I'm not going to criticise these alien-looking vanity projects today.
Rather, before we get to the real problem, I'm going to (sort of) briefly defend them.
However irredeemable their divergence from the architectural principles of Vitruvius (and every design principle of Antiquity & the Middle Ages...), and however far from the charm, usability, & longevity of vernacular architecture...
they aren't the real problem.
Because, at least, they're saying something.
Even if you don't like what they stand for, there is an aspirational quality about these buildings.
There is a concerted effort - even an abstract, anti-human one - to *create* something which is in some (convoluted) way, meaningful.
The same could be said of Brutalism.
Whatever you think of its style or what it represents politically/artistically/culturally, you can't deny that it does have both of those things:
A style, and a message.
The real problem isn't the prize-winning, headline-grabbing, discussion-provoking, abstract, theoretical-architecture edifices.
Rather, it's the plain details of ordinary buildings, the ones that don't win prizes or generate discussion.
There is a negligence toward beauty.
Here are some examples:
1. Ceiling Tiles
They're EVERYWHERE. And they are ugly, easily broken, unnatural, peculiar, claustrophobic.
But they ARE functional: cheap & allow access to electrics.
This will become a theme...
2. Whitewashed Walls & Grey Carpets
Why does every office look like this?
Grey carpets & whitewashed walls. No colour. No design. No attempt to make it a pleasant environment.
Minimalism? Cost-efficiency?
3. Purely Functional Design
This bus shelter gets the job done, sure. You can wait inside to get away from the rain or wind.
But that's all. No flair. Nothing inviting.
No attempt to create even the slightest bit of beauty in the ordinary.
4. Apathetic Choices
Compare these two university lecture halls. Which one would you rather study in?
There is on obvious reason why they look so different.
Only that the second, newer one, required no effort to design & build. A (cheap) tick-box exercise.
5. Painfully Bright Lighting
In the words of Junichiro Tanizaki:
"The progressive Westerner is determined always to better his lot... his quest for a brighter light never ceases, he spares no pains to eradicate even the minutest shadow."
And this is a problem because it is incredibly hard to fight against.
There is no identifiable cultural movement behind it, no specific architect or school of thought.
It's a deep-set, general, social problem.
Who decided that street-lights should no longer look like this?
But should instead look like this?
Nobody *decided*.
It happened because of a drift towards utility & cost being prioritised over beauty, longevity, or character.
Even bins have been affected!
See, this isn't about those large-scale, multi-million dollar projects.
(Though there ARE issues with them, that's not the crux of it.)
The every day things are what is most concerning.
There is no "vision" or "statement" to take issue with.
It is a silent, creeping creed of apathy.
Worse, it is a silent creed of ugliness.
For example, compare these light-switches.
There is only one Kunsthaus Graz, and a few thousand similar buildings.
But there are hundreds of millions of polystyrene ceiling tiles, grey carpets, whitewashed walls, functional streetlamps, painfully bright LED lights, poorly proportioned windows, and tarmacked streets.
How do we change this?
Anyway, I'm going to listen to Edvard Grieg's Piano Concert in A Minor and sulk...
I'm really enjoying the discussion this thread has provoked - will endeavour to respond to you all!
Meanwhile, if you liked this thread then you may like my free weekly newsletter, Areopagus.
Seven short lessons every Friday (including architecture!)
Only one building in London is allowed to have a thatched roof — the Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare acted and plays like Hamlet were first performed.
But this isn't the original Globe Theatre; that burned down 400 years ago.
This one is less than 30 years old...
In the 1590s William Shakespeare was part-owner of an acting company called The Lord Chamberlain's Men.
He wrote their plays and even took part in performances.
They were based in a playhouse in north London, simply called The Theatre.
A legal dispute led to the Theatre being shut down.
But the landlord only owned the land and not the building itself — so the actors dismantled the Theatre, took it south of the Thames, and rebuilt it piece by piece.
In honour of this Herculean task it was named the Globe.
Exactly 200 years ago today one of history's most influential and controversial writers died.
He kept a pet bear at university, (allegedly) had an affair with his half-sister, fought for Greek Independence — and also wrote some poetry.
This is the story of Lord Byron...
Byron dominated 19th century European culture.
Artists including Hayez, Delacroix, and Turner painted scenes from his poems, and composers including Beethoven, Verdi, and Tchaikovsky set his work to music.
A cultural icon who has shaped literature for two centuries.
The details of the wild life of Lord Byron are impossible to retell in full.
But, in brief, George Gordon Byron was born in London in 1788 to a Scottish heiress, Catherine Gordon, and a philandering British army captain known as John "Mad Jack" Byron.
"Hanami" is underway in Japan — the season when people gather to watch cherry blossom trees, or sakura, in bloom.
It is an ancient tradition that has since become globally popular, with similar gatherings all around the world.
But hanami isn't just about pretty flowers...
The place to begin is with an old story about the King of Persia. He supposedly gathered the wisest men in the land and asked them if there was any sentence which would always be true, whenever it was spoken.
They found an answer — this too shall pass.
As Abraham Lincoln said:
The idea that "this too shall pass" — that nothing in life is permanent — is found in cultures all around the world.
But they haven't always drawn the same conclusions from it...
A strange word, one of few that famously cannot be rhymed.
It comes to modern English from Middle English, itself from Old French, via a host of other languages, originating in Sanskrit and before that Dravidian, as a name for the fruit.
So the word orange was originally used in English to refer to the fruit.
From there, at some point in the 16th century, it was adapted to refer to the colour of that fruit.
Before that? The colour orange was simply called red-yellow.