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FT: In China, women wore the trousers

In China, women wore the trousers

Published: June 10 2008 03:00 | Last updated: June 10 2008 03:00

From Dr A.R.T. Kemasang.

Sir, It is correct that Yves Saint Laurent did not create the women's trouser suit (letter from James W. Beaumont, June 5). However, neither did London Transport.

Trouser-wearing among women was in fact started by Chinese women who, within China's rizicultural economy, occupied equal status with their male counterparts. Indeed, the most important task in riziculture - the planting of China's staff of life, rice - is traditionally women's preserve. Hence they used to wear the same working garb as their male counterparts.

Throughout sinaean ("Oriental") Asia up until at least the 1950s, the word for "a trouser-wearing woman" meant exclusively a Chinese woman. This is also why originally it was only in Chinese kung fu stories that we had female combatants as formidable as any of the men.

Not only does it all show that since ancient times women in China have always enjoyed a surprisingly equal status to men, it also proves what freedom trouser-wearing allows them.

A.R.T. Kemasang,
London SW15 2JE, UK

FT: Sari nights and henna parties

Sari nights and henna parties

By Amy Yee

Published: May 17 2008 03:00 | Last updated: May 17 2008 03:00

On a recent spring afternoon the sound of hammers and saws drifted from my neighbour's house. This was not another example of the feverish construction that is changing the landscape of Delhi. Rather, it was part of a seasonal ritual that transforms homes all over India for the precious cool months of the year. The neighbours were preparing for a wedding.

Over the course of the day, carpenters built the frame for a tent and created a temporary foyer of white and red fabric. Trucks loaded with rolled carpets, bolts of cloth, bundles of flowers and assorted equipment pulled up and emptied their wares. In the evening guests were greeted by the bride's sisters dressed in colourful saris and throughout the night the sound of music and singing filled the air.

This is a common scene during India's wedding season, which lasts roughly from October to the end of May, before searing heat and monsoon rains set in. In recent months at houses on my street, and indeed all over India, tell-tale signs of weddings sprouted like spring flowers. An otherwise anonymous gate to one property on my street was strung with garlands of bright orange marigolds and dark green paan leaves. Another home was festooned with diaphanous fabric from its rooftops so it resembled a grand ship about to set sail.

Across cultures, marriage is one of life's most important rites of passage but in India it is a milestone for which middle-class families assiduously save for years, then go all out to host a marathon of parties and rituals leading up to the wedding.

As Indians become wealthier they are spending more to stage elaborate multi-day events leading up to the ceremony. India's $31bn wedding industry is growing at 25 per cent a year, according to a report in the Indian magazine The Week.

Today, a reception might be held at a hotel in order to accommodate hundreds of guests and the largest million-dollar weddings are held at venues such as country clubs that can accommodate thousands. But for many Indians, some part of the wedding festivities is still held at home.

"Home is where your memories are. You belong in that space," says Chiara Nath, who was married at her parents' home in New Delhi this spring. "The significance of every moment you spent at home before you leave becomes really poignant."

The mehndi , a party where the bride and female guests have their hands decorated with henna, is usually held at the home of the bride or her relatives. The sangeet , a party of singing and dancing that precedes the wedding, might also be held at home.

"One big reason to have the mehndi at home is to integrate the whole household into the wedding festivities. Relatives and friends gather to celebrate in a more intimate way," says Mohini Bhatia, whose sister Radhika got married in Delhi in March.

Yet even in family spaces the look and feel of Indian weddings is undergoing dramatic changes. For Hindu weddings, red and gold hues used to dominate the decor. The flower of choice was the marigold, an auspicious bloom typically used for religious offerings, strung into long garlands on the house.

But conventions are shifting. Rising incomes and greater awareness fostered by more travel have made many Indians more demanding and discerning. There are also more cross-regional marriages that might combine elements drawn from the different cultural traditions of the bride and groom.

In the past, weddings were organised by the bride's family. Now brides and bridegrooms can have more influence. Pastel shades and light fabrics might replace red and gold hues and heavy cloth. Themed celebrations might draw on different cultures and aesthetics. The ubiquitous marigold might be jettisoned for roses, orchids, lilies and gerbera daisies.

Amrish Pershad, a wedding planner who designed the sets for Mira Nair's 2002 film Monsoon Wedding , estimates wealthy upper middle-class Indians spend up to Rs600,000 (£7,300) on design and decor for a single event and as much as Rs2.5m-Rs3m (£30,500-£36,500) for all the expenses of one event, which might include food, drinks, music and service. The costs of the weddings of the wealthiest Indians could amount to the equivalent of millions of dollars, wedding planners say.

Preeti Singh, whose daughter married in Delhi this February, hired Pershad to help plan and co-ordinate six events, including the marriage ceremony. Five of them were held at her home in Delhi and her sister's farm - a sprawling estate complete with swimming pool on the outskirts of Delhi.

For a cocktail party at Singh's home metres of lime green and yellow fabric were draped from a second-floor balcony over the front yard to transform the house into a pastel cocoon. Pershad, originally a florist, covered the front gate with delicate roses and used hanging ivy and creepers to hide parts of the house from view. Instead of setting the residence ablaze with white lights, as per convention, he subtly interspersed strands of lights amid the ivy.

The farmhouse was the venue for the sangeet , which was themed around Buddha. Statues of the deity, paintings and candles were set up at the party, attended by 700 people who danced to Hindi pop music played by a disc jockey.

It was just one in a series of events in the week leading up to the wedding that transformed the farmhouse day after day, like a theatre set. The mehndi had an Indian "village" theme, where 350 guests ate, drank and mingled beneath large umbrellas made from old saris, "like in Mughal times", says Singh. "Vendors" gave guests bangles, hand-crafted shoes and hair ties as though a village mela (or "gathering" in Hindi) had been transported to Delhi. About 600 people attended the outdoor wedding reception, which had an "English" theme characterised by pink tablecloths, rose bouquets and a canopy draped in pink fabric.

Traditionally, the home of the bride's family would be open to visiting family members for about a week before the wedding but in return for access to an open house of eating, singing and celebration, relatives would take charge of organising food, decorations, flowers and other tasks. But times have changed. "Now no wedding goes without a wedding planner," says Singh. "In the old days you just had a caterer and the tent- wallah [wallah denotes a vocation in Hindi] would do the needful." Families used to cook for themselves. Now caterers are de rigueur and more exotic menus are in demand. "Now you have to have sushi, Chinese and continental food," adds Ms Singh. Pradeep Bedi, another Delhi-based wedding planner, says the marriage industry has gone through enormous changes in the past five years. "People are coming up with their own ideas. They are concerned about minute details now."

He attributes the shift in attitude to increased spending power of middle-class Indians, not to mention "Indian movies showing glamorous things".

Arab, Hollywood, Bollywood and a "crystal ball" are themes he has recently worked to produce. As expectations increase, so does the pressure to stage ever more opulent events. Although Singh says an impressive wedding means you've "said goodbye to [your daughter] in the best manner you could ever do", she also laments that they are becoming too commercialised.

But in another take on the tailoring of the modern Indian marriage celebration prompted by increasing affluence, Chiara Nath had a simple, elegant event at her parents' farmhouse on the outskirts of Delhi. Only 250 guests were at the sangeet and just 80 people attended the reception.

Nath said there was initially great resistance to the idea of such a small occasion from her parents. She was told she would offend a lot of people by restricting the guest list but Nath, a designer who lives in the coastal state of Goa, insisted on a pared-down event. "For me, none of that formality was necessary."

Her restrained aesthetics shocked Bedi, her wedding planner. She requested cream hues and gold accents for the reception tent, table cloths and chair covers. "Mr Bedi thought I was crazy," admitted Nath, explaining he thought the palette was too cold and drab, especially as white is the colour of funerals in India. "I said: 'It's OK. Less is more.' It was an exercise in patience," said Nath.

Ultimately, Bedi was converted to her vision. Weeks later he lauded the wedding as "subtle, simple and classy". And though the celebration was more restrained than most, the result was an intimate affair held at the bride's childhood home.

"I wanted it simple," said Nath. "I did what was most necessary to me."

Amy Yee is an FT correspondent in New Delhi

FT: Guest column: Japan’s eye for quality may not be equalled

 

 

Business of Luxury 2008

Guest column: Japan’s eye for quality may not be equalled

By Radha Chadha

Published: May 28 2008 03:50 | Last updated: May 28 2008 03:50

Japan has been the El Dorado for the luxury industry – the Japanese consumer accounts for 30 to 40 per cent of global revenues for leading luxury brands. It is also the number one in terms of penetration – for example, as many as 94 per cent of Tokyo women in their 20s own a Louis Vuitton piece.

With other countries in Asia now posting dramatic economic growth, the question is whether the Japan luxury story will be repeated. China, and eventually India, will develop into Japan-sized luxury markets, but there will be a significant qualitative difference. Japanese consumers are special in that they have always had a deep appreciation for the keener aspects of luxury. A sense of aesthetics, an understanding of craftsmanship, an eye for quality, a reverence for heritage, a thirst for detailed know-how are programmed into the Japanese DNA – it is as if the Japanese consumer was purpose-built for luxury.

The rest of Asia does not quite have the same finicky luxury gene. Nor, for that matter, does any other country in the world – even Louis Vuitton had to lift its quality standards for Japan. What was acceptable to the French consumer did not pass muster there.

The Spread of Luxury model is a helpful lens through which to examine what has happened in Japan and how it might be extrapolated to other Asian countries.

Japan has been through all the five stages – from a post-war economy in shambles (Stage 1: Subjugation); to rapid growth, when the masses shopped for white goods and a small elite bought Western luxury (Stage 2: Start of money); to the emergence of a moneyed middle class that liberally used luxury brands as status markers (Stage 3: Show off); to the late 1980s when the need to conform to the new norms helped luxury culture to spread (Stage 4: Fit in); to the current period where a discerning consumer finds herself locked into the habit (Stage 5: Way of life).

As economic growth puts more money into more hands in other Asian countries, the luxury culture will spread along similar lines. Hong Kong already has a sophisticated consumer base nudging towards the “way of life” stage. South Korea has developed at feverish pace to the “fit in” stage. China is at the “show off” stage – wealth has arrived to select segments of society and luxury brands have become the weapon of choice to display it.

In terms of population, China is like 10 Japans. Even when the first of these reaches the “way of life” stage, the other nine will be at different stages. Luxury brands will have to devise strategies to cater to consumers who range from the extremely sophisticated to the utterly uninitiated.

India is the other Asian giant. It is early days for the luxury industry there – western brands entered barely five years ago. The country is still largely at the “start of money” stage, where the elite are indulging in luxury brands. India does have some old money – royal families and industrial dynasties – but the real prize for the luxury industry is the new money that will be made by in coming years.

Revenues will certainly come, but will the Chinese and Indians eventually develop a Japan-like appreciation for the finer aspects of luxury? The answer lies in deep cultural roots, especially an evolved visual and aesthetic sense honed over centuries, as is the case with Japan.

Historically, the Chinese have a sophisticated culture, but Mao pressed the delete button on it so decisively that it may be difficult to reactivate. Indians, on the other hand, have maintained their rich traditions. Their appreciation of a finely woven benarasi sari or an intricately gold-embroidered wedding lehnga could well translate into an exacting eye for western luxury.

Mark Prendergrast, president of Tom Ford Japan, sums it up well: “Western brands are merely the ‘icing on the cake’ of a long-held tradition of luxury.”

Radha Chadha is author of ‘The Cult of the Luxury Brand’ and one of Asia’s leading consumer experts

Lego, Imagination

Imaginative-lego-clever-advertisement

NY Times: Resistance Is Futile


Source:http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/25/arts/television/25schi.html?th=&emc=th&pagewanted=all

Excerpt:


Through all his games, his designs are marked by an accumulation of care and detail.

Given that its roster of characters includes not only Mario and Donkey Kong but also Princess Peach, Zelda, Bowser and Link, it’s easy to imagine that Mr. Miyamoto designs his games around those characters.

The truth is exactly the opposite. According to Mr. Miyamoto, gameplay systems and mechanics have always come first, while the characters are created and deployed in the service of the overall design. That means a focus on the seemingly prosaic basic elements of game design: movement, setting, goals to accomplish and obstacles to overcome.

“I feel that people like Mario and people like Link and the other characters we’ve created not for the characters themselves, but because the games they appear in are fun,” he said. “And because people enjoy playing those games first, they come to love the characters as well.”

Mr. Miyamoto’s work is evolving from a reliance on invented characters and fanciful, outlandish settings like Mario’s Mushroom Kingdom or Zelda’s mythical Hyrule. With games like Nintendogs (inspired by his pet Shetland sheepdog), Wii Sports, Wii Fit and coming next, Wii Music, Mr. Miyamoto is gravitating toward everyday hobbies: pets, bowling, yoga, Hula-Hoop, music. It is as if an artist who had mastered the abstract had finally moved into realism.

“I would say that over the last five years or so, the types of games I create has changed somewhat,” he said. “Whereas before I could kind of use my own imagination to create these worlds or create these games, I would say that over the last five years I’ve had more of a tendency to take interests or topics in my life and try to draw the entertainment out of that.”

It has proved the perfect strategy as Nintendo reaches out to nongamers who may not care to understand why this frantic plumber keeps jumping on top of turtles, or why that gallant fellow in green has to keep rescuing the same princess over and over. At this moment, when consumers crave the ability to shape and become a part of their entertainment, whether through MySpace or “American Idol,” the latest star in Nintendo’s stable of characters is you — or rather Mii, the whimsical avatar Wii users create of themselves.

“I see the Miis as the most recent character creation from Nintendo,” Mr. Miyamoto said. “What’s interesting is that regardless of the user’s age, if they’re looking at a Mii, it’s their Mii. Before, when you’re playing as another character, it’s more typical of more passive entertainment, and by creating a Mii you’re becoming more a part of the entertainment experience.”

==
Video Games

Resistance Is Futile

Michael Nagle for The New York Times

Shigeru Miyamoto illustrates the Wii Fit system, a new interactive physical fitness device from Nintendo.

Published: May 25, 2008

IT’S O.K. to liken Shigeru Miyamoto to Walt Disney.

Skip to next paragraph

An image from Wii Fit.

Mario Super Sluggers for Wii.

Characters and a scene from Donkey Kong.

When Disney died in 1966, Mr. Miyamoto was a 14-year-old schoolteacher’s son living near Kyoto, Japan’s ancient capital. An aspiring cartoonist, he adored the classic Disney characters. When he wasn’t drawing, he made his own toys, carving wooden puppets with his grandfathers’ tools or devising a car race from a spare motor, string and tin cans.

Even as he has become the world’s most famous and influential video-game designer — the father of Donkey Kong, Mario, Zelda and, most recently, the Wii — Mr. Miyamoto still approaches his work like a humble craftsman, not as the celebrity he is to gamers around the world.

Perched on the end of a chair in a hotel suite a few dozen stories above Midtown Manhattan, the preternaturally cherubic 55-year-old Mr. Miyamoto radiated the contentment of someone who has always wanted to make fun. And he has. As the creative mastermind at Nintendo for almost three decades, Mr. Miyamoto has unleashed mass entertainment with a global breadth, cultural endurance and financial success unsurpassed since Disney’s fabled career.

In the West, chances are that Mr. Miyamoto would have started his own company a long time ago. He could have made billions and established himself as a staple of entertainment celebrity. Instead, despite being royalty at Nintendo and a cult figure, he almost comes across as just another salaryman (though a particularly creative and happy one) with a wife and two school-age children at home near Kyoto. He is not tabloid fodder, and he seems to maintain a relatively nondescript lifestyle.

“What’s important is that the people that I work with are also recognized and that it’s the Nintendo brand that goes forward and continues to become strong and popular,” he said by way of comparing Walt Disney’s role in the larger brand with his. “And if people are going to consider the Nintendo brand as being on the same level as the Disney brand, that’s very flattering and makes me happy to hear,” he added, through an interpreter. (He understands spoken English well but does not speak it beyond a few phrases, a twist of considerable amusement to him given that his father taught English.)

Mario, the mustached Italian plumber he created almost 30 years ago, has become by some measures the planet’s most recognized fictional character, rivaled only by Mickey Mouse. As the creator of the Donkey Kong, Mario and Zelda series (which have collectively sold more than 350 million copies) and the person who ultimately oversees every Nintendo game, Mr. Miyamoto may be personally responsible for the consumption of more billions of hours of human time than anyone around. In the Time 100 online poll conducted this spring, Mr. Miyamoto was voted the most influential person in the world.

But it isn’t just traditional gamers who are flocking to Mr. Miyamoto’s latest creation, the Wii. Eighteen months ago, just when video games were in danger of disappearing into the niche world of fetishists, Mr. Miyamoto and Satoru Iwata, Nintendo’s chief executive, practically reinvented the industry. (Mr. Miyamoto’s full title is senior managing director and general manager of Nintendo’s entertainment analysis and development division.) Their idea was revolutionary in its simplicity: rather than create a new generation of games that would titillate hard-core players, they developed the Wii as an easy-to-use, inexpensive diversion for families (with a particular appeal to women, an audience generally immune to the pull of traditional video games). So far the Wii has sold more than 25 million units, besting the competition from Sony and Microsoft.

In an effort to build on this success, last week Nintendo released its new Wii Fit system in North America, a device that hopes to make doing yoga in front of a television screen almost as much fun as driving, throwing, jumping or shooting in a traditional game. Though there were no hard sales figures available as of Tuesday, there were reports of stores across the country selling out of Wii Fit.

In a global media culture dominated by American faces, tastes and brands, video games are Japan’s most successful cultural export. And on the strength of the Wii and the DS hand-held game system, Nintendo has become one of the most valuable companies in Japan. With a net worth of around $8 billion, Nintendo’s former chairman, Hiroshi Yamauchi, is now the richest man in Japan, according to Forbes magazine. (Nintendo does not disclose Mr. Miyamoto’s compensation, but it appears that he has not joined the ranks of the superrich.)

“Without Miyamoto, Nintendo would be back making playing cards,” said Andy McNamara, editor in chief of Game Informer, the No. 1 game magazine, referring to Nintendo’s original business in 1889. “He probably inspires 99 percent of the developers out there today. You can even say there wouldn’t be video games today if it wasn’t for Miyamoto and Nintendo. He’s the granddad of all game developers, but the funny thing is that for all of his legacy, for all of the mainstay iconic characters he’s designed and created, he is still pushing the limits with things like Wii Fit.”

Mr. Miyamoto graduated from the Kanazawa College of Art in 1975 and joined Nintendo two years later as a staff artist. The original Donkey Kong was a prime force in gaming’s early surge of popularity, along with arcade classics like Space Invaders, Asteroids and Pac-Man.

He rose quickly at the company, and his name has been synonymous with Nintendo since the 1980s, when the original Mario Bros. games helped save the industry after the collapse of Atari, maker of the first broadly popular home console. When Atari failed amid a slew of unpopular games, Nintendo rekindled faith in home gaming systems; the Nintendo Entertainment System, released in the West in 1985, became the best-selling console of its era.

Since then Mr. Miyamoto has been directly involved in the production of at least 70 games, including recent hits like Mario Kart Wii, Super Smash Bros. Brawl, Super Mario Galaxy and The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Mr. Miyamoto supervises about 400 people, including contractors, almost entirely in Japan. The popular new installments in classic game franchises have maintained his credibility among core gamers even as he has reached out to new audiences with mass-market products like the Wii.

Through all his games, his designs are marked by an accumulation of care and detail. There is nothing objective about why a goofy guy in blue overalls like Mario should appeal to so many, just as there is nothing objective in how Disney could have built a company on talking animals. Rather, the reason I stood in line at a pizzeria more than 20 years ago to play Super Mario Bros., the reason Mr. Miyamoto is almost a living god in the game world, is that his games have some ineffable lure that inspires you to drop just one more quarter (or, these days, to stay on the couch just one more hour).

Just as a film is not measured by the quality of its special effects, a game is not measured merely by its graphics. This concept is lost on many designers, but not on Mr. Miyamoto. And just as a film buff might prefer to watch an old black-and-white movie instead of, say, “Iron Man,” even Mr. Miyamoto’s earliest games hold up as worthy diversions. (The story of two men battling for the world record in Donkey Kong was made into a film, “The King of Kong,” last year.)

“There are very few people in the video game industry who have managed to succeed time after time at a world-class level, and Miyamoto-san is one of them,” Graham Hopper, a Disney veteran and executive vice president and general manager of Disney Interactive Studios, said in a telephone interview. “The level of creative success that he has achieved over a sustained period is probably unparalleled.”

Given that its roster of characters includes not only Mario and Donkey Kong but also Princess Peach, Zelda, Bowser and Link, it’s easy to imagine that Mr. Miyamoto designs his games around those characters.

The truth is exactly the opposite. According to Mr. Miyamoto, gameplay systems and mechanics have always come first, while the characters are created and deployed in the service of the overall design. That means a focus on the seemingly prosaic basic elements of game design: movement, setting, goals to accomplish and obstacles to overcome.

“I feel that people like Mario and people like Link and the other characters we’ve created not for the characters themselves, but because the games they appear in are fun,” he said. “And because people enjoy playing those games first, they come to love the characters as well.”

Mr. Miyamoto’s work is evolving from a reliance on invented characters and fanciful, outlandish settings like Mario’s Mushroom Kingdom or Zelda’s mythical Hyrule. With games like Nintendogs (inspired by his pet Shetland sheepdog), Wii Sports, Wii Fit and coming next, Wii Music, Mr. Miyamoto is gravitating toward everyday hobbies: pets, bowling, yoga, Hula-Hoop, music. It is as if an artist who had mastered the abstract had finally moved into realism.

“I would say that over the last five years or so, the types of games I create has changed somewhat,” he said. “Whereas before I could kind of use my own imagination to create these worlds or create these games, I would say that over the last five years I’ve had more of a tendency to take interests or topics in my life and try to draw the entertainment out of that.”

It has proved the perfect strategy as Nintendo reaches out to nongamers who may not care to understand why this frantic plumber keeps jumping on top of turtles, or why that gallant fellow in green has to keep rescuing the same princess over and over. At this moment, when consumers crave the ability to shape and become a part of their entertainment, whether through MySpace or “American Idol,” the latest star in Nintendo’s stable of characters is you — or rather Mii, the whimsical avatar Wii users create of themselves.

“I see the Miis as the most recent character creation from Nintendo,” Mr. Miyamoto said. “What’s interesting is that regardless of the user’s age, if they’re looking at a Mii, it’s their Mii. Before, when you’re playing as another character, it’s more typical of more passive entertainment, and by creating a Mii you’re becoming more a part of the entertainment experience.”

Nintendo is expected to release more details about Wii Music this summer, but the basic concept is that while popular music games like Guitar Hero and Rock Band allow players only to recreate canned tunes, Wii Music will try to enable users to capture the feelings of composition and improvisation.

Mr. Miyamoto grew up on Western music like the Beatles and the Lovin’ Spoonful. He plays piano and banjo and, as a bluegrass aficionado, immediately recognized the name of Ricky Skaggs when told over dinner in Manhattan that Mr. Skaggs was scheduled to perform in town in a few days. Mr. Miyamoto even joked about extending his stay to catch the show. (He didn’t.)

“We’re trying to create an experience where people are very simply able to get the feeling like maybe they’re creating music,” he said.

With a track record like his, it would be foolish to bet against him. When it comes to the Walt Disney of the digital generation, no one knows fun better.

Bizweek: Material for an Architectural Revolution



===

source: http://www.businessweek.com/innovate/content/apr2007/id20070424_903199.htm
http://images.businessweek.com/ss/07/04/0423_efte/index_01.htm

Foiltec

Foiltec

Architecture April 24, 2007, 3:37PM EST text size: TT

Material for an Architectural Revolution

ETFE, a fluorocarbon-based polymer, is a durable, adaptable plastic that's opening horizons for builders at the Beijing Olympics and beyond

Imagine a swimming arena made out of bubbles. Or a stadium knit from steel girders like a bird's nest. Or even an enormous tent, proudly covering over a million square feet of space. A decade ago, such buildings might have existed only in the imagination. Today, they're being built in Beijing as China's new National Stadium and National Aquatics Center and as the Khan Shatyry Entertainment Center in Astana, Kazakhstan. All thanks to innovative architects, adroit engineers—and the unusual properties of the material called ETFE.

ETFE may be about to get its moment in the architectural spotlight, but in fact, it has been around since the 1970s, when DuPont invented a fluorocarbon-based polymer, Ethylene Tetrafluoroethylene, for use as an insulation material in the aeronautics industry.

The interesting property for architects is that the resin can be spun into a thin, surprisingly durable, film, which manufacturers such as DuPont (also Asahi Glass Company, which calls its version Fluon) pack in rolls—like a sturdier version of plastic cling-wrap. It can be used in sheets or inflated into pillows, and with its incredible versatility, it has become the go-to material for those in search of an alternative to more traditional materials, such as glass.

Sweeping Europe

As it happens, DuPont didn't really care about pushing ETFE to architects at all. That fell to Stefan Lehnert, a German mechanical engineering and business administration student and avid sailor, who stumbled across the material in his search for new sail technologies. Having discounted it as inappropriate for his sailing needs, he nonetheless saw building-material potential in its transparency and its self-cleaning and structural properties.

In 1982, he founded Vector Foiltec—a design and manufacturing company specializing in the use of ETFE—in Bremen, Germany, and began shopping the material around to architectural firms. The company's first project, the roof of a small pavilion at a zoo in Arnheim, Holland.

Since then, ETFE has become increasingly popular, especially in Europe. The 1990s saw it used in office atria, university buildings, medical facilities, exposition halls, and zoos across Britain and Germany. In 2000, the Eden Project, a huge environmental complex in Cornwall, Britain, containing two gigantic geodesic conservatories covered in ETFE, was unveiled. Designed by Grimshaw Architects, the construction was widely acclaimed as an engineering marvel, and created a wave of global interest.

Bubbles and Twigs

With the spotlight on the Beijing Olympics, designers expect ETFE to go mainstream at last. Certainly there's no better illustration of the material's ability to turn architectural fantasy into reality than the Beijing Olympic Green, located at the north end of the central axis of Beijing City. There, less than 500 meters apart, sit the rapidly rising National Stadium and National Aquatic Center.

The two structures could not look more different. The Herzog and de Meuron-designed stadium is crafted out of woven steel and resembles a sturdy but intricate bird's nest. The Aquatics Center, nicknamed the Watercube, is refined and delicately detailed, an iridescent box covered in what appear to be bubbles. When completed later this year, both will showcase innovative uses of ETFE. To protect spectators from rain and wind, the stadium will feature red ETFE cushions inserted in the spaces between the "twigs" of its "nest." The 750,000 square foot Watercube, the largest ETFE project ever, will be clad entirely (roof and four walls) in blue ETFE cushions.

Given the extensive size and expense (an estimated $100 million) of the Watercube project, it's surprising to note that this will be the first time that Sydney, Australia's PTW Architects have actually used the fabric. They're that confident. John Bilmon, managing director at the company, says they chose ETFE over glass and fiberglass because it satisfied the project's engineering needs. Some bubbles in the design span 30 feet without any internal framing—a distance that wouldn't be possible with other materials.

No Sharp Objects

But the ETFE system also cost less (though they wouldn't give specifics) than an equivalent traditional system, freeing up money for higher-quality filtration and water-treatment systems for the center's pools. A more traditional form of cladding would have been not only more expensive and cumbersome, says Bilmon, it would have resulted in a "…less exciting, beautiful, and functional building."

The material's appeal is manifold, and those who work with it praise its unique properties. First, it's extremely light—about 1/100 the weight of glass—and deceptively strong, able to stretch to three times its length without losing its elasticity. (Having said that, a sharp implement like a knife can puncture it—one reason it's used mostly for roofs.)

If the film does tear, it can be patched with other pieces of ETFE. When exposed to fire, it softens and shrinks away from the heat, naturally venting smoke out of a building. And it's naturally nonstick, nonporous surface, which has chemical properties similar to DuPont's other best-selling material, Teflon, is so slick that dirt, snow, and rain simply slide off.

Shape Shifter

Its light weight reduces corresponding structural costs. Edward Peck, managing director of the North American Division of Foiltec, which now has 12 offices and 250 employees worldwide, estimates that a simple, small roofing project could be 10% cheaper if ETFE were used. For larger, more complicated projects, the overall construction savings could reach 60%.

Then there's the fun factor. ETFE comes in different finishes (transparent, matte) and colors, and can be lit from within using LED lights or decorated with light projections like a giant movie screen. It can be printed with patterns by running it through a special press—something not possible with glass. It can take myriad shapes, too: Strips can be heat-welded together like fabric squares in a quilt. This "sewing" method enables ETFE to be installed in pieces much longer and wider than glass. A large glass panel might measure 10 ft. by 5 ft., whereas a strip of ETFE could be 180 feet long and 12 feet wide, with structural supports.

It also scores well on the environmentally friendly front, particularly crucial given the current call for greener building practices. The film is recyclable (simply melt and reuse), and due to its light weight, doesn't require much energy to transport. The Watercube is designed to gather heat passing through its ETFE walls and roof—energy that can be used to heat the building's water systems or expelled through vents if the building gets too hot.

High Maintenance

On an aesthetic level, the cushions reinforce the building's theme. Their pillowy shapes evoke a bubbles's roundness, and their triple-layered construction, which mixes layers of blue film with transparent film, gives the façade a sense of depth and shifting color. Once the games start in August, 2008, officials will be able to transform the walls into a giant TV screen showing simultaneous projections of the swimming activities taking place inside.

For all its wondrous properties, ETFE isn't an entirely perfect material. In its typical usage, two or three layers are welded together and shipped flat to the job site, where they're inflated into panels or "cushions". These cushions require semi-continuous air pressure—to keep them stable and give them thermal properties—so most systems include thin hoses that plug into the cushions' sides.

These air-supply lines connect to a computerized system that monitors the pressure within the cushions. This system can also feed air into, or eject air from, particular chambers or layers to let in more light or create more shade, meaning the ETFE cushions act as a dynamic puffer jacket for buildings. In some installations, this is done automatically using light sensors.

Overheard Overhead

Of course, many projects don't call for such complexity. "You have to evaluate, project by project, what the driving force is for using ETFE," says Foiltec's Peck. "Is it for architectural imagery, for transparency, for structural reasons or thermal performance?" He doesn't advise using it for small-scale or residential projects.

Acoustics can be another drawback. The cushion system, when used on a roof, can amplify the sound of rain because the tension in the cushion acts like a drum. Manufacturers have developed several noise-suppressing techniques, including layering polycarbonate sheets within ETFE cushions, but their use isn't widespread yet.

Interior applications, such as walls within an office, present other sound issues. ETFE transmits more sound than glass or wood, making it ill-suited for meeting rooms or conference centers near airports, to name one ETFE proposal that was quashed by noise concerns. Conversely, ETFE can be beneficial for self-contained, noisy areas like aquatic parks—sound bounces off the walls and floor and escapes through the roof.

Just the Beginning

But plans are already under way to address these concerns, and ETFE is already cropping up in more and more locations. Foiltec has eight projects that will be built in the U.S. next year (and more than 100 projects slated worldwide), and has just completed an atrium roof for a U.S. Federal building. Peck hopes the latter project might prove to be a turning point for ETFE in the U.S., which has been notably slow to catch on to the material's potential. ETFE was named in three of the four submissions for the Beijing National Aquatic Center, and can be seen in several proposals for the 2012 London Olympics.

Another large ETFE project is already on the horizon: The Khan Shatyry Entertainment Center, a 1,076,000-sq.-ft. tent-shaped recreational complex in the capital of Kazakhstan, designed by London firm Foster + Partners is due for completion next year. Other top-tier architecture firms, like Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) and Gehry Partners, are said to be considering ETFE for upcoming projects.

And other innovations are still being developed. Foiltec is currently testing whether it might be possible to attach photovoltaics to ETFE panels or use an insulating "nanogel" to increase a panel's thermal properties. As Bilmon, the Watercube architect, says: "There's a new realization that the whole of the world is facing sustainability issues—and solutions like ETFE are required for the future."

Click here to view how ETFE is being used in buildings around the world.

http://images.businessweek.com/ss/07/04/0423_efte/index_01.htm


Woyke is a staff editor at BusinessWeek.

FT: Entrepreneurship

Churchill understood this when he said: “The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of the blessings. The inherent blessing of socialism is the equal sharing of misery.”....As Robert Ingersoll, the great American orator, said, “Commerce is the great civiliser. We exchange ideas when we exchange fabrics.”


==

What’s so terrible about making money?

By Luke Johnson

Published: May 20 2008 21:49 | Last updated: May 20 2008 21:49

One thing that has always baffled me is why certain people hate capitalism so much. They really are missing something.

Ever since I was 18 and co-founded a business by accident, I knew that being an entrepreneur was the most fun you could have with your clothes on – it is the greatest adventure modern life has to offer. And if you’re lucky and astute, you might even get rich in the process. Why is that so terrible? Yet all too often capitalism is blamed for many of the ills of modern life, from global warming to poverty.

I remain convinced that many intelligent, ambitious individuals would adopt a self-employed way of life if they could strip away all the cultural bias and realise that building a venture can be a creative, even an heroic, endeavour. In truth, becoming an entrepreneur is a vocation, like fine art or quantum physics or teaching. But intellectual snobbery, prejudice and the comfort blanket of big organisations means business frequently fails to win the moral arguments.

Plenty of opinion-formers in the media, academia and places like Brussels and Whitehall too often think the world is a zero-sum place: they believe that each commercial success is bought at the cost of someone else’s failure. Anti-capitalists suggest that the solution to inequality is redistribution – which actually means levelling down. Churchill understood this when he said: “The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of the blessings. The inherent blessing of socialism is the equal sharing of misery.”

Central planners forget how the inventive instinct is stimulated and assume the worst of markets. Citizens start businesses and create new products and jobs because it gives them freedom in their lives. As Robert Ingersoll, the great American orator, said, “Commerce is the great civiliser. We exchange ideas when we exchange fabrics.”

But the blinkered, often envious critics see the process as a vicious battle between capital and labour and too often believe that more laws, taxes and regulation are the only answer to the challenges of modern life.

Such intervention can carry a high price. The catastrophic unintended consequences of biofuel mania are a grim reminder of the harm such distortions can bring. Will the high-minded political classes admit the error of their ways and swiftly abandon the mad incentives that are contributing to food riots and encouraging deforestation? One of the wonderful things about markets is that they self-correct ruthlessly: companies that fail to serve the customer will be overwhelmed by rivals – and go bust – and see their assets reallocated. But governments move slowly, ideologues can be stubborn and damaging legislation can take years to rescind.

Most people focus on the risks of free enterprise and are scared to join the ranks of the self-made. Some have learned to play the system of government and institutions like a game, and enjoy power, pension and profit from their position in the state sector.

Why should they encourage choice and competition when they have such a safe haven as a bureaucrat, trade union official, academic, etc?

Last week, this paper reported research carried out by The Prince’s Trust, the UK charity, which showed that 73 per cent of young respondents felt schools and colleges promoted “safe” careers rather than the idea of start-ups. We should cajole educational establishments to inspire their students to get involved in the world of business.

Innovation and progress come from embracing markets and encouraging entrepreneurs. The world is more competitive than ever; we cannot rely on old industries and the state to maintain our standard of living.

Markets are naturally dynamic, whereas governments resist change and fresh thinking. According to the Global Entrepreneurship Monitor, overall early-stage entrepreneur activity in Britain involves about 5.6 per cent of the population, a much lower rate than in the US, Brazil or China.

A slowdown in the economy and rising unemployment might just stimulate more to start their own business as an alternative. This would be the silver lining of the credit crunch cloud.


FT: A monument to the possible

A monument to the possible

By Edwin Heathcote

Published: May 17 2008 01:48 | Last updated: May 17 2008 01:48

Standing on an artificial island off Doha’s harbour, Qatar’s new Museum of Islamic Art looks like a leftover from an epic Atlantean production. It has that stage-set flatness, and that odd cocktail aesthetic of ancient past, postmodern and off-key speculation that characterises science-fiction future-worlds. Blockbusters demand visions that suggest something hovering between utopia and dystopia, the wonders of imperial Rome tempered with the eerie megalomania of Mussolini’s version. In the searing sunshine of Qatari daytime, it has a cheesiness about it, a dated, sub-art-deco chunk seated self-satisfied between a pair of operatic obelisks.

But as you approach, it gets better. Suddenly the chunky stonework and sharp edges begin to make sense, it becomes more as you’d imagine a castle or a citadel must have looked when new, powerful but crafted. Then, once inside, everything resolves itself. This, you realise, is real architecture.

The museum is the work of Ieoh Ming Pei, the Chinese-American architect of the Louvre Pyramid and, at 91, it’s being billed as his final work. He apparently had to be cajoled into accepting the commission at all. Once he took it on, however, he embarked on a grand tour of Islamic architecture and, unlike some architects who seem to accept commissions in the Gulf as virtual sculptures, designing a shape and letting the workers get on with it, Pei has obviously taken his work very seriously indeed. After studying Islamic monuments around the world, Pei settled on a small fountain for ablutions outside the 9th-century mosque of Ahmad ibn Tulun in Cairo – from this, he derived his inspiration for the museum.

The sense of arrival is sharpened by the entry over a short footbridge (although VIPs can arrive by boat in a Venice-style landing) and, once inside, you are struck by a central space of impressive intensity and complexity. Culminating in a silvered faceted dome that shimmers 50m above the cool atrium, the heart of the building is a generous and dynamic space across which steel bridges fly and from which galleries shoot off in all directions. The height and the calm grandeur take you completely, satisfyingly, by surprise.

There is the slightest, unfortunate hint of a panopticon – Jeremy Bentham’s idealised prison plan, which allowed warders to monitor all prison wings from a single point – but, as it also evokes so many other typologies from mosque to palace courtyard, perhaps we can forgive that. There is also a terrace courtyard with a fountain at its centre and arcades giving on to a tantalising view of the sparkling sea of the harbour, a seductive space that reveals the depth of Pei’s immersion in Islamic form.

There are a few more odd blends of style and motif – cast-concrete ceiling panels that resemble late-colonial British brutal (a 1960s office or hospital in Africa, say), bridges that would look more at home in an airport, furniture that would look more at home in a corporate lobby – but somehow it hangs together, and well. Pei is too old and too clever to worry about fashion. This looks like a good museum that could have been built in the early 1970s: it exemplifies a kind of solid, Platonic modernity that has fallen way out of fashion.

The gallery design has been done by Jean-Michel Wilmotte, the current globetrotting darling of the arts interior. It was still being installed when I was there and security and secrecy were fanatical, but it looked good – dignified, careful, considered. The collection is astonishing, with items ranging from the seventh to the 19th centuries. A 10th-century bronze fountain head from Andalusia, a 10th-century Iraqi astrolabe and an extraordinary 14th-16th-century silk carpet from Samarkand illustrated with a strange blend of garden and chessboard are among the 700 exquisite items that make up the display.

Price has been no object. The Qatari royal family have been acquiring at a rate that has led almost to hyper-inflation in the market. The depth and range of the acquisitions suggests the seriousness with which the royal family is addressing their museum building programme. Pei’s delayed but wonderful building is obviously only the first step. The surrounding harbour is due to be developed into a cultural district bristling with new museums, a cultural ambition similar to that of Abu Dhabi with its vast development at Saadiyat Island and Dubai with its plethora of art fairs and museum plans.

The idea is apparently to lay a solid foundation for culture in the region, making it a “destination”. The question remains, however, for whom? Unlike traditional cultural hotspots such as Paris, London or, New York, these are tiny states with tiny populations. Qatar has less than a million inhabitants and, unlike Dubai, it is hardly an established tourist destination.

But Qatar’s ambitions stretch beyond the immediate future. The 2,500-acre Qatar Foundation campus under construction just outside Doha will house branches of Cornell and Georgetown universities, and an impressive list of international architects from the site’s masterplanner Arata Isozaki to Rem Koolhaas is drawing up plans. Qatar is determined to become the region’s educational and cultural hub (as, of course, is Abu Dhabi).

The Museum of Islamic Arts is a confident beginning. Heretical as this may sound, I have never been convinced by IM Pei’s work. The last building I saw of his, the modern art museum in Luxembourg, is a stolid chunk of past-its-sell-by-date pudding, a truly unmemorable building. But the Qatar Museum is in another league. Pei may see this as his swansong, and he has invested it with feeling and a kind of monumentality that stands in stark contrast to the glassy, superficial skyscrapers emerging on the Doha skyline like a high-tech fungus. It was Pei’s decision to put the museum offshore, to stop the city’s commercial architecture encroaching on its setting. Despite its clunky, stage-set exterior, with its overtones of everything from Assyria to art deco, Pei has built an extremely fine museum. It is a building that – curiously – straddles modernism’s late heroic phase, the post-modernism that destroyed it and the new modernist consensus that has emerged since. It will be intriguing to see who uses it, whether or not it works as an anchor to this hugely ambitious programme, and whether Qatar can live up to it.

Edwin Heathcote is the FT’s architecture critic. For more coverage of the region go to www.ft.com/gulf

FT: Truck maker heeds firemen’s call

Truck maker heeds firemen’s call

             
By Hal Weitzman

Published: May 12 2008 19:42 | Last updated: May 12 2008 19:42

Anyone who thinks “fire-engine red” is a standard  colour would be surprised  by the paint laboratory at the back of the Pierce factory in Appleton, Wisconsin. On the wall are 125 metal plates, each painted a slightly different reddish hue.

“If you’re going to spend half a million dollars on a fire truck, you’ve got to be able to choose the exact colour you want,” jokes Jim Michal, vice-president of manufacturing for Oshkosh Corporation, the heavy truck maker that acquired Pierce in 1996.

Many western manufacturers have tried to stay competitive in the face of low-cost overseas competition by closely tailoring products to their customers’ needs. Oshkosh takes this approach to the extreme, customising its trucks according to individual buyers’ needs and collaborating with customers on redesigning its vehicles.

Its experience shows how such a strategy can pay off: in the past decade, Pierce has grown at an average rate of more than 11 per cent a year. With revenues last year of $600m – up from $180m when it was bought by Oshkosh – it is now the leading maker of fire trucks in the US with a market share of about one third in North America.

Tim Solobay, chief of the Canonsburg Volunteer Fire Department in Pennsylvania, agrees that Pierce’s customisation strategy helps attract buyers. “We went with Oshkosh because it’s just easy working with the company – you know it won’t become an engineering nightmare.” Pierce trucks are popular with volunteer teams, of which there are about 34,000 in the US and which account for 80 per cent of the company’s sales.

Mr Solobay is beaming at his new fire truck, parked on the factory floor – a slice of classic Americana with rows of gleaming vehicles bearing the emblems of fire departments from Jacinto City, Texas to Downers Grove, Illinois.

Mr Solobay says this is his third point of contact with the company: first, he and his crew met a local salesman to talk about design features, then, last December, they visited the factory to talk in more detail about customising the vehicle. On this return visit – a four-day trip – they check the results and take delivery.

Mr Michal says Pierce’s strategy of working with customers is two-pronged. First, the company tailors each vehicle, from the artwork on its grille to the water-pumping technology. “The customer has an option list for specifications,” he says. “The result is that no two vehicles are exactly the same.”

While that makes Pierce vehicles (such as the one pictured below) among the most expensive on the market, it also wins fierce brand loyalty among purchasers. Mr Solobay says his fire department is paying about $30,000 more than it would for a vehicle from a rival, but adds that for a fire truck that is only replaced about every 20-25 years there are other considerations, such as dependability and the unique features the company offers. “These are top-quality vehicles,” he says. “We know that because our other fire trucks are from Pierce.”

Oshkosh is so confident that its customers will stick with the Pierce brand that in April – while the US industrial sector appeared to be mired in recession – it increased the price of its vehicles, citing rising steel costs.

Charlie Szews, Oshkosh’s president and chief operating officer, says the tailoring strategy has been honed over decades. “We operate in relationship markets. These products last up to 50 years – there are still Pierce fire trucks from the 1950s that operate in the field. We have to think long-term.”

The second part of Pierce’s strategy involves using contacts with customers to aid redesign and spur innovation. Before undertaking a fundamental redesign of its basic fire truck model two years ago, Pierce surveyed its customers to get ideas for improvements. Then the company invited more than 100 firefighters to visit the factory to give them more detailed feedback. It put them in groups and asked them to design their ideal fire truck from scratch.

The company fed ideas from this exercise into the redesign: it removed a pillar from the windscreen and changed the location of wing mirrors to improve visibility; made door handles bigger so they were easier to use for firefighters wearing gloves; and installed side airbags for extra protection.

Oshkosh also used the opportunity to measure firemen – and found out they were, on average, taller and broader than federal guidelines on cab heights and seat widths had led them to expect. As a result, the company widened the standard seats in their trucks.

During a standard sales process, too, the company has a lot of time to get to know its customers. As with the Canonsburg fire department, customers who buy a fire truck infrequently – such as volunteer departments serving rural areas – typically have three meetings with the company over the course of the six months leading up to a sale. Up to 10,000 visitors a year come through the factory to inspect and collect their vehicles, and Pierce uses the opportunity to collect feedback.

“We line them up with a series of lunches and dinners while they’re here so we can hear their ideas,” says Mr Michal. “At every meal we have a staff member from a different department go out with them to chat informally. Then the employees document what’s been said and send it on to the engineering department or the marketing department.”

Bob Bohn, Oshkosh’s chairman and chief executive, says the ability to listen to customers in such an informal setting is an invaluable part of the production process. “It gives them a chance to really tell us what they like and what they don’t like,” he says.

It is only through taking advice on its products from their users that Pierce has been able to claim a progressively larger slice of the fire truck sector, the company says. “These markets only grow at about 1-3 per cent a year,” says Mr Szews. “We need to think differently in order to increase our market share.”

Vehicles built on front-line experience and first-hand feedback

While Pierce’s relations with its customers go deeper than most, Oshkosh adopts a similar approach across other units. Employees in its military arm, for example, spend months living in the field when US forces are testing prototypes and 20 per cent of the division is devoted to parts and servicing. The company has two facilities in Iraq and one in Kuwait dedicated to repairing and refurbishing military vehicles.

Mike Conger, Oshkosh
vice-president and general manager of operations, says his experience of living for three years near government “proving grounds” where vehicles are tested and delivering vehicles to the field is typical of how the company works with the US military. “I could walk around and talk to the staff sergeant or the chief warrant officer and get direct first-hand feedback about how our vehicles were performing,” he says.

As is standard for US military contractors, members of the Defense Contract Management Agency, a unit of the Pentagon, also work on site with Oshkosh. The company brings the dozen-strong DCMA team in to its operations as much as possible, with federal staff sitting in on twice-daily production meetings as well as inspecting quality and processes. Mr Conger says: “We hear the customer’s expectations right on the shop floor, and our employees hear it first-hand.”


                 

FT: The Arab comic-book hero

The Arab comic-book hero

By Tobias Buck

Published: May 6 2008 21:08 | Last updated: May 6 2008 21:08

Suleiman Bakhit’s dream of becoming the Walt Disney of the Arab world began in a Minnesota classroom full of American first-grade students.

The young Jordanian student (pictured below) was there in January 2002 to talk about Arabs and Muslims. He wanted to explain to these children that the men behind the attacks on New York and Washington four months earlier were a radical fringe, that their atrocities should not stoke fears of the wider Arab world. We, Mr Bakhit was trying to say, are not so different from you.Sulieman bakhit

“Then one of the boys asked: ‘Do you have Arab superheroes? Is there an Arab Superman?’ And it hit me. There are none. So I asked myself – what would an Arab superhero look like?” Mr Bakhit recalls. “Slowly, I started sketching and thinking. I taught myself how to draw.”

In 2005, Mr Bakhit returned to Jordan. He had studied human resource development in the US, a rare qualification in the Arab world, and job offers poured in. But the question raised by the little boy in Minnesota had not gone away.

Over the next three years, Mr Bakhit not only honed his drawing skills, but he also developed his first story, a tale about a gang of Arab children in the year 2050. He became increasingly convinced there was not only a market for his stories and characters but that there was a real hunger among young Arabs for indigenous content and for home-grown superheroes who would speak to their aspirations and talk in their language.

“It got to the point where I either got started or not. It was time to put up or shut up,” Mr Bakhit says. So in 2005 he used $50,000 – some of which was from his personal savings and some from an outside investor – to set up Aranim Media Factory, the first comic book publisher in Jordan and one of only three in the Arab world.

Mr Bakhit’s business style, too, is visibly out of the ordinary. He never wears a suit and tie; his office is littered with DVDs, plastic toys and a bewildering array of exercise machinery; and he rides a big, gleaming motorbike.

The company is housed on two floors of an unassuming building in Amman, Jordan. The first thing that catches a visitor’s eye is graffiti proclaiming “The Impossible Dream”. Inside, there are huge prints depicting the varied and rapidly growing cast of heroes, villains and lovable rogues that populate Aranim’s comic universe.

There are Mansaf and Ozi, two Jordanians whose single-minded pursuit of the country’s national dishes (which the heroes are named after) plunges them into trouble. There is the square-jawed Jordanian fighter pilot, a real-life figure who died in a legendary battle with the Israeli air force. image

And there is the group of spiky-haired kids (see left) who wake up in the year 2050 only to discover that both oil and grown-ups have disappeared for good, setting the stage for a futuristic voyage of discovery.

They, and many more, are the brainchildren of Mr Bakhit. He sketches their figures and draws up the storylines before handing the colouring and detail work to a team of artists located around the world. He keeps five employees in Jordan, but most of the work is done by freelance comic artists in countries from Brazil to Japan (see box).

The choice of characters and plots must give Arab readers heroes and stories they can identify with, he says. “There is no media right now that reflects our aspirations and dreams, or that is simply targeted towards entertaining us. We are hungry for content. There is a lack of indigenous content, and a lack of content that is tailored towards the young.”

As a boy, Mr Bakhit used to devour comics from the US and Japan. But, he says, there was always one problem with imported superheroes: “I was a big fan of Superman and Batman. But I could never see myself in them. We don’t like our heroes to wear their underwear on the outside. The whole Spandex thing just doesn’t resonate in our culture.”

Although the offices of Aranim – an amalgamation of “Arab” and “animation” – seem chaotic, the company is working according to a well-ordered business plan.

Funding is secure, Mr Bakhit says, thanks to grants by the King Abdullah Development Fund, and he expects Aranim to become “seriously profitable” in the next two to three years after an upfront investment of $2m-$3m dollars.

“We have to take it bit by bit. For the next two years, my goal is to establish the intellectual property and the brand,” says Mr Bakhit. “At some point you reach the tipping point – when people really start loving your characters – and that’s when you start capitalising on that through licensing, merchandising and other sales”.

His plan is to win as wide an audience as possible for his characters, including by distributing teasers of Aranim’s comic books for free. The first big launch is scheduled for the middle of this year, when Aranim will publish three of its comic books at the same time.

Mr Bakhit plans to focus on the Jordanian market for the time being, but he believes many of Aranim’s stories will also resonate in other Arab countries, and possibly even in the west.

However, given the region’s low spending power and what he says is a traditional reluctance to spending money on books, let alone comics, Mr Bakhit believes that he cannot rely on direct sales alone to turn a profit.

Instead, he is banking on revenue from merchandising, advertising and spin-offs, such as computer games based on Aranim characters. One such game is already in the works, as is the first line of plastic toys featuring his creations. The prototype – a fearsome Arab warrior on horseback – glowers from a shelf next to his desk. He is also working on an animated television series, production of which is set to be completed in 2010.

While profits are important to the 29-year-old, Mr Bakhit says that his real ambition goes far beyond making money: “I want to become the Walt Disney of the Arab world – the guy who created all these great characters and gave so many kids hope.

“I love what I do. Even if I don’t get rich, I will be fulfilled.”

Global production methods matched with guerilla art tactics

There is virtually no tradition of comic books in the Arab world, explains Suleiman Bakhit. Until a few years ago, the only cartoons that were available came from the US and Japan, and even those failed to win a wider audience.

This meant that among the biggest challenges for Aranim Media Factory was finding artists able to turn Mr Bakhit’s sketches into the finished article. He quickly realised, however, that he would have to look beyond Amman, the Jordanian capital where his company is based, to find the right talent. “One of my first artists was a guy from Brazil,” he recalls. “I was browsing the net and saw his work, so I sent him an e-mail and asked whether he could work for me.”

Since then, he has added collaborators in Britain, Germany, Japan and China to his stable. “We agree a monthly rate, they e-mail their work and then I wire them the money,” Mr Bakhit says. The speed and flexibility of the process, he says with a laugh, is akin to “guerrilla” warfare.

This summer, Mr Bakhit, plans to bring all his artists to Jordan for the first time, not least to share their expertise and skills with the budding cartoon talent of Amman.