ColumnHave you ever intentionally engaged in a mind-bending, dizzying, life-changing cultural experience? Have you self-induced what we call hyperkulture? Consider the idea that you can purposefully step outside your comfort zone to shift your perspectives—and that time traveling is not required to put yourself in swoon’s way.

A sudden, icy sweat. A spinning sensation. The immediate need for a chair. It took more than a few minutes to regroup—perhaps because that necessary chair was nowhere to be found—but I had some experience with this feeling. The race back from 1564 to 2013 seemed to take longer that it actually did, but that’s understandable: Time traveling has a way of knocking you off your rails.

The venue for said swoon was Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon—in the actual bedroom where it’s said the great Bard made his grand entrance. As a writer and fan of his work (how could that not be an understatement?), a lot had conspired that afternoon to leave me leaning against a wall, struggling to take in air. What was initially an earnest, if touristy, moment was transformed by a blood-to-the-brain rush of understanding that this now-visualized birth so many centuries ago was critical to not only my choice of profession but to my intellectual and emotional vocabulary—this screaming (of course!) infant would eventually teach me how to think and inform who I am. And not only me. All of us. It’s Shakespeare, for god’s sake, born here—right here—and destined to change the trajectory of our culture. Yes. For this writer… some air, please.

I know Shakespeare isn’t everyone’s life-altering cup of tea, but I’m sure many of you are familiar with the phenomenon I experienced that day in England. We all have had interactions with discrete articulations of our human culture—in the realms of art, literature, travel, food, history, technology and media (or, in my case here, that bedroom)—that overwhelm us. These are personal growth moments and, I think, by definition positive. They are instances where we’re touched deeply, beyond the intellect, so that our soul spins and we can distinctly feel our emotional anatomy change. And these moments even have a name (a few names actually). To varying degrees, these states of mind are sometimes referred to as Stendhal or Florence syndrome—or Hyperkulturemia.

According to one medical dictionary, the syndrome is defined as “a psychosomatic response—tachycardia, vertigo, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations—when the ‘victim’ is exposed to particularly beautiful, or large amounts of, art in a single place—e.g., Florence (Italy), which has a high concentration of classic works; the response can also occur when a person is overwhelmed by breathtaking natural beauty.”

For this discussion, I think we can safely broaden the causes beyond art and nature to include other cultural encounters (read: that bedroom). I also think we can leave the veracity of the notion that this is a cap S-Syndrome to specialists above my medical pay grade. But in any case, regarding the times in my life when I have experienced such a state, the French author Stendhal was spot on in 1826 when he wrote about it in “Rome, Naples and Florence” (from a 1959 translation.):

Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty, I could perceive its very essence close at hand; I could, as it were, feel the stuff of it beneath my fingertips. I had attained to that supreme degree of sensibility where the divine intentions of art merge with the impassioned sensuality of emotion. As I emerged from the porch of the Santa Croce, I was seized with a fierce palpitation of the heart (the same symptom which, in Berlin, is referred to as an attack of the nerves); the wellspring of life was dried up within me, and I walked in constant fear of falling to the ground.

I don’t want to take lightly what some might call a severe mental-health event. (Hallucinations?) But I also want to be clear that these happenings are more than just “oh my!” moments—they are true swoons, in every sense of the word, save perhaps hitting the ground. (Thank you nearby chairs, walls, et al.)

Making It Happen Not long after returning to the U.S. late last year, as I looked back at my journey and Shakespeare reaction, something occurred to me. Up until then, this kind of thing had happened maybe once every few years since my late teens. Yet this trip had somehow produced five such episodes in just four months. Though I still consider these instances rare and unexpected, something was going on that triggered these experiences—or at least allowed them to take place.

Here’s some context: I had left California for extended travel overseas for the first time in years, making good on a promise to return to my globetrotting ways after Things 1 and 2 had left home for university. I made the trip with my girlfriend of eight years, Mihaela, and like my days traveling as a youth, had a fairly slipshod approach to time and money planning. We formulated the trip as we went, discovering along the way that my primary editorial client would be withholding payments in unpredictable, seemingly sadistic ways. Though punctuated by a few lovely moments of luxury, our journey—including time in Eastern and Western Europe—would feature some good ol’ down-and-out, cold-water-flat time, with me slamming away at my keyboard (she says I type like Jim Carrey answering prayers via email in “Bruce Almighty”) while she went out in search of cheap veggies to stew for dinner.

All of this is not to complain, by any means. The trip was glorious and brilliant and in almost constant high relief. But we for sure had left our relaxed Bay Area comfort zone and, back to our story’s syndrome of interest, this was a good thing. I firmly believe that being on our heels opened the door to the above-mentioned byproduct—and again, not once, but five times.

Aside from the Stratford-upon-Avon experience, it happened in Spain in the Plaza Mayor, where one evening I could not keep my hands from shaking when attempting to take a photograph. It happened in Florence while taking in Masaccio’s masterworks in Santa Maria del Carmine. And then twice in Paris (but of course)—once in the Pompidou in front of Joan Miró’s Bleu triptych and another time during the first of two visits to Atelier Brancusi. Then there was London, where I happened upon Jack Kerouac’s On the Road scroll temporarily on display at the British Library. I’ll spare the details of these events (each one a story), but suffice to say that I do not diminish my many experiences during these months by saying these five quite literally floored me, each in their own way changing the way I think.

For me, having done the math, there’s a great takeaway here. I think we can increase the chances of such life-changing cultural experiences—call it hyperkulture—occurring in our lives if we take risks. This is not to say that you need to go time traveling, or out on some financial edge or upend your life. Nor do you have to be in Florence—or Paris or London or even Kathmandu—to access those things that will push your personal envelope. But rather and more simply, if we purposefully and actively take ourselves outside our comfort zones, we’re more likely to have encounters that will shift our perspectives. It could be as easy as turning off your phone and getting lost in a museum. Or hiking into the forest with a tent but without a plan. However we wish to do it, to initiate personal change and growth, we can, in fact, put ourselves “in swoon’s way.”

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a monthly column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott@adelson.org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

Top image: Wikimedia Commons

Other images: Scott Adelson Related on EcoSalon:

InPRINT: A Novel Challenge – Take Action and Read Outside Your Box

InPRINT: You Want Erotic? The Countless Shades of Anaïs Nin

InPRINT: Albert Camus and the Biggest Question of All

InPRINT: Gatsby, Paradise and the 1% – F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Pre-Occupation

InPRINT: One the Road – Again: Revisiting Jack Kerouac

The post In Swoon’s Way — Time Traveling and Staring Down Florence Syndrome: HyperKulture appeared first on EcoSalon.

It’s hard not to come across Natalie Chanin’s name in the sustainable design world. Founder of American couture line Alabama Chanin, the designer is noted for her clothing as much as home décor designs and entrepreneurial joie de vivre.

Huge fans, us.

Blame it on her pioneering ways as a designer and CEO of a sustainable American design house. From her home in Florence, Alabama, Chanin works with local artisans to hand quilt, stitch and sew garments into award-winning designs. As a finalist for the Cooper Hewitt National Design Award for Fashion (in 2005), and as a finalist for the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund in 2009, Chanin continues to make the world know she’s here to leave her mark in the world of sustainability.

Now, with her second, recently released book Alabama Studio Style, Chanin gives us more ideas to bring forth from the pages of her carefully curated world.

(You can try winning your own copy of her book by leaving a comment here by noon on March 22, 2010.)

I caught up with Natalie over the weekend and she was kind enough to answer some questions.

What drives inspiration for you?

I believe that we all find inspiration in our lives each and every moment of every single day.  I once based an entire collection on a scrap of paper that I found lying on a street corner. Inspiration is all around when we open our eyes. I tend to have the opposite problem – sometimes it is hard to turn the distraction of inspiration off and to focus on what is before me.

I was reading an article where a writer said, “Foreseeing that the elevated cost of a couture garment could potentially isolate customers, Chanin produced her first book, Alabama Stitch Book, which made her techniques, instructions and patterns available to the public.” Are these books an outreach to those women who can’t afford to buy your clothing?

In one way, yes, but the answer to this is more complex and traverses a bit of ground.

The only complaint we have ever received as a company is about the cost of our garments. Everything that we make is completely made by hand and within about an hour-and-a-half radius from my studio in Florence, Alabama. So, not only is it made in America but hand-built – each and every stitch, seam and embellishment (and these embellishments can be very rich and detailed).

At the same time, early in my journey I realized that sewing traditions (and I would go so far as to say survival traditions – everything around food, clothing and shelter) were dying in my community – and communities all over. Very soon after coming home to begin my work with hand sewing, it became clear that it was important to begin to collect stories and techniques about these traditions and to work towards not only incorporating them in my work but using my work as a means towards cultural preservation.

Furthermore, I had just moved home from Europe where – at the time – there was a much greater respect for recycling, taking care of your environment, quality of food and quality of life. I was very surprised to come home to Alabama and find that our food and environmental systems were substantially remiss in looking at the details of our community and our relationship as a community to the greater world.

However, the most important revelation was the realization that making something with my own two hands added substantially to the value of that object in my life.  It had been so long since I had made – and taken care of – the objects that filled my life. In essence, I re-learned that making brings added meaning.

All of these complex factors combined made me embrace this notion of open-sourcing and supported the idea to write the first book (Alabama Stitch Book).

As you mention, our garments are hand-sewn in America and are very expensive. In fact, many of our garments wind up in museums and private collections. If people cannot afford to purchase our garments, we offer our best-selling patterns in our books so they can make the garments themselves – or pay someone in their own communities to make them. We openly sell the fabrics and the supplies to make those garments – the same resources that we use for our collections. And if a client wants to shorten the steps, we offer DIY
Kits that simplify the process.

This philosophy is unheard of in the global fashion industry.

I am proud that Alabama Chanin has chosen to take this route. And honestly, it was a very difficult (and scary) decision to make and was not met with positive feedback from my industry colleagues.

What is interesting is that after the publication of the two books and embracing this open-source philosophy, many people finally understood why our garments are worth so much. In the end, I am very happy to have trusted my instincts and have made that decision. Of course, since that time (6 years ago) the notion of open-sourcing has become very important and I am proud that Alabama Chanin is a part of that.

Did your mother craft with you?

There was always a project at both of my grandmother’s tables and one in the basket to come next. Both of my grandmothers raised three girls and I know from hearing it that they “sewed every dress those girls ever wore.” The next generation – my mother and aunts – did some crafting and sewing back then but are really much more respectful of these traditions today. That time – the 60s and 70s – was really the beginning of consumerism in America. I remember my mother talking about how she did not want to wear a “homemade” dress to school. She and her sisters saved their money from picking cotton in the summer or working at the 5 & Dime so that they had the money for a “store bought dress” to wear to school.

Your involvement with the Bureau of Friends involves modern day sewing circles with people not usually found doing that. These meetings are hugely successful. What is it that crafting does for our psyche and ability to communicate?

I mentioned above that my most important revelation was the realization that making something with my own two hands added substantially to the value of that object in my life.  The concept that “making brings added meaning” is at the core of these meetings with the Bureau of Friends. It is uncanny how deep and rich conversation becomes when men and women sit around a table together and “make” in unison.

What’s different in this book from Alabama Stitch Book?

Alabama Studio Style is a development from Alabama Stitch Book. When I look at the two books together, I can see the process of “growing up.” And while the books are thought of as individual books, they are also companions.  The inclusion of more recipes excites me and I love how these recipes mix and mingle with the way-of-life aspect of the book.

There’s a current trend of going back to things being done properly. Do you feel like your book is a small portal into reconnecting with what we wear or adorn our homes with?

This has certainly been an underlying theme in my work since the beginning. If you sense that in the books, then I am happy and feel proud.

The post Natalie Chanin Launches Alabama Studio Style appeared first on EcoSalon.