When humans breathe, they release carbon dioxide gas that has built up inside them.
The Kilauea volcano on the Island of Hawaii is no different.
It is the world’s most active volcano. At its base, giant curtains of fire spew forth from fissure vents, creating a shifting wall of magma.
Interestingly, the curtain of fire requires no explosive activity from the volcano itself. The cause of the fiery curtain is the expansion of gas within the vents and oddly enough, the weight of the lava.
Contrary to the commonly imagined steep-sloped science fair volcano, Kilauea is a shield volcano, meaning it has very shallow slopes.
The shallow slopes that form Kilauea and the other volcanoes of Hawaii Island are constructed as the heavy fluid lava flows away from the volcano, with the help of gravity.
In Hawaiian, Kilauea literally translates to “much spreading.” As the lava constantly stretches under the pressure of its own weight, fractures form. It is from these fractures or fissure vents that, squeezed by the massive pressures of the lava itself, fiery curtains of magma erupt.
Deep in the Ecuadorian wilderness is a seismic monitoring station known as Casa del Arbol or “The Treehouse” because it is simply a small house built in a tree used for observing Mt. Tungurahua, the active volcano in the near distance.
While the simple wooden room is a sight to behold, the real attraction is the crude swing hanging from one of the tree’s skinny branches.
With no harness, net, or any other safety feature the swing (itself nothing more than a thick stick suspended by two ropes) arcs riders out into the void over the canyon.
Adventurous visitors are welcome to take a ride on the swinging seat, which may have been updated recently, adding a small, fabric belt to hold you in a bit.
You’re not actually swinging out over a void, but over a steepish hill, about 100 feet up.
Sometimes all it takes to get something started is a knock on a door—and necessity. Oded Wagenstein was walking in the rain down a side street in the Cuban town of Cienfuegos when he was seized with the urge to use the restroom.
Seeing no other options, he knocked on the nearest door, using body language and the sound of water to relay his request to the elderly gentleman who answered.
Juan Alfonso, 59, works as street sweeper. He told Wagenstein that he refuses to be excited about the changes ahead. “We all have jobs, houses, and clothing,” says Alfonso. “We even have our own version of Coca-Cola. I do not need anything.”
In what would become familiar in Wagenstein’s experience in this neighborhood, the man not only warmly invited him inside but made him a cup of coffee. During this impromptu visit, Wagenstein learned a bit about the man—“his wife had died, and he is lonely but he finds comfort in the fact that young people seek his expert help in repairing radios and turntables,” Wagenstein says.
“Because of the rain I decided to spend the rest of the day on that same street,” he continues. He learned more stories from the elderly residents who lived there, about being lonely but also about the role of their community in giving their lives purpose.
With most homes lacking lights, front doors stay open to let in the sunshine. Onelia, 93, believes turning strangers into friends is a Cuban custom, and thus anyone passing by Onelia’s door is her potential friend. “As I was the first foreigner to enter her house,” Wagenstein says, “she mentioned that it would be so nice if others would come to visit her too.”
Lighthouse designs portray a feeling of sadness and depression, as they are rarely used, only a few people stay there, who are the workers and they can only listen to the sound of the sea and dwell into a more gloomy state.
Adrian Labaut Hernandez, with his Dystopian Lighthouses, poses a question towards this perception.
The reason for them being not designed appropriately is because they are seen from far and are basically acting as a landmark for people to know that a piece of land is near by if they follow the light. The forms are basically limited, with light on top and a hung bell.
Cuban graphic designer Adrian Labaut Hernandez illustrates a structure with a desolated landscape rendered black and white, and added a new illuminating detail on the top which looks like a golden beacon of light.
Adrian states that they are “destined never to be happy, isolated beings on earth, without any attachment to life”.
The lighthouses are spaces which can also enhance the landscape by making it inviting visually and also enhance the curiosity of the people who want to come towards it.
More info: Adrian Labaut Hernandez, Behance (h/t: arch2o, designboom)