The other day I had the opportunity to sit with RISD alum Michael Townsend, whose medium of choice is . . . tape. Yes, tape. And not just one roll of tape. He uses thousands of rolls of tape to create his sidewalk constructions. What's especially elegant about Townsend's approach is that the goal of his "tape art" is to be entirely temporary. The tape goes up. The creative act is manifest. And then it's completely removed.

Not unlike a sand mandala, Townsend's tape murals represent a kind of activity for the sake of the activity and not the outcome. Most art seeks to last forever--to be completely permanent. By being permanent, monetary value can be ascribed. How does one attach monetary value to something that once existed, and then disappeared? I'm curious what an economist might say about all this.

I visited the Boston architectural firm Shepley Bulfinch about a month ago to give a lecture with professor Kyna Leski, of RISD. When I first began to design, I recall being fascinated by the importance of having a sharp blade in addition to a fine-tip pen. The pen, of course, was absolutely un-dangerous. The blade, however, was always a source of fear because when it became dull, you would want to either replace it or snap off the tip to get a new sharp blade. This created the built-in problem of having to figure out what one does with the leftover blade bits.

Novice or generally irresponsible creatives are known to simply leave the bits lying around on tables. Although un-sharp, they're sufficiently sharp enough to puncture the skin. Ouch. This simple juice-bottle design is a classic solution to a significant problem, and it successfully adopts the sustainable theme of reuse. On the other hand, the un-sustainable aspect is embodied by the act of disposable blades. We live in an un-thinking yet thoughtful world.