James Taylor-Foster
Selected writing 2015 – 2023
  • About
  • Category
  • Title
  • Publication
  • Year
  • Writing
  • ✶ #003399, #FFCC00; The Meaning of a Flag
  • 2017
James Taylor-Foster
editor & writer of essays & reviews,
architectural designer,
maker of exhibitions
Selected writing 2015 – 2023
  • ✶ #003399, #FFCC00; The Meaning of a Flag

Or is a common heraldic tincture. Flattened by the RGB spectrum into a bright yellow (hexadecimal code #FFCC00), it was once drawn as a slightly duller, olive-brown (#CFB53B). Or is symbolic of faith, of generosity, of glory, and is often deployed in art and heraldry to signify a celestial body – the sun, for instance. Azure, the heraldic term for a rather plumb and even shade of blue (#003399) has similar virtues, often used to denote constellatory space. These two particular colours constitute the current flag of the European Union.

Assigning colour to a concept is a tried-and-tested formula for constructing a sense of continuity. When Richard Nikolaus Eijiro, Graf of Coudenhove-Kalergi—an Austrian-Japanese political activist and Bohemian European aristocrat—proposed the “International Paneuropean Union” in 1923, he also submitted a flag design to bind the cause: a circle of Or with a sun cross—an astronomical symbol which has since been separately adopted by Fascist movements worldwide—in a tincture of Gules (red), set against a field of Azure. (Deemed to be a political threat, Coudenhove-Kalergi’s movement was outlawed by the German National Socialists in 1933 and later reformed after the Second World War.)

Fig 1. Flag of the European Union

Fig 2. Flag of the International Paneuropean Union

Unless understood as part of a billowing lineage, the flag of the European Union adopted by the current political framework—which comprises twelve stars in Or against a field of Azure—is almost totally irrelevant to its original meaning. Its design was conceived through competition for the Council of Europe in 1955, and touted as a possible symbol for the forthcoming Union at the Brussels World’s Fair of 1958, before finally being enforced across EU member states in 1985. The number of stars are as arbitrary as the ideas now ascribed to them: they “stand for the ideals of unity, solidarity and harmony among the peoples of Europe,” while their circular arrangement is “a symbol of unity.” Cursory research presents a smörgåsbord of superficial interpretations: the twelve Apostles, the halo of the Virgin Mary, the signs of the Zodiac – even, oddly, the months of the year. But it is this very torpidity, balanced by a carefully constructed universal blandness, that has allowed it to endure.

The mark of any competently designed flag is an intelligence of colours and shapes that can be locked into a relevant history or ideology, invoking something far greater than the sum of its parts. But it’s crucial test (ask any Vexillologist) lies in its “belovability” – can it, in other words, harness and continue to gather meaning, while weathering the political and territorial sands shifting beneath?

Fig 3. Flag of New Zealand

Fig 4. Result for the first referendum for a new New Zealand flag (2015)

Nostalgia has a part to play. When New Zealand unveiled their crowd-sourced designs for a new national flag in 2015, the choice in their two-part referendum was, it seemed, clear: out with the Blue Ensign of the British and all the Imperial associations it embodied, and in with a more progressive and representative emblem of a diverse and independent nation. Not to mention, some argued, it just looked far too similar to that of Australia’s. But when it came to the final round, voters indicated a clear preference for the status quo. The majority valued a particular narrative of national heritage suggested by the existing flag and, by extension, the sense of continuity it afforded – real or imagined.

Compare this with the “Star-Spangled Banner” of the United State – a country above all others in its demonstration of keen commitment to a flag, and the notion of a national identity. While the meaning behind the original message of the stars and stripes may have evolved since its foundation (I wonder, for instance, how many look at it today and consider the thirteen British colonies that seceded from the Kingdom of Great Britain in 1777?), its representational power is just as potent.

Fig 5. Flag of the United States of America

And so, just as it’s near impossible—if so inclined—to tear yourself away for good from the family that you’re born into, love for your flag, and what it says about you, is surprisingly unconditional. As individuals, we’re governed by fewer imposed identities than our grandparents, but our national identity and their preordained symbols stands fast – bound inextricably to our native tongue, our core right of residency, our sense of self-positioning, our overlap (or lack thereof) with people we do not know. It binds us to some and disinherits us from others, be it in the spirit of sportsmanship or the wilful act of conflict and aggression. There are few symbols able to cast such an immediate supra-identity over an individual, whether they subscribe to it or not, and which evoke in most the duty to defend.

The Or and Azure (the “Star-Circled Banner”?) stands apart from this trend. In a non-federalised Europe, the EU flag does not have precedence over that of each respective country. It’s remarkably rare to find someone flying it on their property, for instance, and it is almost never printed as a symbol in Passports. As a citizen of a state, you are obliged to renounce certain freedoms in order to be granted the protection of a higher elected authority; that elected authority, for the largest proportion of current European Citizens, is not yet the European Union. Localised politics remain the order of the day – ask anyone if they voted for their local MEP (Member of the European Parliament), let alone their name, if validation is required. The opening clauses of Brussels—A Manifesto (2004) outlines the key underlying reasoning behind this phenomenon—that the ‘Idea of Europe’ lies in “the sheer struggle between unity and multiplicity, […] embodied by each political vision that has addressed it.” This dialectic remains, until now, spectacularly unresolved.


Fig 6. Portrait by Viktoria Spasova (2020)


Read at source.
First published in Real Review 4. © James Taylor-Foster (2017).

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James Taylor-Foster
editor & writer of essays & reviews,
architectural designer,
maker of exhibitions
  • CuratorialI.
  • ProjectsII.
  • PublicationsIII.
  • SpeakingIV.
  • WritingV.
I.Curatorial
  • ✶ Joar Nango: Girjegumpi, Venice2023
  • ✶ WEIRD SENSATION FEELS GOOD, London2022
  • ✶ Mira Bergh × Josefin Zachrisson: Utomhusverket2022
  • ✶ The Limits of Our World: LARP and Design2022
  • Solicited: Proposals2021
  • Studio Ossidiana: Utomhusverket2021
  • WEIRD SENSATION FEELS GOOD, Stockholm2020
  • Architecture Projects: Skeppsbron + Brunnsparken2019
  • Cruising Pavilion: Architecture, Gay Sex, Cruising Culture2019
  • The Craft of Swedish Videogame Design2019
  • Petra Gipp and Mikael Olsson; Sigurd Lewerentz – Freestanding2018
  • Space Popular: Value in the Virtual2018
  • You Are Not Alone2017
  • In Therapy2016
  • Keeping Up Appearances2015
II.Projects
  • ASMR, An Exhibition Trailer2022
  • Watch & Chill 2.0: Streaming Senses2022
  • ASMRology2021
  • Plug-in Poesi2020
  • Interdependence: Stockholm and pandemia2020
  • Future Architecture Rooms2020
  • SOFT GOSSIP2020
  • Mukbang Veneziano2020
  • Körper2019
  • Architecture on Display2018
  • Boxen at ArkDes2018
  • The Stones of Venice: A Kimono2017
  • Misunderstandings (A Reliquary)2016
III.Publications
  • ✶ softspot2021
  • Living on Water2017
  • Elemental Living2016
  • People, Place, Purpose2015
IV.Speaking
  • ✶ Scaffold #612022
  • Salons, The New Architecture School2022
  • Protagonist of the Erotic: A Bed2022
  • OAT Academy, Curating Architecture2022
  • ✶ Protagonist of the Erotic: An Island2021
  • A Future for Exhibitions2021
  • Future Architecture CEx2020 Focus Talks2020
  • Modevisningar är den flyktigaste formen av arkitektur2018
  • Exhibition Models2017
V.Writing
  • Wang & Söderström: Royal Chambers2023
  • Lisa Tan: Dodge and/or Burn2023
  • Luki Essender: Of Yous2023
  • Studio Ossidiana on the Sentimental Scale of the City2022
  • A Strange Sort of Weight2021
  • What’s Mine Is Theirs: an interview with Max Lamb2020
  • ✶ Screen Glow Sedation2020
  • No Time to Stand and Stare2020
  • On Norra Tornen2020
  • ✶ Don’t Fear a Snowflake2020
  • In Riga, A Conference On Architecture and Migration2019
  • On Practical Futurology2019
  • Foreword: On the Manifesto2019
  • Making Believe with Charlap Hyman & Herrero2019
  • ✶ To Speak As If In Capital Letters2019
  • Baltoscandia: A Complex Utopia2018
  • ✶ Virgil Abloh, Editor in Brief2018
  • A Weak Monument2018
  • Sigurd Lewerentz: Villa Edstrand2018
  • On the Cruising Pavilion2018
  • A Diary of Virgil Abloh’s First Louis Vuitton Show2018
  • ✶ The Boat is Leaking. The Captain Lied.2018
  • Concrete Mountain2017
  • ✶ On Liquid Modernity2017
  • ✶ #003399, #FFCC00; The Meaning of a Flag2017
  • Pillars of Society: “Jantelagen”2017
  • Exhibiting the Postmodern2017
  • Future Architecture and the Idea of Europe2017
  • Domains of Influence2017
  • Ingress: Black Rock City2017
  • In Dialogue With Gravity2017
  • Rem, Redacted2016
  • Media States, Or The State of Media2016
  • A Piece of England to Call One’s Own2016
  • Upon This Rock (I Will Build My Church)2016
  • The Design of the Species2016
  • Venice Isn’t Sinking, It’s Flooding2016
James Taylor-Foster
editor & writer of essays & reviews,
architectural designer,
maker of exhibitions
Selected writing 2015 – 2023
Writing
  • ✶ #003399, #FFCC00; The Meaning of a Flag 2017
  • for Real Review #4
Back

Or is a common heraldic tincture. Flattened by the RGB spectrum into a bright yellow (hexadecimal code #FFCC00), it was once drawn as a slightly duller, olive-brown (#CFB53B). Or is symbolic of faith, of generosity, of glory, and is often deployed in art and heraldry to signify a celestial body – the sun, for instance. Azure, the heraldic term for a rather plumb and even shade of blue (#003399) has similar virtues, often used to denote constellatory space. These two particular colours constitute the current flag of the European Union.

Assigning colour to a concept is a tried-and-tested formula for constructing a sense of continuity. When Richard Nikolaus Eijiro, Graf of Coudenhove-Kalergi—an Austrian-Japanese political activist and Bohemian European aristocrat—proposed the “International Paneuropean Union” in 1923, he also submitted a flag design to bind the cause: a circle of Or with a sun cross—an astronomical symbol which has since been separately adopted by Fascist movements worldwide—in a tincture of Gules (red), set against a field of Azure. (Deemed to be a political threat, Coudenhove-Kalergi’s movement was outlawed by the German National Socialists in 1933 and later reformed after the Second World War.)

Fig 1. Flag of the European Union

Fig 2. Flag of the International Paneuropean Union

Unless understood as part of a billowing lineage, the flag of the European Union adopted by the current political framework—which comprises twelve stars in Or against a field of Azure—is almost totally irrelevant to its original meaning. Its design was conceived through competition for the Council of Europe in 1955, and touted as a possible symbol for the forthcoming Union at the Brussels World’s Fair of 1958, before finally being enforced across EU member states in 1985. The number of stars are as arbitrary as the ideas now ascribed to them: they “stand for the ideals of unity, solidarity and harmony among the peoples of Europe,” while their circular arrangement is “a symbol of unity.” Cursory research presents a smörgåsbord of superficial interpretations: the twelve Apostles, the halo of the Virgin Mary, the signs of the Zodiac – even, oddly, the months of the year. But it is this very torpidity, balanced by a carefully constructed universal blandness, that has allowed it to endure.

The mark of any competently designed flag is an intelligence of colours and shapes that can be locked into a relevant history or ideology, invoking something far greater than the sum of its parts. But it’s crucial test (ask any Vexillologist) lies in its “belovability” – can it, in other words, harness and continue to gather meaning, while weathering the political and territorial sands shifting beneath?

Fig 3. Flag of New Zealand

Fig 4. Result for the first referendum for a new New Zealand flag (2015)

Nostalgia has a part to play. When New Zealand unveiled their crowd-sourced designs for a new national flag in 2015, the choice in their two-part referendum was, it seemed, clear: out with the Blue Ensign of the British and all the Imperial associations it embodied, and in with a more progressive and representative emblem of a diverse and independent nation. Not to mention, some argued, it just looked far too similar to that of Australia’s. But when it came to the final round, voters indicated a clear preference for the status quo. The majority valued a particular narrative of national heritage suggested by the existing flag and, by extension, the sense of continuity it afforded – real or imagined.

Compare this with the “Star-Spangled Banner” of the United State – a country above all others in its demonstration of keen commitment to a flag, and the notion of a national identity. While the meaning behind the original message of the stars and stripes may have evolved since its foundation (I wonder, for instance, how many look at it today and consider the thirteen British colonies that seceded from the Kingdom of Great Britain in 1777?), its representational power is just as potent.

Fig 5. Flag of the United States of America

And so, just as it’s near impossible—if so inclined—to tear yourself away for good from the family that you’re born into, love for your flag, and what it says about you, is surprisingly unconditional. As individuals, we’re governed by fewer imposed identities than our grandparents, but our national identity and their preordained symbols stands fast – bound inextricably to our native tongue, our core right of residency, our sense of self-positioning, our overlap (or lack thereof) with people we do not know. It binds us to some and disinherits us from others, be it in the spirit of sportsmanship or the wilful act of conflict and aggression. There are few symbols able to cast such an immediate supra-identity over an individual, whether they subscribe to it or not, and which evoke in most the duty to defend.

The Or and Azure (the “Star-Circled Banner”?) stands apart from this trend. In a non-federalised Europe, the EU flag does not have precedence over that of each respective country. It’s remarkably rare to find someone flying it on their property, for instance, and it is almost never printed as a symbol in Passports. As a citizen of a state, you are obliged to renounce certain freedoms in order to be granted the protection of a higher elected authority; that elected authority, for the largest proportion of current European Citizens, is not yet the European Union. Localised politics remain the order of the day – ask anyone if they voted for their local MEP (Member of the European Parliament), let alone their name, if validation is required. The opening clauses of Brussels—A Manifesto (2004) outlines the key underlying reasoning behind this phenomenon—that the ‘Idea of Europe’ lies in “the sheer struggle between unity and multiplicity, […] embodied by each political vision that has addressed it.” This dialectic remains, until now, spectacularly unresolved.


Fig 6. Portrait by Viktoria Spasova (2020)


Read at source.
First published in Real Review 4. © James Taylor-Foster (2017).
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