礎的（林正軍 等，2021），「現實」「認知」和「語言」之間的互動推動了語言的產生和使用。 體認語言學在闡釋各類語言現象時所使用的理論工具，如概念隱喻、認知參照點、意象圖式、理想認知模型、識解等都是圍繞人與世界的互動展開的理論闡述，都強調人與人、人與自然互動過程中身體感知覺體驗的規律性特征對於語言符號的產生、表達和理解的作用。 例如，王寅（2020）結合大量實例，闡述了隱藏在歇後語背後統一的體認型式：歇後語的前項描寫人較為直觀的感性生活體驗，後項揭示由該體驗所引發的認識，「反映了人們從『感性到理性』，從『具體到抽象』，從『外延到內涵』，從『參照點到目標』，從『明示到推理』，從『背景到圖形』，從『表層到深層』（由表及裡）的體認過程」 （王寅，2020:2）。

體認語言學關於互動性的論述主要闡釋語言產生和使用的規律性特征。 其實，體認的互動性理論能更充分地闡釋讀者在閱讀多模態文學過程中的身心交互特征，如多模態小說VAS中第139頁末端的文字為（「Still, it moves」）在排版上顛倒了文字的方向（圖2）。

圖2　VAS（Tomasula， 2002： 139）節選

要識讀這些文字，讀者必須把書旋轉過來。 這種設計配合該部分表達的主題———宇宙的本質一直處於運動之中，呼應該句「一直在動」的語義，因為讀者必須做出翻轉書本的身體行為，才能讀到「一直在動」這句話。 在該情況下，讀者的身體機能與語言對行為的觸發雙向互動，「執行一個動作有助於理解包含行為動詞的修辭短語和文學短語」（Gibbs，2005：88）。 因此，讀者翻動圖書的身體動作同時啟動了「移動／運動」這一概念，使讀者得以身心協同體驗「移動／運動」，加深對「一直在動」這句話的理解。 此外，該頁配有眾多箭頭和線條組織成的旋轉圖像，視覺、行為動作、感知和文字理解多路徑協同，創造關於宇宙旋轉移動的感性體驗和理性認知。

關於身心體認及其與世界的互動，認知科學家萊德曼（Lederman） 和克萊茨 （Kiatzy）曾指出：

「人們使用觸覺系統來感知真實物體和虛擬物體同時存在的世界，並與其進行互動。」（2001：71）同樣，馬克斯（Marks，2002：2）也指出：「我們正是通過協同觸覺、動覺和本體感受，才同時在閱讀書籍的過程中獲得身體感知和內心體驗。」從這一意義來說，通過調動讀者的身體與書本在實體意義上的直接接觸，VAS成功激活並強化了讀者的交互性體認。 體認的交互性還體現為讀者與人物之間的「協同共振」。 與常規文字小說不同，多模態小說往往借助多模態符號，頻繁調動讀者對故事世界的身體參與，這一點在敘述人物行為動作時，表現得尤為突出。 例如，在《書頁之屋》第4：0⁃：4：1頁，作者通過排版（見圖3）設計出如具象詩般的文字，描述人物戴維森（Davison）攀爬探險的行為過程：

圖3《書頁之屋》（DanieleWski，2000： 4：00） 節選

戴維森步伐緩慢，但是十分堅定，雙手交互爬行上了梯子……他仍然繼續攀爬，最終他的堅持不懈有了回報，爬行了大概半個小時後，他終於爬完了梯子的最後一根。 幾秒鐘過後，他站在一個非常……（DanieleWski， 2000： 4：00；吉本斯，2021：58）

顯然，這段文字被排列為一個梯子的形狀，從底部一行開始，每個橫檔錯落排開，在空白周邊的映襯下，深黑色字體形成的橫檔越發突顯，如同一架梯子斜依在牆上。 文字的排列順序和空間擺放方式，決定了讀者的閱讀方向和順序：自下而上，從左到右，這一順序與人物的攀爬動作一致———從低到高。 可以說，讀者在視覺符號的引導下，眼睛緊隨人物攀爬的動作，拾級而上，與人物「亦步亦趨」，一起「攀爬」。 梯子橫檔一級級向上，迫使眼睛不時穿過空白處，形成視覺跳躍（Gibbons，2021：60）。 眼睛發揮「動能閉合」（Kinetic occiusion）作用，戴維森「不斷換手」攀爬梯子。 從側面來看，當他在前面的那只手抓到高一級橫檔時，後面的手便跟著向前，這個動作類似於眼睛的動能閉合———讀完一段文字後，空白處便進入眼簾。 該例同時充分體現了兩類互動：讀者的身心互動及讀者與人物的協同共振。 當然，這種雙維互動的前提是多模態符號對讀者體認感知的誘發性潛勢。 從一般抽象意義來說，是不同模態之間的符號互動激發了讀者的身心互動及讀者與人物的互動。

正如吉布斯（Gibbons，2005： 66⁃67）所言：「認知是身體與物理／文化世界互動的產物。 思維並不是存在於人的身體內部，而是存在於大腦、身體、世界……交織形成的網絡。 『涉身』就是指大腦、身體和物理／文化環境之間的動態交互。」約翰遜（Johnson，1987：5）也指出：「我們所認識的現實由以下因素所塑造：身體運動型式、時空定位軌跡、我們與物體的互動形式；它絕不僅僅是抽象的概念和命題判斷。」為此，吉本斯（Gibbons，2021：4：2） 強調：「既然涉身是人類理解和體驗的奠基之本，那麼我們似乎可以做出這樣的邏輯推演：身體在閱讀中的參與度越多，閱讀就越有意義，影響就越深遠。」（下續）

(續上)「體認的人本觀決定體認的多模態本質。」（黃萍等，2021:118）正如顧曰國（2013:3 ）所言：「人類在正常情況下跟外部世界（包括人與人之間） 的互動都是多模態的。」由視覺、聽覺、觸覺、嗅覺、味覺組成的多模態感官系統參與到人體察世界的過程中，形成人與世界的多模態互動體驗，經由認知系統的認知加工，形成理性認識（顧曰國，2015）。

這一過程說明體認本身蘊含多模態性，體認是多模態感官系統和認知系統互動的產物。 有學者指出：「語言的產生和使用是基於『多模態感官系統』的『互動體驗』與基於『認知系統』的『認知加工』進行互動的結果。」（黃萍 等，2021:118）事實上，多模態互動體認不限於語言的產生和使用，而是體現於人類話語交際的全過程。 在實際的話語交際過程中，交際雙方往往是多感官協同參與，並不斷互動。 多模態感官的協同聯動不但刺激產生互動感知體驗，而且誘發對意義的認知加工升華。

人類交際過程的「多模態」性，不僅體現於面對面交際中的身體姿勢、手勢、聲音、語調、表情，還體現在書面交際中的字體、排版、顏色、物質性媒介等多模態特征。 也就是說，在實際交際過程中，多模態既是人類用於交際的符號手段，又是人類多種感官協同參與的體認通道。 正是基於這一認識，我們認為有必要探討多模態交際的體認性特征，豐富體認語言學的理論體系，拓展其應用范疇。

在這一方面，多模態認知詩學先行一步，結合後現代實驗文學的多模態特征，進行了開創性研究。 吉本斯運用認知－敘事學研究路徑（Cognitive⁃narratological Approach），不但把模態視為表意資源，還把不同表意系統所誘發的多感官感知、體驗和認知方式納入研究視野，她所建構的多模態認知詩學綜合性分析框架旨在剖析闡釋多模態文學交流的體認過程。 當然，多模態體認過程研究的前提是認知詩學的基本主張———文學是「人類經驗的一種具體形式」（Gavinsetal，2003：1），「文學研究可向我們揭示認知實踐，借此我們不但可以閱讀文學作品，還可以感知和理解世界」 （Gibbons，2021：26）。 多模態認知詩學認為「人們不僅通過語言，而且也通過視覺、聽覺和心理等其他方式接觸世界」 （Gibbons， 2021：38），因此，多模態認知詩學把研究焦點確定為讀者對多模態進行理解和體驗的複雜動態過程，並運用科學的方法對該過程進行動態描述。

多模態文學傾向於突出符號的物質性和意義理解的多模態性，往往通過調動讀者的身體參與，誘發和強化心理體驗。 因此，多模態文學的認知研究高度關注讀者在字體、排版、圖像形狀、顏色、佈局等視覺因素的刺激或操控下作出的行為反應或注意力變化。 如吉本斯（Gibbons，2021：4：5） 運用圖形－背景理論，解釋眼睛如何在一個視域內部或跨視域之間移動。 「在閱讀視覺語篇時，意義的理解尤其需要閱讀路徑的動態調整」（Gibbons，2021：25），眼睛在閱讀文本中的移動路徑是在視覺結構誘發下人所做出的主體性反應，如圖1（見下頁）。

讀者在閱讀到該頁時，會主動做出選擇，調整閱讀路徑。 在《書頁之屋》這一多模態小說中，有很多類似的視覺操控手段，調動和激發讀者的閱讀行為，讀者需要根據對故事世界的理解自動調整閱讀順序，甚至需要手動調整書頁的方向，這類設計突出了圖書作為閱讀對象的物理屬性，賦予讀者更多自主性，可以自行選擇閱讀順序和路徑。 這種在物理行為上的「身體」介入，往往會誘發讀者心理上的自我投射（Projection）、自我暗示（self-implication）、情感或認知反應（emotional response）（Gibbons， 2021： 27），從而直接影響讀者對故事世界的體驗和認知。 再如，在托馬蘇拉（Tomasｕia）小說《Vas： 平地上的歌劇》（VAS： An Opera in Fiatland： A Novel，文後簡稱：VAS）中，作者通過排版設計等視覺化手段使符號的物質性被高度前景化，調動讀者的身體器官實施相應行為（趙秀鳳，2021： xiii），如翻頁、調整書本方向、調控閱讀視角等行為反應。 由此，讀者直接參與敘事進程，從而「高度彰顯了讀者在文本體驗過程中的涉身參與性」「強化閱讀、存在、認知和想象等過程的涉身本質」 （趙秀鳳，2021： xiii）。

圖1　《書頁之屋》（Daniele Wski，2000:133）節選

多模態小說VAS中的主題隱喻是運用多模態符號調動多感官參與，彰顯動態性體認的典型實例。 該部小說以多種方式反復建構和表征一個主題隱喻［人類是書籍］。 一方面，這一隱喻體現為故事內聚焦人物感知覺的語言表達。 如主人公「四邊形」（小說中主人公的名字）把手術視為「對自己身體的改寫」（Tomasula， 2002： 193） 和「一次簡單的編輯」 （Tomasula， 2002: 312），以下段落更清晰地表征了人物感知和認知域中的［人體—書籍隱喻］：

四邊形（小說內主人公的名字）停下了筆，看了看指尖的渦紋，這些由線構成的巧妙圖像是祖祖輩輩，世世代代，甚至是經過125，000 代追溯到類人猿時期傳承下來的，它可以由AGCT四個基本字母來表示，這四個字母又可以構成單詞GAT、ATA、AGG，然後這些單詞構成了基因的雙螺旋句子，進而填充細胞內染色體，最後由這些細胞構成軀體這本書。 （Tomasula，2002:312；吉本斯，2021:80）

該段中關於身體的醫學術語「雙螺旋、基因、染色體、細胞」與關於書籍／寫作的常用詞語「句子、文章、書籍」整合編織在一起，最後直接用「軀體這本書」更加顯性表征［書籍—身體隱喻］。 另一方面，該書還刻意創建物理相似性，激活讀者的視知覺感知，親身體會「書籍」域與「身體域」的整合：封面主色調為桃紅色，數條藍灰色橫線隱約穿插而過，隱喻皮膚及皮下靜脈；書頁以肉色為主，其中的文本和圖片漸變為紅色、黑色和米黃色，使整本書的視覺構造仿佛人的軀體，隨著讀者閱讀的深入（即人的年齡的增大），皮膚日漸失去光澤，佈滿皺紋。(下續)

趙秀鳳·崔亞霄：多模態體認詩學—基於體認語言學的研究

摘要：本文把多模態文學的認知研究置於體認語言學理論視域，考察多模態文學交流的體認性特征，提出構建和推動「多模態體認詩學」的研究設想。 多模態文學的認知研究結合具體文學作品揭示了多模態文學交流過程的多維體認特征。一方面，多模態文學符號也與語言符號一樣，具有認知性、社會性和文化性，其交流過程也涉及身體體驗和認知加工的循環互動；另一方面，多模態文學交流過程中的體認特征也體現出一定的獨特性，即體認的多模態性、多維交互性和複雜系統性。 為此，本文提出應從拓寬體認語言學的外延、豐富體認語言學的理論蘊含、推動體認語言學和詩學的交叉融合三個方面，推動「多模態體認詩學」研究。 本研究從文學和語言學跨學科視野，探討人類符號交際的體認性，有助於在後現代語境下切實推動多領域的互動交流對話，踐行體認語言學的後現代主義哲學觀，推動學術研究的開放多元。

近年來，在歐美興起了一種新的文學研究動向———多模態認知詩學研究，從認知的角度考察多種模態協同表征的文學的交流過程和效果。 這一研究動向由以英國謝菲爾德大學艾莉森·吉本斯（Alison Gibbons）為代表的一批學者推動，他們把研究對象從純文字小說拓展到運用多種模態符號創作的各類文學如後現代實驗文學（Page，2009；Gibbons，2012；Caracciolo，2014：）。 該研究動向關注語言和非語言符號協同構成的多模態實驗文學對讀者認知體驗和接受產生的影響，反過來，也考察讀者的認知體驗對後現代實驗文學創作發揮的制約性作用，即關注多模態文學與讀者之間的互動體驗。

多種模態符號協同互動所創建的文學作品對讀者的常規閱讀圖式，包括感知體驗、認知解讀、理解和情感反應，都帶來了新的改變或挑戰，其突出特點就是後現代多模態文學高度彰顯文學作品自身的物質性、互文指涉、排版的新奇性等，對讀者在文學體驗過程中的涉身參與提出了新要求。

不同於傳統純文字小說，多模態小說不但需要讀者想象性參與虛構小說故事世界，而且需要切實調動身體器官實施相應行為，需要不斷在小說創建的文本世界和作者及讀者所在的話語世界之間穿插切換，這種新型文學交流得以順暢進行的前提正是多模態符號的體認性。

正是基於對後現代實驗文學多模態交互體認特征的認識，吉本斯於2012年出版了《多模態認知詩學和實驗文學》（Multimodality， Cognition， And Experimental Literature）一書，整合認知語言學、神經認知科學、視覺感知、多模態符號學等多領域研究成果，強調沿用廣義認知原則，如多感官感知原則、涉身體驗原則等，探究多模態敘事對讀者敘事體驗和情感反應的影響。 在該書中，吉本斯以四部後現代實驗小說為例，詳細闡述了讀者的閱讀感知體驗。 之後，吉本斯沿用這一研究路徑，發表了系列研究成果（Brayetal 2012； Gibbons，2016； Gibbons，2021），使多模態認知詩學成為文學認知研究領域的後起之秀。

縱觀已有的多模態認知詩學研究，筆者發現無論其理論闡述還是應用實踐都與王寅（2014：）提出的「體認語言學」（Embodied-Cognitive Linguistics，簡稱：ECL）的核心觀點不謀而合。 本文意在基於體認語言學的理論視域，梳理並考察多模態認知詩學闡述的多模態體認觀，加強兩個不同研究領域之間的互動，進一步推動文學和語言學研究在「後現代哲學」語境下的「同堂對話」 （賈娟 等，2020： 32），豐富「體認」內涵，拓展體認語言學的應用范疇，推動構建「多模態體認詩學」。

另一方面來看，體認語言學（王寅，2014：）無論是在理論建構，還是個案分析及應用方面，都得到了蓬勃發展。 體認語言學對語言的各個層面都展示出了強大的闡釋力，如轉喻（魏在江，2019）、指類句（雷卿，2019）、兼語構式 （劉雲飛，2019）、名謂句 （帖伊 等，2019）、虛擬位移 （張克定，2020）、歇後語（王寅，2020） 等。 筆者認為，體認語言學不但精確概括了語言的本質，其基本觀點和核心原則對其他社會符號也有強大的闡釋力。 例如，在特定社會文化語境中，人們用於社會交往的各類手勢、視覺符號乃至聲音，更是在人與現實世界體驗互動和認知加工過程中形成的，兼具認知性和社會性。 之所以能夠進入社會交際，正是因為這類對複雜現實進行簡約性表征的非語言符號也是「來自人與人、人與自然的互動，來自人對這些互動的體驗和認知加工」 （牛保義，2021：28）。

正是在這層意義上，我們贊同王銘鈺等（2021）的主張，應把體認語言學上升為「體認符號學」，有必要結合多種符號組合和應用實例，闡述「體認」在更廣泛符號層面的普遍意義和價值。

基於以上考慮，本文試圖結合已有研究，從多模態文學交流的體認特征入手，闡述借鑑體認語言學的核心理論和方法，針對多模態文學的語類特征，推動「多模態體認詩學」研究。

1.多模態文學交流的體認特征

1.1 體認的多模態性

王寅（2014）在認知語言學涉身體驗基礎上，結合中國傳統哲學和後現代哲學的基本立場，提出了語言意義的「體認觀」，將其哲學立場命名為「體認哲學」，強調「人本性」和「唯物論」的辯證統一。

體認觀一方面堅持了喬姆斯基和認知語言學從人的心智角度研究語言的基本取向 （王銘玉等，2021： 2），另一方面又與後現代哲學的人本主義立場一脈相承，突出強調語言和語言研究中的人本性（賈娟等，2020：33），主張語言研究必須強調人對現實世界進行的體驗（王寅，2014： 61⁃67） ，因此，體認哲學觀更加全面綜合，更接近人類語言交際的現實。

（原題：多模態體認詩學—基於體認語言學的研究；作者趙秀鳳&崔亞霄；原載：外國語文 [雙月刊]；2023 年9 月；第39 卷　第5期；82至92頁；作者單位： 中國石油大學 外國語學院，北京10224：9；關鍵詞：多模態認知詩學；體認語言學；多模態文學；體認詩學；參考文獻略，請看原文）

伍爾芙·密封的容器～～她凝視那穩定的光芒、那冷酷無情的光芒，它和她如此相像，又如此不同，要不是還有她所有那些思想，它會使她俯首聽命（她半夜醒來，看見那光柱曲折地穿越他們的床鋪，照射到地板上），她著迷地、被催眠似地凝視著它，好像它要用它銀光閃閃的手指輕觸她頭腦中一些密封的容器，這些容器一旦被打開，就會使她周身充滿了喜悅，她曾經體驗過幸福，美妙的幸福，強烈的幸福，而那燈塔的光，使洶湧的波濤披上了銀裝，顯得稍爲明亮，當夕陽的餘晖褪盡，大海也失去了它的藍色，純粹是檸檬色的海浪滾滾而來，它翻騰起伏，拍擊海岸，浪花四濺；狂喜陶醉的光芒，在她眼中閃爍，純潔喜悅的波濤，湧入她的心田，而她感覺到：這已經足夠了！已經足夠了！（摘自：弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙：到燈塔去 27）

[椴樹]

椴樹的芳香仿佛是一種只有付出勞而無當的代價才能得到的報償。

[汽油味]

猶如風在逐漸增大，樓下駛過一輛汽車，我聽之異常高興。我問道了汽油味。善於挑剔的人會覺得，空氣中飄蕩著汽油味，是一大遺憾（他們是一些講究實際的人，在他們看來，這氣味把鄉村的空氣搞糟了）。另有一些思想家，也是一些講究實際的人。當然他們有他們自己的方式，他們注重事實，認為如果人類的眼睛能看到更多的色彩，鼻孔能辨別更多的香味，那麼人類就會更加幸福，就將富有更濃的詩意，這其實不過等於說，不穿僧袍，換上豪華套裝，生活就會更加美麗，這不過是將天真無知套上哲學外衣而已。對於我來說，這汽油味卻是另一回事（與此相仿，樟腦和香根草，其香型本身並不好聞，卻使我激動，它喚起我對到達巴爾貝克的當天那湛藍大海的回憶）。在我去古維爾的拉埃斯聖約翰教堂的日子裡，這氣味和著機器噴冒的黑煙，曾多少次消散於蒼白的藍天；多少個夏日的午後，阿爾貝蒂娜畫畫，是它隨我出門溜達。現在我身臥暗室，這氣味又在在身邊吹開了矢車菊、麗春花和車軸草。它如田野的芬芳，使我陶醉；它不像山楂樹前的馥香，受其濃烈成分的牽制，固定在山楂樹籬前的范圍內，不能向遠處飄發。它是四處飄揚的芳香，大路聞之奔馳，土地聞之改樣，宮殿紛紛跑來迎客，天空大放晴朗；它使力量倍增，它是動力騰飛的象征……

僅僅是過去的某個時刻嗎？也許還遠遠不止。某個東西，它同時為過去和現在所共有，比過去和現在都本質得多。在我生命到歷程中，現實曾多少次使我失望，因為在我感知它到時候，我的想像力，這唯一使我得以享用美的手段無法與之適應。我們只能呢個想像不在眼前的事物，這是一條不可回避的法則。而現在，這條嚴峻的法則因為自然使出的一個絕招而失去和中止了它的效力。這個絕招使某種感覺——餐廳或鐵鎚敲打的聲音、相同的書名等等——同時在過去和現在發出誘人的光彩。它既使我的想像力領略到這種感覺，又使我的感官因為聲音，因為布料的接觸等等而產生確實的震動，為想像的夢幻補充了它們通常所缺少的東西，存在的意識，而且，幸虧有這一手，使我的生命在瞬息之間能夠取得、分離出和固定它從未體會的東西：一段出於純淨狀態的時光。……此時復蘇的那個生命只從事物的本質汲取養料，也唯有在事物的本質中他才能獲得自己的養分、他的歡樂。他在現時的觀察中日趨衰弱，現時的感官不可能為他提供本質；他在對過去的思考中日趨衰弱，理智擠干了這個過去的水分；他在未來的期待中日趨衰弱，主觀意願用現在和過去的片段拼湊成這個未來，它還抽去其中部分真實，只保留其中符合功利主義的結局、狹隘的認的結局，意願為它們指定的結局。然而，通常隱蔽的和永遠存在的事物本質上一旦獲釋，我們真正的我，有時仿佛久已死亡實際上卻並非全然死去的我，在收受到為他奉獻的絕世養料時，蘇醒、活力漸增，曾經聽到過的某個聲音或者聞到過的一股氣味立即會被重新聽到或聞到，既存在於現在，又存在於過去，現實而非現時，理想而不抽象。逾越時間序列的一分鐘為了使我們感覺到這一分鐘，在我們身上重新鑄就越出時間序列的人。而這個人，我們知道他對自己的歡樂是有信心的，即使一塊馬德萊娜點心的普普通通的滋味邏輯上似乎並不包含著這種歡樂的全部理由，我們知道「死亡」這個詞對他是沒有意義的；既然已處於時間之外，前途中又有什麼能使他感到害怕呢？

（摘自：《追憶似水年華》[法語：À la recherche du temps perdu，英语：In Search of Lost Time: The Prisoner and the Fugitive]，[法国]馬塞爾·普魯斯特 [Marcel Proust ，1871年—1922年] 的作品，出版時間：1913–1927，共7卷）

（con't from above）Metaphors have a spatial logic, they connect a thing which is present in the poem to something which is absent outside of it. In doing this the absent thing becomes present. The inside is connected to the outside. Using metaphor means seeing one thing as another – a form of understanding that is “fundamentally spatial in organization” (Zwicky 2003, § 3). This spatiality is one which is not bounded and singular but, instead, one which makes a connection, or, as Jan Zwicky puts it. “a linguistic
short-circuit.”

Non-metaphorical ways of speaking conduct meaning, in insulated carriers, to certain ends and purposes. Metaphors shave off the insulation and meaning arcs across the gap (Zwicky 2003, § 68).
The place which is a poem has both the meanings which lie within the boundaries marked by the presence of type, and the meanings that this type connects to. The text of the poem is both a neat, closed entity and a set of links to what lies beyond.

It is in this sense that the metaphor formulas a=b and a≠b simultaneously recognizes the inherent qualities of what lies within the poem and the connections to what lies without.

A metaphor can appear to be a gesture of healing – it pulls a stitch through the rift that our  capacity for language opens between us and the world. A metaphor is an explicit refusal of the idea that the distinctness of things is their fundamental ontological characteristic.

But their distinctness is one of their most fundamental ontological characteristics (the other being their interpenetration and connectedness). In this sense, a metaphor heals nothing – there is nothing to be healed (Zwicky 2003, § 59).

Metaphor works on the dual capacity to recognize the concrete unity of the assemblage of things that lies before us and to insist on their connectedness to a world beyond. Things (and the assemblages of things which are places) are both distinct (in that there is no other assemblage exactly like this one) and connected (things are always interconnected). Metaphor allows us to be near to things, in the way both a poet and a phenomenologist insist on, and to recognize a constitutive outside. This outside is also a world of things, practices and meanings that can be drawn upon to recognize the specificity of ‘here’.

5 Conclusion

In this essay I have developed a basis for topopoetics – a way of reading poetry that uses spatial thinking to interpret the work a poem does. This is distinct from an analysis of poems about place – or the poetics of sense of place. While it is clear than many poets evoke place in their poetry and that geography may be one of the few constants in the history of English language poetry, it is also the case that poems are kinds of places and they enact a form of dwelling. Indeed, it was poetry that
inspired much of Heidegger’s thinking about place and dwelling. Topopoetics insists on the active nature of spatial thinking in the process of interpretation. Place and space are not just setting or subject but are, rather, woven into the fabric of poetic making itself. I have made a start to outlining topopoetics through reference to the role of blank space, stasis and flux and inside and outside in order to show how spatiality is implicated in the process of meaning making. This, in turn, becomes a tool in relating the poem to the places the poem is about.

（Towards Topopoetics: Space, Place and the Poem，Tim Cresswell，© Springer International Publishing AG 2017 B.B. Janz (ed.), Place, Space and Hermeneutics, Contributions to Hermeneutics 5, Pg.319-331，See discussions, stats, and author profiles for this publication at: https://www.researchgate.net）

(Con't) Stanza means ‘room’, ‘station’ or ‘stopping place’ and refers to blocks of black separated by white on the page. These are rooms we pass between surrounded by outside. Stanzas found their way into written poetry through the act of memoriz ing verse. Rooms, or stopping places, are memorized and filled with words that would be activated by an imagined walk through the rooms. While stanzas are clearly places to stop – they are also clearly linked by movement. Movement also occurs within the stanzas as we follow the lines of text.

The word ‘verse’ comes from the practice of tilling the soil – agriculture – the root of ‘culture’. It is rooted in the Latin versus, meaning a ‘furrow’ or a ‘turning of the plow’. As the farmer (or farm worker) tills the soil they come to an edge, turn around, then make their way back, pacing out the day. Verse can thus be found in ‘reverse’. These two ideas – stanza – as a block of bounded space and verse as an action – a form of practice that brings those blocks alive and reminds us that they are only there because of move ment – these two ideas describe something of the geography of the poem as the interplay of fixity and flux of being and becoming.

Poetry is often referred to as freezing time. In fact, many kinds of representation are said to freeze time (and thus, in some circles, representation has become deeply suspect) (Anderson and Harrison 2010). In poetry’s case, this could not be further from the truth. Poetry, to me, is a mobile form related to walking and, indeed, ploughing and reversing. This sense of mobile journeying in the poem is part of the topological understanding of the poem on the page.

Perec knew this: I write: I inhabit my sheet of paper, I invest it, I travel across it, I incite blanks, spaces (jumps in the meaning, discontinuities, transitions, changes of key) (Perec 1997, 3) with place starts from a recognition of an original encounter which is “singular and situated”. The more the poem can reflect this situated singularity the more faithful it will be to the place that lies beyond it. But it would be wrong to think of the ‘concrete unity’ of place as a pure, bounded entity with no relation to a world (even an abstract world) beyond it. Places always point to a world beyond them, and so do poems.

One way in which the place of the poem opens up to its outside is through metaphor. Metaphor is another component of poetics that has a spatial root in travel. Metaphor comes from the Greek metaphorá (μεταφορά ) for ‘transfer’ or ‘carryover’.

In modern Athens, the vehicles of mass transportation are called metaphorai. To go to work or come home, one takes a “metaphor” – a bus or a train. Stories could also take this noble name: every day, they traverse and organize places; they select and link them together; they make sentences and itineraries out of them. They are spatial trajectories (de Certeau 1984, 115).

Metaphors perform two operations simultaneously – they say a equals band, at the same time, a does not equal b. Just saying a is the same as b is not metaphorical.

For a metaphor to be a metaphor a has to also be different from b. The more different they are the more powerful the metaphor. This is true as long a and b are not so different that they are not, in fact, similar in any way.

Poems speak to things which lie outside the poem. Clearly the poem has a referential function – like all language. It is about something. But even if we include the things the poem directly names on the inside of the poem, there is yet another set of things that are not directly named but instead gestured towards. In this way the poem opens up to the world. We have seen how one of the features of place is the way in which it gathers things.

A place is a unique assemblage. The things that constitute a place often appear to us as specific to that place even if they have, in fact, travelled from else where. Things form a particular topography of place at the same time as their jour neys link the inside of a place to elsewhere. Poetry is one way in which we stop and wonder at the specificity of the way things appear to us in place.

Poetry involves being attentive to things and the way I which they are gathered. Poetry is an ‘encounter with the world’. No matter the changes in Heidegger’s philosophical vocabulary, a key point around which his thinking constantly turns is the idea that thinking arises, and can only arise, out of our original encounter with the world – an encounter that is always singular and situated, in which we encounter ourselves as well as the world, and in which what first appears is not something abstract or fragmented, but rather the things themselves, as things, in their con crete unity (Malpas 2012b, 14).

This insistence on the specificity of ‘things themselves’ is one way we can think about poetic attention. A poetic concern ground that appears relatively static. This movement, in a poem, is expressed with direction words such as “over” or “in” or “towards”. Topopoetics challenges some of the assumptions of the figure/ground equation. As place is most often equated with ground it tends to have a degree of deadness associated with it. It seems less important.

Topopoetics draws our attention to the opposite – the active presence of place in the poem. Another key term in cognitive poetics is “image schema” which refers to “loca tive expressions of place” (Stockwell 2002, 16). Stockwell gives the examples of “JOURNEY, CONTAINER, CONDUIT, UP/DOWN, FRONT/BACK, OVER/ UNDER, INTO/OUT OF”. Terms of mobility catch our attention and urge us to continue reading – static elements are frankly boring and we quickly forget them. The difference between the moving elements and static elements produces literary and cognitive effects. But even before any particular word is written or read we have the poem – the lines that form a shape in space. As we read left to right and top to bottom against the white space a figure forms over ground. A passage is enacted. Stuff happens.

Poems are made out of arrangements of type and blank space – figure and ground in a physical, pre-verbal sense. I am not sure what the cognitive content of this patterning is but it is surely important to poetry – even before the specifics of actual words and their meanings. This is the start of the geography of the poem. There are two spatial metaphors at work in the basic language of poetry that point towards the way a poem is an act of dwelling: these are the words ‘stanza’ and ‘verse’.

Something has to appear for space to emerge. Georges Perec makes this clear: This is how space begins, with words only, signs traced on the blank page. To describe space: to name it, to trace it, like those portolano-makers who saturated the coastlines with the names of harbours, the names of capes, the names of inlets, until in the end the land was only separated from the sea by a continuous ribbon of text (Perec 1997, 13).

Perec’s book, Species of Spaces is a catalogue of spaces and places with chapters devoted to “The Apartment”, “The Street” and “The Town” for instance. The first chapter, though, is “The Page”. The page is immediately equivalent to spaces we may more easily think of as the world beyond the page.

The page and its markings are not removed from, and about, the world – they are of the world. In this chapter Perec outlines the nature of a topopoetics in simple terms. Writing, particularly writing poems, is the production of space and place.

It is a cartographic act that combines senses of home and journey. The process of writing creates coordinates – a top and a bottom, left and right, beginning and end. In amongst the words are pauses and hesitations. There is a poetic topological correspondence between the poem and the place it is about. In Peter Stockwell’s account of ‘cognitive poetics’ a key idea is the notion of f igure/ground – the notion that some things appear to be more important, more fluid, more foregrounded while others remain as background and setting (and thus seem ingly less important) (Stockwell 2002).

The first is figure and the second is ground. The figure is prominent and the ground is not. This occurs most obviously in the way characters are more important than the places they are in in novels. Description is often about ground and action involves figures. Figures often move across a

We make our places by doing them –by beating the bounds rather than drawing a line in the sand. Beyond that place of movement is the white of silence. But even that space is being shaped, if only as the negative image of the poem. 4 Inside and Outside One way of thinking about place is to think of it as a singular thing – specific, par ticular, bounded and separate.

The very idea of place is bound up with uniqueness and a sense of division from what lies beyond it. But places are actually connected into networks and flows – they have an extrovert side (Massey 1997). This paradoxi cal sense of separation and connectedness is noted by Malpas.

One of the features of place is the way in which it establishes relations of inside and out side – relations that are directly tied to the essential connection between place and boundary or limit. To be located is to be within, to be somehow enclosed, but in a way that at the same time opens up, that makes possible.

Already this indicates some of the directions in which any thinking of place must move – toward ideas of opening and closing, of concealing and revealing, or focus and horizon, of finitude and “transcendence,” of limit and possibility, of mutual relationality and coconstitution (Malpas 2012b, 2). This feature of place is one that translates into the topos of the poem. Poems too open and close, conceal and reveal. (Con't  below)

The painter may paint blankness, applying white paint perhaps but rarely leaves the canvas untouched. But there are also similarities between the blank space of the painter and the poet. One similarity is suggested by Gilles Deleuze in his meditation on Francis Bacon. Here he suggests that the blank canvas that con fronts the painter is not blank at all but invested with every painting ever done before. In fact, it would be a mistake to think that the painter works on a white and virgin surface. The entire surface is already invested virtually with all kinds of clichés, which the painter will have to break with (Deleuze 2005, 11). The image Deleuze gives us is of a painter confronted with the whole tradition of painting right there on the blank space which is no longer blank. This is the same for a poet who has to face the page/screen with the knowledge of all the poems that have gone before. There are all the ballads and sonnets, the free verse and the sesti nas, Caedmon’s Hymn, the long lines of Whitman, the dashes of Dickenson, iambic pentameter, half rhyme, sprung rhythm, spondees, syllabic experiments, language poetry and limericks – all of these pre-figure the first letter written or typed. The space is not blank but dizzyingly full. Returning to Deleuze: It is a mistake to think that the painter works on a white surface. The figurative belief fol lows from this mistake. If the painter were before a white surface, he – or she – could reproduce on it an external object functioning as a model. The painter has many things in his head, or around him, or in his studio. Now everything he has in his head or around him is already in the canvas, more or less virtually, more or less actually, before he begins his work. They are all present in the canvas as so many images, actual or virtual, so that the painter does not have to cover a blank surface, but rather would have to empty it out, clear it, clean it. (Deleuze 2005, 87).

The space of the poet, like that of the artist’s is a space to fill with what gets defined by the words or a seething endless presence of everything that has been written before. Once there is a poem on the page then an act of dwelling has occurred that brings space and place into being. If we move beyond the blankness of the empty page/ screen then we begin to see all the other ways in which space works for the poem. Take any poem, copy it, and apply a thick black marker to the lines of text. You end up with a black shape and a white shape. Space works as margins, as gaps, as signi f iers of intent when the poet does anything other than left align the lines. Naturally this use of space is most pronounced in forms of experimental poetry in the modern ist tradition: concrete poetry, Mallarme’s radical departures from the left margin, the projective verse of the Black Mountain School or the contemporary experimen tation with ‘erasure’. But space and place do their work too in traditional forms. The popularity of the sonnet is partly attributable to the perfect way it sits on the page, announcing itself as a poem. 3 Stasis and Flux The topos of the poem results from its play of ink and the absence of ink.

Culture brings nature into perspective and makes it make sense in much the way the marks of the poem make the blank space make sense. Stevens’ jar performs similar functions to Heidegger’s bridge. The poem does the same thing – bringing space into being.

Silence is the acoustic space in which the poem makes its large echoes. If you want to test this write a single word on a blank sheet of paper and stare at it: note the superior attendance to the word the silence insists upon, and how it soon starts to draw out the word’s ramifying sense-

potential, its etymological story, its strange acoustic signature, its calligraphic mark; you are reading a word as poetry (Paterson 2007, 63). Here, British poet Don Paterson suggests that the self-aware special-ness of the poem is created by its being surrounded by blankness, which he equates with silence. There is a merging of sight and sound – pure blankness and silence. The sense of sound is the only sense which has a unique word for absence.

While silence is the absence of sound there is no word for the absence of smell or taste for instance (we have to resort to terms like ‘tasteless’). Perhaps it is for this reason that blank space is compared to silence. It also reminds us of the origins of poetry in spoken forms. The blankness is not just something to be filled but an active component in

the creation of the poem. The blank page is the friend of the poet allowing an infinite variety of form in the simple sense of shape. When the single word appears on the blank sheet the word-as-poem and the space around it are simultaneously brought into being. In this sense, one does not precede the other.

Paterson describes the act of poetry as an emergence out of silence and space. This is not quite right. This assumes the pre-existence of a blankness and silence within which the words emerge.

Perhaps, instead, the blankness is produced by the creative act. The blankness emerges with the noise. There are similarities between the poet’s relationship to blank space and the painter’s relationship to the canvas. They are clearly not the same thing.

In most painting the canvas is covered. The first thing many traditional painters do is cover a canvas with paint and then start to work on the detail. The canvas is obliterated. The poet, on the other hand, cannot fill up the space he or she is confronted with. The poem needs to play with the space and allow the blankness to be part of the process. Don Paterson puts it this way: Our formal patterning most often supplies a powerful typographical advertisement.

What it advertises most conspicuously is that the poem has not taken up the whole page, and con siders itself somewhat important. The white space around the poem then becomes a potent symbol of the poem’s significant intent (Paterson 2007, 62). The space around the poem once written advertises the poem’s importance as special words. (Con't Below)

Poems of place are not simply poems about places, rather they are a species of place with a special relationship to what it is to be in (external) place. Included in this is a recognition that poems (as places) have a material existence as a gathering of words (literally ink) on the page which takes a particular spatial form.

Topopoetics means closing the gap between the material form of the poem (topos in the sense of rhetorics) and the earthly world of place (topos as place). It means attending to the presence of place within the poem. To do this the rest of the essay considers the role of blank space, the tension between shape/form and movement and the relationship between the inside and outside of the poem. 2

Blank Space/Full Space Before, there was nothing, or almost nothing; afterwards, there isn’t much, a few signs, but which are enough for there to be a top and a bottom, a beginning and an end, a right and a left, a recto and a verso (Perec 1997, 10). My interest here is in the combined impact of two meanings of topos – as correct form and as place – on understanding poetic approaches to and renditions of place. The act of building and dwelling that is a poem starts with a blank white space. By writing poems we gather that space and give it form.

True – it already has edges and texture (it is, in Perec’s terms “almost nothing”) but words (as place) bring space into existence. The space becomes margins and gaps between words – even holes within letters. This relationship between poem and place and the space that takes shape around it is one of the defining elements of poetry. Glyn Maxwell, in On Poetry, ruminates on blank space and silence in poetry. Regard the space, the ice plain, the dizzying light. That past, that future.

Already it isn’t nothing. At the very least it’s your enemy, and that’s an awful lot. Poets work with two materials, one’s black and one’s white. Call them sound and silence, life and death, hot and cold, love and loss…. … Call it this and that, whatever it is this time, just don’t make the mistake of thinking the white sheet is nothing. It’s nothing for your novelist, your journalist, your blogger. For those folk it’s a tabular rasa, a giving surface. For the poet it is half of everything. If you don’t know how to use it you are writing prose. If you write poems that you might call free and I might call unpatterned then skillful, intelligent use of the whiteness is all that you’ve got (Maxwell 2012, 11). Poems are patterns made from space and which make space. Even before a word is read you can see a poem’s shape – the black against the white in Maxwell’s terms.

This is one of the most pleasing things about poetry and it serves no function at all in a novel or most other forms of writing. Writing a poem is a little form of place creation that configures blankness. This resonates with Wallace Stevens’ ‘Anecdote of the Jar’: I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in air. It took dominion every where. The jar was gray and bare. It did not give of bird or bush, Like nothing else in Tennessee.

Here the roundness of the jar (roundness is repeated throughout the poem in ‘round’, ‘around’ and ‘surround’) orders the “slovenly wilderness” around it – it orders and regulates a kind of blankness (the ‘almost-nothing’ of wilderness) in a contrived and designed way.

In Aristotle’s rhetoric it is important to choose the right kind of topos for the argument at hand, just as it is important to select the right form for a particular poet. It draws our attention to the importance of (among other things) the shape on the page. The richer meaning of topos emerged more fully formed in the writing of Martin Heidegger and has recently been elaborated by the philosopher, Jeff Malpas (Heidegger 1971; Malpas 1999, 2012a).

Here topos is mobilized through the idea of the topological to indicate the primary nature of place for being. To put it bluntly, to be is to be in place – to be here/there. The connection between poetry and the idea of place as the site of being is right there at the outset as Heidegger’s insistence on being as being-in-place originated from an encounter with the poetry of Hölderlin (Malpas 2006; Elden 1999).

Heidegger’s topological thought includes two key concepts – Dasein and dwelling. Dasein means (approximately) ‘being there’. It combines Heidegger’s career- long enquiry into the nature of being with a recognition that being is always placed – that existence is thoroughly intertwined with place.

The way that we make a home in the world is referred to as dwelling. The way in which you are and I am, the manner in which we humans are on the earth, is Buan, dwelling.

To be a human being means to be on the earth as a mortal. It means to dwell (Heidegger 1971, 145). How, exactly, people enact this dwelling (or fail to enact it) becomes a central object for philosophy in Heidegger’s later texts.3 In an important series of late essays Heidegger invokes poetry as a form of dwell ing. He goes so far as to suggest that it is an ideal form of building and dwelling. Poetic creation, which lets us dwell, is a kind of building.

Thus we confront a double demand: for one thing, we are to think of what is called man’s existence by way of the nature of dwelling; for another, we are to think of the nature of poetry as a letting-dwell, as a – perhaps even the – distinctive kind of building. If we search out the nature of poetry according to this viewpoint, then we arrive at the nature of dwelling (Heidegger 1971, 213).

This observation (linking poetry to its root meaning of ‘making’) gets right to the heart of the constitution of topopoetics. Poetry, as Heidegger observes, is a kind of building and thus a particularly important kind of dwelling. This building-as- dwelling, however, is more than the practical stuff of constructing in the correct way – it is, in Heidegger’s view, about the essential character of being-in-the world – being in, and with, place. 

1 For a discussion of topos, see Rapp 2010: 7.1.

2 Aristotle Topics 163b28.32.

3 Heidegger was a member of the Nazi Party, a membership he later denounced. There is no doubt that these ideas of dwelling were easily incorporated into a Nazi ideology of proper authentic (Aryan) dwelling counterposed to an inauthentic (Jewish, gay, Romany) form of (non) dwelling. Following Malpas I do not believe that this necessarily means that his ideas are irrecoverably infected.

An engagement with the philosophical basis of topos adds to our original definition of place (above) as a gathering of things, practices and meanings in a particular location. While place is all of these things this definition fails to underline the basic significance of being placed to being-in-the-world. A topopoetic account is one which recognizes the specificity of the nearness of things in place and at the same time focuses our attention on the way in which the poem is itself a form of building and dwelling.

With the banks, the bridge brings to the stream the one and the other expanse of the landscape lying behind them. It brings stream and bank and land into each other’s neighborhood. The bridge gathers the earth as landscape around the stream (Heidegger 1971, 150).

Heidegger’s bridge brings a place and a surrounding landscape into being. In so doing, it also produces space. The bridge as a place does not just connect pre- existing spaces or operate within a pre-existing space – it brings space into being.

In this sense, place comes before space. This is a reversal of the more frequent suggestion that places exist in space and that space comes before place. Heidegger is clearly making a different argument from Merleau-Ponty.

Nevertheless, what unites the two passages is an insistence on the way spaces are brought into being in relation to platial bodies and structures as active agents. Place comes first. One final preliminary point about place before moving on to a discussion of topopoetics. One of the defining qualities of place, across disciplines, has been the way in which places bring things together.

They are seen as syncretic mixtures of elements of multiple domains. Different scholars use different terms to describe this fact. Philosophers following Heidegger write of places as sites of gathering (Casey 1996). The geographer Robert Sack uses the metaphor of a loom to describe places as products of the process of weaving (Sack 2003).

Writers informed by the philoso phy of Gilles Deleuze and Manual Delanda refer to this process as assemblage (DeLanda 2006; Dovey 2010). Things mingle in places and places are constantly being made through gathering/weaving/ assembling and constantly being pulled apart. Among the things that are gathered in place are objects (materialities), mean ings (narratives, stories, memories etc.) and practices.

Philosopher Edward Casey puts this as well as anyone. Minimally, places gather things in their midst– where ‘things’ connote various animate and inanimate entities. Places also gather experiences and histories, even languages and thoughts. Think only of what it means to go back to a place you know, finding it full of memories and expectations, old things and new things, the familiar and the strange, and much more besides. What else is capable of this massively diversified holding action? (Casey 1996, 24)

1 Towards topopoetics

In the remainder of this essay I mobilize some of what has preceded in relation to thinking about poetry. I argue for poems as places (as well as about places) that can be interpreted spatially. The term topopoetics originates from the term topos as developed by Malpas and Casey in their readings of Heidegger and others (Casey 1998; Malpas 2012b).

Topo comes from topos (τόπος), the Greek for ‘place’. This is combined with poetics, which comes from poiesis (ποίησις), the Ancient Greek term for ‘making’. Topopoetics is thus ‘place-making’. The particular lineage I am invoking for topos derives from the philosophy of Aristotle. Importantly, for our purposes, topos appears in both accounts of how the world comes into being and as a figure in rhetoric. In rhetoric a topos is a “particular argumentative form or pattern” from which particular arguments can be derived.1

It is very much like a form in poetry – a sonnet or a villanelle. It has a particular shape. This rhetorical view of topos is linked to the world through the art of memorizing long lists by locating things on a list in particular places. “For just as in the art of remembering, the mere mention of the places instantly makes us recall the things, so these will make us more apt at deductions through looking to these defined premises in order of enumeration.” 2

It has become commonplace to see place as arising from space. In this sense space comes ‘first’. If space is an undifferentiated field – an abstract categorical axis of existence in the Kantian sense, then place has to occur in space. Places here are spatial moments, or points in space on which experience and meaning are layered.

Place comes after space. Space is a fundamental fact of the reality of the universe while place is what humans make out of it. The philosopher Jeff Malpas sees this as a relegation of place to the increasing importance of space in thought following the Renaissance: “The ‘rise’ of space is thus accompanied, one might say, by the ‘decline’ of place.

Indeed, in much contemporary thought, place often appears either as subjective overlay on the reality of materialized spatiality (place is space plus human value of ‘meaning’ …) or else as merely an arbitrary designated posi tion in a spatial field” (Malpas n.d.).

This way of thinking is turned on its head by philosophers of the phenomeno logical tradition following Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty who see spaces being formed out of the reality of place.

Place, here, becomes fundamental and primary while space is what follows once places come into existence as a kind of relation between places. In The Phenomenology of Perception Maurice Merleau-Ponty locates consciousness and intentionality not in the head but in the body.

How does the body relate to space? The most obvious way of articulating this is to think of the body as located (like place) in space where space is an external and continuous field in which the body exists and which the body has to navigate.

This is a body in Cartesian space that exists as an object. Merleau-Ponty rejects this view and argues instead for a ‘body-subject’ that exists in lived space – space which unfolds through the existence of the body rather than providing a precondition for the body. The human body produces certain kinds of orientation such as inside and outside, up and down, front and back and left and right that continually produce space rather than simply inhabit it.

As Merleau-Ponty put it: We must therefore avoid saying that our body is in space, or in time. It inhabits space and time … In so far as I have a body through which I act in the world, space and time are not, for me, a collection of adjacent points nor are they a limitless number of relations synthesized by my consciousness, and into which it draws my body.

I am not in space and time, nor do I conceive space and time; I belong to them, my body combines with them and includes them (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 161). Merleau-Ponty, then, insists that the bodily space is primary to external Cartesian space. Bodies are not simply in an already existing space – rather space is produced by the body.

A similar logic is at work in Heidegger’s account of the work done by building a bridge over a river. The bridge swings over the stream “with ease and power.” It does not just connect banks that are already there. The banks emerge as banks only as the bridge crosses the stream. The bridge designedly causes them to lie across from each other. One side is set off against the other by the bridge. Nor do the banks stretch along the stream as indifferent border strips of the dry land.

Towards Topopoetics: Space, Place and the Poem by Tim Cresswell

Abstract: This essay focuses on the theme of poetry and place – a project I have called Topopoetics. It introduces the idea of topopoetics drawing on the work of Aristotle, Heidegger and more recent philosophies of place, dwelling and poetics.

The point is not to cover the familiar ground of ‘sense-of-place’ in poetry but rather to explore how the poem is a kind of place and the way in which poems create space and place through their very presence on the page, through the interactions of full space and blank space, stasis and flux, and inside and outside.

What can poetry tell us about space and place? Conversely, what can thinking about space and place tell us about poetry? These are the questions that motivate this essay. My aim is to both answer them and to reveal how spatial and platial thinking can inform forms of interpretation beyond the interpretation of space and place in the geographical world.

I develop a topopoetics – a project that sees poems as places and spaces. The distinction between space and place that is most often made is one in which space is seen as limitless, empty, divisible and subject to mathematical forms of understanding while place is seen as bounded, full, unique and subject to forms of interpretive understanding.

Place has been most frequently described as a meaning ful segment of space – as mere ‘location’ in space overlaid with things such as meaning, subjectivity, emotion and affect (Tuan 1977; Buttimer and Seamon 1980; Relph 1976; Cresswell 2014).

The definitions of space have become more sophisti cated thanks to interventions from critical theory and philosophy which have taken space out of the realm of the abstract and absolute in an attempt to reveal the work ings of space in the production of society (Soja 1989; Lefebvre 1991; Massey 2005).

At the same time work on place has added layers of power on the one hand (Cresswell 1996; Massey 1997) and a deeper philosophical role in human existence on the other (Casey 1998; Malpas 1999). There is not space here to rehearse all of the twists and turns in these debates. One aspect that is worth lingering on is the ques tion of which comes first, space or place? (Con't)