The Joy of Two-Dimensional Stuff

 The Joy of Two-Dimensional Stuff (an essay)

by Marcus

 

So my latest post is this, the Firebird:

I like to think of it as a coat of arms, translated into origami. And that is perhaps its most striking feature: the fact that it exists entirely within two dimensions.

For whatever reason, I don't see many two-dimensional things in origami nowadays. I think that's kind of weird. A lot of the classic models are two-dimensional, or can be made two-dimensional. Of the four Classic Bases and their respective models, three–the kite base, fish base, and frog base–are fully flat profiles.

Furthermore, it was proven in 1999 that any two-dimensional polygonal shape can be folded from a sufficiently large sheet of paper. (See "Folding Flat Silhouettes and Wrapping Polyhedra: New Results in Computational Origami" by Erik Demaine, Martin Demaine, and Joseph Mitchell.) This even extends to two-colored shapes, meaning that there aren't any limits on what can be done. We should be seeing as many 2-D things as possible, constantly being churned out as different folders try to one-up each other in the complexity and detail of their designs. So why don't we? Why isn't 2-D folding more popular?

I can think of a few reasons. The first reason is probably the influence of Akira Yoshizawa, who almost single-handedly birthed modern origami. Yoshizawa was a master of incorporating curves and small details into his designs, less like folding and more like sculpting. Yoshizawa introduced the idea of origami as representational, realistic, rather than abstract. "Classic" origami was flat and boring by comparison. And since most real things are three-dimensional [citation needed], three-dimensionality became the new norm, the new standard.

The mathematical side of origami didn't really take well to 2-D things either. In the 50s and 60s, the technique of box pleating came into fashion, allowing for the creation of complex, three-dimensional models. The works of Robert Lang and Eric Joisel display box pleating's greatest strengths: in the case of the former, insects, crabs, and other many-limbed creatures, folded with great anatomical precision; in the latter, lifelike figures with multiple intricate textures, made possible by the patterns and grids created by box pleating. In both cases, three-dimensionality is so deeply rooted in what they create that it's difficult to even see it as a necessity for their models: it just is. It's implicit, but it's there. There's no place for the two-dimensional in either artist's designs.

There are modern folders that make a lot of 2-D models, like Michelle Fung, but they're treated as "cute" and fun, even by the artist herself. 2-D folding just doesn't have enough artistic or technical backing behind it to be taken that seriously. I think it's a shame. Perhaps in this situation, we can take the advice of Paul Jackson: 

"Lots of people talk about the 'reality' of, say, an elephant in origami. Does it look real, does it look like an elephant?... But it's a piece of paper–of course it can't look like an elephant."

 Abstraction is neglected by a lot of modern origami artists, unfairly so. On some level, every piece of art is abstract–there's no way to perfectly capture a scene or a subject, and every artist takes their own interpretive leaps. There's always been a place for the stylized, the geometric, the slightly unrealistic, in origami. Maybe it's time we recognized it once more.