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Collected Comforts
In early 2021, I began by simply asking people what comfort means. I asked a study group to send me photographs capturing how they made comfort in their everyday lives, and what I received in return was a visual archive of beds and bodies of water. Pictures of dogs curled in blankets, messy sheets, and pillows still holding the deep, indented shape of a resting head. There were baths, showers, swimming pools, and warm pools of afternoon light.
Looking at these images, I wondered about immersion. I thought about the profound sense of being fully consumed by an environment, and perhaps, the feeling of weightlessness. Beds and baths offer forms of immersion that take the horizontal, relaxing body and wrap it in layers of warmth. Water and fabric both share a Shore hardness - a standard measure of a material’s resistance to indentation - that is less than the human skin. They offer a unique material condition where the environment both supports and surrounds the flesh while remaining softer than it, allowing the body to literally sink in. With water, you can see the immediate trace of this encounter - the pruned fingers and toes after a long soak acting as a temporary, bodily imprint of the flesh negotiating with its environment.
But water is a complex material for comfort-making because, within it, the body literally threatens to sink. Looking at these images of immersion highlighted a delicate tension: how do you locate the promise of a ‘sinking feeling’ without the threat of sinking too far? The discomfort of a too-soft sofa or an overly yielding mattress perfectly captures this threshold. There is a precise material tipping point where the physical weight of a heavy blanket or the depth of a bath transitions from securely holding the body to suffocating it. When one sinks too far, the edge of the epidermis dissolves, and the feeling shifts from being held to being swallowed entirely.
This early archive initiated a deep questioning about the balance between sinking and support. For spatial designers, it asks us to locate the exact threshold between immersion and submersion. How do we design an architecture that facilitates an act of sinking with the environment, rather than sinking completely into it? In the context of P-AT environments, where the vulnerable body is already dissolving at the edges of consciousness, how do we specify materials, furniture, and surfaces that yield enough to hold the body securely, without engulfing it?
Soft improvisation
2021
Library
Margaret Wise Brown, "Goodnight Moon"
I have read Goodnight Moon to my daughter so many times that I can now recite it by heart. Despite its deceptive simplicity, I find myself thinking about it frequently. There is something deeply ritualistic about the rhythm of this story. The deliberate act of bidding goodnight to every object functions as a methodical grounding technique, actively mapping the physical dimensions of the bedroom. By acknowledging these items individually, the text grants them a fullness of being and a more-than-human agency. It beautifully illustrates David Bissell’s conceptualisation of comfort as an active, dynamic configuration of bodies, things, and spaces. Through this ritual, the room becomes infinitely more than the sum of its parts.
David Bissell, "Comfortable bodies: sedentary affects"
In David Bissell's Comfortable bodies: sedentary affects, comfort is fundamentally unmoored from the passive, universal aesthetic it is so often assumed to be. He critiques the notion of comfort as a simple, objective capacity - the idea that you can just design a "comfortable chair" and be done with it. Instead, he positions comfort as an active, dynamic "configuration" that emerges from the relationality between bodies and their proximate environments. It is a sensibility that we must actively do or make, constantly twisting forth and negotiating with the spaces we inhabit.
For my work, this was an incredibly liberating way to think about the physical environments of care. It pushed me towards thinking with comfort as always in relation, always in motion, always about to become undone. This text also helped me to move past thinking comfort as singular, and instead urged me to begin asking "what is actually configuring?"