The following case studies engage in a connection with either play, nature, or both in their designs. The relevance of techniques used to accomplish this, either consciously, or unconsciously is investigated.
Two architectural firms, the Tezuka Architects, and Sou Fujimoto Architects are featured. Both firms show a sensitivity towards incorporating nature and encouraging play within their projects, and they do so in a variety of ways. The characteristics that each particular project focuses on will be explored.
In addition, four case studies which consider various scales, from that of the city, village, home, and interior installation are also investigated. Aldo Van Eyke’s Playgrounds have been influential in demonstrating a need for play within cities all over the world. Village Homes has shown us that designing a community that has a connection to nature has the added benefit of creating seamless areas in which youth can play. Mitchell Joachim demonstrates the lengths we can take to connect with nature and sustainability, and local Edmonton architects demonstrate an awareness of the relation between play and creativity.
About the Architects
Takaharu, born 1964, and his wife Yui, born 1969, both come from backgrounds in architecture. Takaharu studied architecture at the Musashi Institute of Technology. Yui studied at the Bartlett School of Architecture, University College in London for a year, while Takaharu continued on to complete his Masters at the University of Pennsylvania. Takaharu graduated in 1990 before working for the Richard Rogers Partnership for four years. It was then, in 1994, that Takaharu and Yui Tezuka established Tezuka Architects in Tokyo. The firm has since won numerous awards, many in particular for the Fuji Kindergarten, including the Kids Design Gold prize in 2007.1
Important Projects and Methods
The qualities of the Tezukas’ designs are specially shaped by the identity, interests, and disposition of its inhabitants. They want to design architecture that opens possibilities rather than closing possibilities; an architecture that retains its qualities when furniture is changed or replaced. “Like playing cards, the ideal is a game in which infinite possibilities are opened by simper device. The simplicity of four suits, each with thirteen cards, produces an infinite number of games.”2 Finding these devices is essential to their design ethos.
The designs are skilfully integrated with the outside environment and range from private houses to community buildings. In fact the Tezukas’ most important projects operate on four very different scales, and programs.
Matsunoyama Natural Science Museum “Kyororo” is a dedicated facility for research in the field of natural science as well as providing for exhibition space for the general public. Kyororo is located in the mountains of Matsunoyama, a region of Japan known for its heavy winter snowfalls. Emphasis was placed on incorporating both the natural and climatic features of the site. This snake-like structure follows the pattern of the paths that surround the site and its pitched cross-section is inspired by the sheds that protect the local roads from the heavy snowfalls. At times this building is buried under 5 metres of snow. It has a total length of 160 metres including the tower and the width of interior spaces reflects the movement of people within it. Spaces within this tunnel world expand at angles where people may pause to engage in a view of nature, and contract in areas where visitors simply walk along. The outer shell is composed of welded corten-steel plates and in the winter its entire expanse has to resist snow loads of up to 2000 tons. Some of the windows are up to 75 millimetres thick allowing snow to pile up, revealing alluring cross-sections. These views are seasonal; the large cross-sections of snow are eventually replaced by views of Buna trees and terraces for rice cultivation.3
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Here the connection to nature is largely visual. Enormous windows reveal wide views of the surrounding landscape during the summer and unique cross-sections of snow over the winter, often many metres high. During the winter, this visual connection also offers a unique experience through the quality of light as it filters through the section of snow.
Organized along a path that weaves back and forth, contracting and expanding, the progression through the building provides a sense of mystery and suspense. The unique angles of the hallway seek to alter our experience in a playful manner. The light and views to nature are the carrots that draw us deeper into the building. The high pitched ceiling allows for an atypical experience as the heights change in differing spaces, catch the light in different ways, and slope down to meet the vistas.
Though the windows provide a complex floor-to-ceiling artwork of nature, the potential impact that nature can provide is merely on a visual level. This building’s significance lies in the hallway experience; the hallway is a threshold between two spaces. In order to pass from one space to the next we pass through it. Using the hallway, or the in-between spaces, to direct connections to nature, visual or otherwise, is an important aspect of this building. The act of exploring the building seems to be voluntary to the individual; however, it has in fact been carefully manipulated. The distance between views, and the contrast of spaces are formulated to control the impact and timing of views.
Fuji Kindergarten, in Tokyo, Japan, takes the form of an oval-shaped roof-space with an outer circumference of about 183 metres. The roof-space is flat and able to be occupied, with a stair leading up to the space and a slide leading down from it into the center courtyard. Three existing Zelkova trees breach through the structure. Durable nets enclose the voids and form unique spaces adjacent to living trees in which to play. The Kindergarten houses about 560 children and all the architectural spaces are scaled to be suitable for the child. The school is one floor with ceiling heights at 2.1 metres creating a close relationship between the level of the floor and the level of the roof. The furniture within the building is of a size and weight that a child can carry; they help to subtly divide spaces as well as becoming building blocks during play.
The entire center courtyard can be viewed from anywhere in the building. The Kindergarten is described as “a treasure house of the joy that we have abandoned in modern times.”4 The Tezukas say that “modern conveniences have deprived children of sensation,” and that what they are attempting to teach through this building is a “common sense” that allows the building to still be relevant years into the future.5
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This project is most significant because it uses architecture to combine nature directly with play. The trees grow up through the building, and rather than keeping a boundary such as a fence or window, a sturdy climbing net connects the roof plane with each tree. Children are able to climb in and sit on the net, as well as climb the trees. There is a sense of risk inherent in the design; it has been carefully included. Instead of protecting the trees from the children, and the children from the trees, the Tezukas wanted the children to learn through common sense. The way to do this was to engage them in direct experience with the trees and the unique spaces created by them. It is this connection to nature that will keep this building relevant well into the future. According to Kellert, “We derive self-esteem from the ability to persevere in the face of adversity. [...] we cultivate the ability to cope with challenge, risk, and the unknown with strength and resolve.”6
Occupying the roof space of a building is usually taboo in most instances; however, the children of this kindergarten are given free access adding the element of adventure, through imposing a controlled sense of risk.
The Roof House, in Kanagawa, Japan, is a residence for a family, and daily life, similar to that of the Fuji Kindergarten, extends onto the rooftop on a much smaller, domestic scale. The rooftop boasts a kitchen, table and chairs, as well as a shower. A free-standing wall provides wind-protection as well as added privacy. Partitioned interior spaces below are organized along with eight skylights from which ladders provide access to the roof. The thin roof structure, timber columns, and structural plywood panels allow the partitioned space to be flexible and opens up to views of the nearby valley and Mount Kobo. The roof has a pitch of 1:10, which is identical to the original topography and still a comfortable enough slope to provide for a functional living space.7
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The roof-space, which is a deliberate extension of the home, does not have access via a typical stair. All access to this rooftop is through skylights in the ceiling by use of ladders. Similar to the Fuji Kindergarten, the roof seems to be almost taboo, and thus gives the space an appeal. Unlike the Kindergarten, however, this roof does not have rails, furthering the element of risk, and thus the need for common-sense as well.
Daily life on the roof comes into direct contact with the forces of nature through the sun, rain, and winds. It opens up to the sky; a vast unlimited space. Though trees do not grow up through the structure inviting play, the slope of the roof keeps the inhabitant aware that this is somewhere different. The slight angle forces a consciousness of keeping one’s balance; at times walking uphill, as well as downhill; this connection between the body, the mind, and the physical environment can be considered as a type of body-play.
Woods of Net, also in Kanagawa, Japan, is a permanent pavilion for the net artist, Toshiko Horiuchi Macadam. Entirely handmade, the artwork within is a net structure designed for children. They can interact with it by climbing, jumping, and swinging. Though the artwork had to be protected from rain and ultra-violet light, it was decided that the installation would be enjoyed more if built outdoors.
The structure that houses the artwork is composed entirely of wood timbers, and uses ancient joining techniques derived from old Japanese wooden temples in Nara and Kyoto which date back thousands of years. The space was designed to be as soft as the forest where the boundary between outside and inside disappears. Children play among the nets at the center and adults sit, and lay on the surrounding wooden structure.8
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The structure provides protection from UV light as well as rain, yet is open-air with permeable views to nature. Created for the play structure within it, the wooden form allows for individuals to interact with it as well, by providing places to sit or lie on. The net structure is, however, the center of focus, and acts to encourage play by the unique spaces, and variety of activities it inspires. Play exists within the limits of safety and danger, the balance between these is risk. The Woods of Net pavilion provides a balance between these limits.
The entrance to the pavilion juts out, this implies an entry point, yet also acts to obstruct the view of this entrance as one approaches the structure. The Tezukas therefore used elements of mystery to create curiosity and anticipation which subtly encourages visitors to investigate what is within the structure.
About the Architect
Sou Fujimoto graduated from the University of Tokyo, Faculty of Engineering, Department of Architecture in 1994. He soon became a licensed architect in Japan, and in the year 2000 established his own practice in Tokyo called, Sou Fujimoto Architects. Fujimoto has since established himself as a lecturer at numerous institutions, such as the Tokyo University of Science (2001-present), Tokyo University (2004), Showa Woman’s University (2004-present), and Kyoto University (2007-present). He has also given numerous lectures abroad and Sou Fujimoto Architects is now an award winning firm.9
Important Projects and Methods
I have chosen five of Sou Fujimoto’s projects, all of which have a similar scale. Each demonstrates a different method used by Fujimoto. Over and over we will see a theme that directly relates to this thesis; that is the intention to create a primitive architecture, which Sou Fujimoto describes as architecture between nature and artifice. The primitive brings us closer to our instincts. He applies this theme in a way that encourages play, and imagination, and therefore allows for the development of creativity. Inhabitants are free to use the spaces as they please, and in any way they imagine possible.10
The Final Wooden House located in Kumamoto is a small primitive house. Complete with a bathroom and kitchen, this bungalow is composed of versatile cedar wood units, each with a 350mm-square profile. Fujimoto has long been fascinated with the versatility of the 350mm square dimension, as it directly corresponds to the dimensions of the human body. As a result he has created an entire house using these increments. The wood, being equally versatile is used here as walls, roof, shelf, furniture, and floor, each melding into the other as one progresses through the space. The house is a place for humans and echoes a “primordial existence” before architecture.11
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Fujimoto, using a different approach to scale, creates an architecture that is cave-like, as it is more about subtracting wood from the interior in order to create spaces which directly relate to human dimensions. Most importantly, however, as an individual moves throughout this house they must frequently twist, move, and bend, continually engaging in body-play. The spaces are versatile and can be used in a number of ways; the uses are naturally influenced by the different perceptions of space as the individual moves through it. It is not a traditional space, and as we move and perceive the spaces differently, it invites experimentation and new adventure.
House O is intended as a weekend house for a Tokyo couple who plan to one day move in permanently. It is located in Chiba, Japan on a rocky stretch facing the Pacific Ocean with approaches sloping down to the water level. Designed as a continuous single room, it is imagined like a tree-branch, with each room an extension from the main branch with its own unique relation to the ocean. The house is similar to a foot-path along a coast; as the path winds along, panoramic views open up, and numerous comfortable nooks extend off various areas of the path. Again Sou Fujimoto intends the architecture to be primitive: “somewhere between the natural and the manmade.”12
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This building, similar to the Tezukas’ Matsunoyama Natural Science Museum, is designed as a path. The path-like circulation initiates elements of surprise and anticipation, suspense and mystery. Fujimoto employs these elements in the form of new rooms, and novel views gradually appearing along the path within the building. This mystery for what is down the path taps into our senses of wonder, a precursor for play. Floor to ceiling windows direct views to nature and each room is distinctive in its relation to the prospect.
This building mimics a situation found in nature, and visual links towards nature are calming and invite reverie. The angles used in the building direct views as well as hide views, such as those towards more private spaces. The building is reminiscent of a cave that has panoramic views to the ocean. With solid hard surfaces at its back and glazed façade towards the ocean, the building employs the appeal of both prospect and refuge, which are characteristics of biophilic design.
Though the views are alluring, the view from inside the building is not dissimilar to the view if standing outside; it is merely a continuation. This is beneficial on the one hand, however, does not offer enticement into the outdoors. The incentive to escape the daily routine in order to experience the impact of nature, albeit beautiful, is almost as average as any backyard experience. The Roof House is more successful in this particular aspect.
House NA is designed for a two-person family in a dense residential district of Tokyo. Fujimoto describes a dense Tokyo district akin to being in an artificial forest, and that this house is an attempt to make a similar super-artificial forest on a human scale. The design of the house was therefore visualized by imagining a small forest where a few narrow trees are gathered; their branches supporting numerous free-floating platforms at different levels and relations to one-another. The platforms, rather than being at the scale of a floor-level, are more akin to the scale of furniture. Though small, the spaces still seem comfortable due to the continuity with surrounding spaces. The clients describe that “dwelling feels like moving around the house discovering comfortable places from moment to moment.”13
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Reminiscent of a tree, Fujimoto again attempts to mimic conditions found in nature with House NA. Although nature grows, and is forever changing, this building is significant due to its complexity. The many differing levels of the house offer, as described by the clients, numerous areas of varying, pleasant experiences. This act of discovery is an important step in the process of play.
The pitfall of the design is that as the clients become accustomed to their home, they will develop routines of living within it, and they will no longer gain the benefits of discovery. If this building somehow were to connect directly to real and ever-changing qualities of nature, this flaw would be mitigated.
Found among trees in the countryside of Hokkaido, the Atelier House is a living space built for an artist. The space consists of a warehouse, garage, living-room, atelier, and a bathroom. When Fujimoto designed the building his intention was to create a cave-like space rather than what he calls a “nest.” According to Fujimoto “a nest is architecture, whereas a cave may be described as existing somewhere between the artificial and the natural.”14 The building is comprised of five layers, each consisting of a different materiality, yet the building is not five storeys. Each layer is 1750mm high, and the layers only become a storey when they are combined. Therefore, half plus half is equal to greater than one (½ + ½ > 1), meaning that the space created between the two layers becomes more rich and complex. Fujimoto states that a natural existence is sought in-between the layers where the body inhabits the space, that each space is re-organized depending on the location of the inhabitant. Fujimoto describes that this type of space therefore is closer to a landform than to what he calls architecture.15
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This building’s design is similar to the cave-like approaches of some of Fujimoto’s other works; however, its significance lies in the thresholds between its layers. Its scale, instead of being incremented into 350 millimetre segments, is still related to the human scale, merely divided in half. Being in the in-between is therefore a balance between two conditions, not being completely separated from either. This acts to create complexity in a slightly different way than his other works. Similar to his other works, the downfall is its lack of connection to real nature.
The House Before House, located in Tochigi, was planned for 2-4 residents. It is created with a vision for the “primitive future.”16 This is to say that, while being new, it is simultaneously from the prehistoric age. Trees are planted in the tops of minimally sized boxes/rooms, and these are then stacked randomly on top of one another and connected by steps and ladders. The space generated is reminiscent of a small porous mountain or a naturally amassed village. The new form of the house induces a new pattern of exploratory inhabitation resembling that of a bird in a forest, or a child in a playground.17 This building negotiates between the indoors and the outdoors in one living space, challenging the traditional residence. Fujimoto hoped to:
[...] liberate the seemingly commonplace yet precious totality of the act of living through the new form of this singular house, in such instances as: a tree growing right above your head; touching a tree rising from a few metres below your feet; crossing over onto a distant mountain/room by a stair-cum-bridge; or daydreaming on the mirador, an external space above a floating box/room.18
Fujimoto considered that if people were to trace back to their origins, houses and cities would have been indistinguishable, the same as houses and forests would have been indistinguishable; therefore this building was an attempt to create a space that exists simultaneously as a city, house, and forest.19
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This building introduces the impact of nature through its circulatory spaces. It uses the in-between to connect with nature. The trees change with the seasons, and the in-between spaces change with the weather. Being outside, the ground gently changes as dirt, or debris is blown within the space over time. The quality of changing complexities is therefore granted in this building by its connectedness with nature.
This building becomes a dynamic environment, visitors are able to see, feel, touch, smell, and hear nature all around them. The unique layout of forms and the unfolding of spaces, sounds, and smells create surprise and wonder. Visitors become engaged in body-play through the uneven ground, or low-slung tree-branch, of the surrounding nature. Added to this, the typical stair is replaced by ladders in some places, and seemingly purposeless places are provided as areas for daydreaming.
Aldo Van Eyck lived from 1918-1999. His career, long and intensive, started in 1947 as a post-war designer of children’s playgrounds for the Amsterdam City Council.
According to Simon Schama, a British art historian, kinderspelen or children’s play was a ubiquitous motif within Dutch painting dating back to at least the sixteenth century. According to Schama, the absence of figures other than children within public spaces of the art-pieces was founded upon reality. Van Eyck’s playground scheme demonstrated an inherent continuity with this phenomenon of Dutch culture. Van Eyck’s work influenced other architects, including another Dutch architect Cor Van Eesteren. In fact, Van Eesteren revised the old functionalist 1934 Extension Plan for Amsterdam, which had not made any provisions for playgrounds. Adopting a Structuralist attitude, and as head of City Development for the city of Amsterdam, Van Eesteren allowed for “small playgrounds for the little ones” within his post-war projects.20
Along with kinderspelen, Van Eyck believed that the site was significant in design; that the location is where the city is not viewed or consumed, but experienced. This idea of experience is evident in another of Aldo’s key notions: that of the “in-between”. “It is there that your body – your hand or foot – will touch a building directly: threshold, doorjamb, and windowsill. You can only reach shelter, the interior, by passing through them.”21 He coined many terms, among which was the distinction between “space” and “place.” Simply put, “place” is the “realm of the in-between”. The before-and-after pictures of Van Eyck’s playgrounds demonstrate therefore, transformation of urban spaces into urban places.22 Though many no longer exist, Aldo Van Eyck’s Playgrounds attempted to enliven the city through the experience of play in places of the in-between. His designs were simple and often composed of forms open to interpretation and imagination. Overall, his attempts were successful, and influenced cities the world over.
Village Homes is a sustainable community development built in Davis, California during the mid-1970s. Designed and developed by husband and wife, Michael and Judy Corbett, who were not architects or landscape architects, it is said to be one of the most important examples of a sustainable community design in the United States. Consisting of 244 single- and multi-family residences as well as community buildings, it is built on 60 acres. It features open channel drainage, edible planting, passive solar design, and sustainable open spaces.23
Homes are oriented north-south to harness the suns energy. Street-widths are minimal and terminate in dead-end cul-de-sacs to minimize traffic and amount of pavement, and to increase community privacy. Pedestrian paths are placed behind homes rather than in front of them eliminating throughways making the community feel safer. Neighbourhood agriculture and gardens increase resident involvement and connection, as well as offer numerous opportunities for social contact. Residents of Village Homes typically have, on average, 42 friends, with 4 close friends living directly within the neighbourhood, compared to those from a standard community, who have an average of only 17 friends and an average of less than one close friend directly within their neighbourhood.24
It is a design closer to nature, encouraging walking or bicycling. Pedestrian paths are given greater emphasis than the roads and it is possible to walk from one end of the development to the other without crossing a street. The greatest travel time is no more than five minutes. Common areas are designed to promote creative play by children and though the streets were not designed for this purpose, due to the minimal traffic, they have come to be used as a valued play-space for the neighbourhood children. Children have a sense of address, and feel safe in this neighbourhood. Harbouring this feeling of safety allows for a successful context in which to play, and yet the idea of playing on a street still allows for a sense of risk. From a child’s standpoint there seems to be a seamless transition between play-space, natural space, and street-space.
Like many pioneer designs, Village Homes does not lack problems. A main concern is that though it is a valued place to live, this has increased property values and as property turns over, more and more professionals come to live in the community which creates an absence of people around the community during the day. Village Homes’ open spaces and paths, though utilized more than most communities, are at times seldom used. The harsh summers may be in part to blame; however, another factor may be the busy, “highly structured and over-programmed”25 lives of residents and their children.
Issues include: architectural concerns such as lack of storage and a difficult-to-find front door due to the doors deliberately being placed at the side so as not to face the street, agricultural management due to proximity when fields need to be sprayed to control pests and disease, lack of parking, and sustainability of both community participation as well as the agricultural landscape.
The community as a whole is significant in providing connections to nature and neighbours. It provides a safer community that encourages interactions between neighbours and the environment. Children and adults spend more time outdoors and socializing within the neighbourhood. This project demonstrates willingness for, and participation in, nature and the community which is expected. Perhaps this mentality has a lot to do with Village Homes’ success. If participation in play was expected by a community, it would be encouraged and occur more openly and frequently.
Mitchell Joachim is a forward thinker in ecological design and urbanism. Among his many accomplishments he has won the History Channel and Infinity Excellence award for City of the Future, and Time Magazine best Invention of 2007, Compacted Car with MIT Smart Cities. He earned a Ph.D. at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, MAUD Harvard University, M.Arch. Columbia University and BPS SUNY at Buffalo with Honours. He is a Co-Founder at Terreform ONE and Terrefuge, and is currently an Associate Professor at NYU.
He and his colleagues26 have imagined “Nature’s Home” in what is called the Fab Tree Hab. This living design is grown from native trees and grafted, or pleached, into its form using temporary scaffolds. Designed to be completely edible, the walls and gardens of this home are able to provide food for an organism throughout its life cycle. The Fab Tree Hab combines the essentials of passive solar heating, such as orientation, materiality, and proper shading, as well as maintaining a rain-water collection system, grey-water reuse, and filtration of human waste.27
This design is a wonderful imagining of a sustainable building immediately connected to nature. Undoubtedly, however, a sensibility for play was not incorporated into the design; this is of course understandable as the intention is clearly to represent what is possible in terms of sustainability. What will encourage the inhabitants from within these structures to come outdoors other than the necessity of up-keeping the gardens? As with Village Homes, those who come to live in structures such as this will have an inherent desire to garden, and live off the produce of the shelter. However, as their family grows, and their children go to school, our current culture of multi-media based escape likely will reign. Children will come home and use their computers, or immerse themselves in video-games; weeding the garden, while beneficial, will be seen as a chore rather than a desirable activity. They will, however, appreciate passive heating and water re-use, thereby understanding the power of nature’s sun and rain, yet they will likely continue to engage in more structured forms of escape, such as pure diversion and games, as opposed to enjoying the benefits of play.
Such a unique design can surely offer opportunities to bend a building code, such as removing the guardrails to the entrance, or allowing the roof, or even the tree itself, to be occupied or utilized for play both by children and adults.
Art Gallery of Alberta, Exhibit January 31– November 28, 2010
On a much smaller scale, the Play on Architecture exhibit at the BMO World of Creativity is an example of comprehending the link between play and creativity. The exhibit is designed by local Edmonton architects Shafraaz Kaba, Laura Plosz, and Troy Smith and sponsored by Group 2 Architecture and Engineering and Manasc Isaac Architects.
The space features large building blocks that enable children to create their own 3-dimentional structures. Numerous work stations allow the children and adults to draw, trace, use building blocks, and to use technology to photograph and e-mail pictures home. The designers were intending to create an interactive and inviting space that allows children to use and expand their creativity, as well as to spawn interest in the field of architecture.
To help engage a child’s interest in architecture, the exhibit uses the loose-parts theory, which builds on the idea that within any environment, the degree of inventiveness and creativity is proportional to the number of variables in it.28
The set-backs of the design are that it fails to entice children into the space without the encouragement of adults. There could be many reasons for this, such as the lack of recognition as a children’s space, or the uncertainty about interactivity given the appropriateness of behaviour within the rest of the gallery. To be considered as truly playing, an activity must be voluntary and have continuation desire. Children within the Warner Bros. Cartoon exhibit on an upper floor were giggling and engaged. Though not necessarily promoting creativity, it successfully enticed children with identifiable objects. It starkly contrasted the “Play on Architecture” exhibit which sat empty, until a parent brought her children in with her, showing them it was OK to play.
Nature is universally identifiable, and with regards to the loose-parts theory, nature provides the most varied environment. Even if symbolic nature was used or other identifiable objects or characters, this space could have become more inviting to children, thereby becoming more successful. To its credit, the space provided for this exhibit did not allow for any natural light, and was restricted in size.
The case studies demonstrate that a connection to both play and nature can be created within architecture. Each project reveals different attempts at accomplishing one or both of these connections, as well as the successes and failures of these attempts.
Nature flows through many of the designs discussed in this chapter, whether physically or symbolically, and has the potential to improve designs that it has not been incorporated in. We can also learn from nature’s many qualities when designing to engender a play-based escape. Remembering context and conditions necessary for play, as well as our three key desires, those for: exploration, body-play and a dynamic environment, ten themes can be identified from the case studies discussed. These themes are: nature, complexity, the dynamic, loose-parts theory, scale, the primitive, along a path, mystery, risk, and an unmonitored feel.
The following chapter will expand on these themes and illustrate how each fit together with the three key desires that we inherently possess: desires for exploration, body-play, and a dynamic environment. These themes can be used as architectural strategies, or methods of design, which will engender play-based escape. Each strategy will aid us in satisfying these desires and will thereby assist in activating play-based escape.
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