As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t know how to drive, but that doesn’t stop me from obsessing over the forms endemic to driving, such as the [actually lovely] shape of the cloverleaf interchange. This underappreciated form now graces the typically mundane cork trivet.
The design is screenprinted by hand in black on 3/8-inch thick cork with a 7 1/4-inch diameter, and is available at MiCA 12/v in Over-the-Rhine and via our online shop.
Maybe you could get an aerial view of the 275-75 interchange which is Cincinnati’s closest thing to a full cloverleaf, and use it for a more detailed design.
You may find this unbelievable, but sometimes we think about things other than Cincinnati… Actually, one of our longer-term goals is to create more work about other places or, in this case, about an idealized place that doesn’t quite exist anywhere.
Are you idealizing the leftover over space of interstates? That is very Rem of you.
Hey, I’m not the Rem hater around here…
It’s probably an urbanists nightmare, but stacks of ramps are pretty, too.
It seems wild you never learned to drive, but, given your history, I can kind of see it. There is nothing to it. As an artist, you should get the spatial thing pretty quick. After that, it’s just the speed thing.
Of course, being able to see the little colored balls of light above the intersections can be a pain…..
Appreciating leftover places in art is much different than building real leftover places on purpose. If you get what I mean.
In some cases, built-in leftover places are perfectly appropriate and desirable. Even a machine for living needs a bit of looseness to help enable some experiences that are part of living.
As for the driving thing… Meh. I’ve had some opportunities to learn. I could have taken Driver’s Ed. in high school, but that didn’t seem like time well spent. A couple of boyfriends tried to teach me, but a Jeep’s stick-shift/high-center-of-gravity didn’t do much to convince me that I wasn’t about to die.
When I lived in California, I actually got a permit and briefly flirted with the possibility of zipping down Highway 1 in the 1973 911 I was eyeing at the time. Then I moved back East and left the fantasy behind.
But, oh, the tales I can tell of spending two years as a pedestrian in the suburbs of Detroit!
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