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!)
This unusual house in Turin was built 123 years ago.
It's the perfect example of a kind of architecture unique to Italy, known as the "Liberty Style".
How to make ordinary buildings more interesting? The Liberty Style has an answer...
During the 1890s there was an artistic and architectural revolution in Europe: Art Nouveau.
It means "New Art" in French, and that's exactly what it was — a whole new approach to design, whether of buildings, furniture, clothes, sculpture, or crockery.
There were many genres of Art Nouveau, but what they had in common was a commitment to traditional craftsmanship, the embrace of new materials like iron, and a turn toward flowing designs inspired by nature.
Like the Hôtel Tassel in Brussels, designed by Victor Horta, from 1893:
It's by Grant Wood (most famous for American Gothic) and it's called The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.
Why does it look like that? Because Grant Wood had one of the most unusual styles in art history...
Grant Wood was born in 1891 in rural Iowa; ten years later the family moved to Cedar Rapids.
He worked at a metal shop, studied at arts and crafts schools in Minneapolis and Chicago, and then became a public school art teacher back in Cedar Rapids.
Humble beginnings.
In the 1920s, while working as a teacher, Wood made several trips to Europe, including a year studying at the Académie Julian in Paris.
There, like so many artists of his generation, he adopted a generic and basically unremarkable Impressionist style:
This is Mount Nemrut in Turkey, one of the strangest ancient ruins in the world.
It's a colossal, 2,000 year old burial mound on top of a mountain, surrounded by huge stone heads.
Who built it? A king who wanted to become a god...
First, where is Mount Nemrut?
It's in the Taurus Mountains, a range in south-eastern Turkey. And, rising to more than 2,000 metres, it's one of the tallest mountains in the region.
It was part of the ancient Kingdom of Commagene, a small state that fought both with and against the Roman Republic, and eventually became part of the Roman Empire.
The tomb-temple at Mount Nemrut was built in 62 BC, when Commagene was an independent kingdom.
In Medieval Europe landscape painting wasn't a genre of its own, and it hardly featured in art at all.
Notice how the background of this 11th century mural indicates the landscape merely by the generic sketch of a castle and an isolated, highly stylised tree:
This changed in the 14th century with Giotto, a revolutionary painter from Florence.
He introduced proper landscapes into his paintings: rocks, trees, flowers, and skies.
But Giotto's version of nature remains highly stylised; this is not a "realistic" landscape.
This is the American Radiator Building, a 101 year old black and gold skyscraper that's half Gothic, half Art Deco.
It's famous, but not as famous as it should be — so here's a brief history of one of the world's coolest skyscrapers...
In 1923 the American Radiator Company wanted to build a new office in New York.
This was the Golden Age of Skyscrapers: the Woolworth Building was ten years old, and the Empire State and Chrysler were less than a decade away.
So it was going to be a skyscraper... but what sort?
Enter Raymond Hood, an architect who had just won the competition to design Chicago's Tribune Tower.
Even though it hadn't yet been completed, his Neo-Gothic design was so well-received that the American Radiator Company wanted him to design their new skyscraper.