Serenity in architecture, the importance of a view
Architecture and serenity.
For Father's Day, Amy gave me an issue of Dwell magazine. The issue was a compilation of the editors' favorite houses over the last ten years. All of the chosen homes shared strong horizontal lines, coolness, a sensation of still, and an aspiration of serenity. I know very little about architecture, but it seems to me that much of what I call "modern architecture" aspires to create a serene, quiet, cool, series of horizontal plane, broken only by a sensation that the still waters could ripple quietly, or by a pool of bluish river-polished stones.
But surely we haven't always expected our homes to look so serene. (And looking at most homes, their decor and state of orderliness, it isn't what we really want now either.) It seems as though we expect, or believe we should expect, our homes to be serene quiet, end of the day retreats. There are other alternatives to this serene style. Consider the Victorian cabinet of curiosities type of interior design, viz., the home stuffed with an enormous assortment of curiosities, something new at every turn, demonstrating a fascination with the world in all of its variety, and perhaps a fascination with how to organize the artifacts. (And, necessarily, a love of using a feather duster.) Or the kitschy kind of design-- the homeowner surrounds herself with sentimental objects, creating a home that is full of memories, family mementos, and evidence of past or present community.
Why would we, or at least our architects, think that we need home to be serene? Perhaps there is less need for entertainment through objects, because we can have a cold, quiet home sufficiently heated by a single television, capable of producing all the color, excitement, titillation, and community (or at least forgetfulness of the need for community)? Or has the world outside the home become so stressful that we believe our home should be the place to relax and not a source of further stimulation? I have no idea, but it carries me to another point; the importance of a view.
The Necessity of a View
One simply must have a view; at least, adults must. And surely, a view, looking out at any unbroken expanse of air, is relaxing. Whether watching clouds, or a cityscape from a top floor, an ocean from a chair on the beach, mountains rising in the distance, waves of hay grass, or even the whole in miniature, as in a Japanese garden, tricking the eye and mind, and convincing you of distance, a view works wonders and is both relaxing and arresting. Perhaps having a view creates a sense of safety for adults, we are watchers much more than our children are, and perhaps a view satisfies us that danger is far, far off in the distance. Sitting next to someone, both looking at the view is very relaxing, but I believe leaning back to back, each looking in opposite directions at a view, is even more so. Other "views" have similar power, watching your children, anyone you love enjoying themselves, or contemplating anything of beauty, but it is the view of great distance that interests me at the moment.
At present, I am not interested in exploring why a view is such a perfection but instead the importance of a view. It is the easiest manner, I have found, to place one instantly in the present, melt away worries and stress, and re-establish some mental equilibrium. A view is a very obvious proof of the value of "presentness," that practice of focusing on the immediate sensations one feels and experiences, abolishing for a moment abstract worries about the future and gnawing reflections of the past, and enhancing a person's likelihood of experiencing the world in a more rewarding way, whether the world at the moment inspires calm, sadness, or joy. When I am sitting in a beach chair staring out at the waves, or on a porch watching birds fly across a field, or on a big rock watching wisps of mist float through the mountains, I at least for the time that I am focused on the view, have no consciousness of the human trappings around me, how nice my chair is or stylish my clothing, how beautiful I think other people believe me to be, the status and nature of the company I am keeping, or even my state of health. For a few moments, I am simply watching, breathing, heart beating, and feeling rather peaceful. I am the luckiest and wealthiest person on earth. All that matters is right in front of me. Of course, I will get up eventually, but even the memory of the view, and your ability to take a view whenever you like will empower some perspective and distance from the painful nonsense that sometimes consumes me.
For Father's Day, Amy gave me an issue of Dwell magazine. The issue was a compilation of the editors' favorite houses over the last ten years. All of the chosen homes shared strong horizontal lines, coolness, a sensation of still, and an aspiration of serenity. I know very little about architecture, but it seems to me that much of what I call "modern architecture" aspires to create a serene, quiet, cool, series of horizontal plane, broken only by a sensation that the still waters could ripple quietly, or by a pool of bluish river-polished stones.
But surely we haven't always expected our homes to look so serene. (And looking at most homes, their decor and state of orderliness, it isn't what we really want now either.) It seems as though we expect, or believe we should expect, our homes to be serene quiet, end of the day retreats. There are other alternatives to this serene style. Consider the Victorian cabinet of curiosities type of interior design, viz., the home stuffed with an enormous assortment of curiosities, something new at every turn, demonstrating a fascination with the world in all of its variety, and perhaps a fascination with how to organize the artifacts. (And, necessarily, a love of using a feather duster.) Or the kitschy kind of design-- the homeowner surrounds herself with sentimental objects, creating a home that is full of memories, family mementos, and evidence of past or present community.
Why would we, or at least our architects, think that we need home to be serene? Perhaps there is less need for entertainment through objects, because we can have a cold, quiet home sufficiently heated by a single television, capable of producing all the color, excitement, titillation, and community (or at least forgetfulness of the need for community)? Or has the world outside the home become so stressful that we believe our home should be the place to relax and not a source of further stimulation? I have no idea, but it carries me to another point; the importance of a view.
The Necessity of a View
One simply must have a view; at least, adults must. And surely, a view, looking out at any unbroken expanse of air, is relaxing. Whether watching clouds, or a cityscape from a top floor, an ocean from a chair on the beach, mountains rising in the distance, waves of hay grass, or even the whole in miniature, as in a Japanese garden, tricking the eye and mind, and convincing you of distance, a view works wonders and is both relaxing and arresting. Perhaps having a view creates a sense of safety for adults, we are watchers much more than our children are, and perhaps a view satisfies us that danger is far, far off in the distance. Sitting next to someone, both looking at the view is very relaxing, but I believe leaning back to back, each looking in opposite directions at a view, is even more so. Other "views" have similar power, watching your children, anyone you love enjoying themselves, or contemplating anything of beauty, but it is the view of great distance that interests me at the moment.
At present, I am not interested in exploring why a view is such a perfection but instead the importance of a view. It is the easiest manner, I have found, to place one instantly in the present, melt away worries and stress, and re-establish some mental equilibrium. A view is a very obvious proof of the value of "presentness," that practice of focusing on the immediate sensations one feels and experiences, abolishing for a moment abstract worries about the future and gnawing reflections of the past, and enhancing a person's likelihood of experiencing the world in a more rewarding way, whether the world at the moment inspires calm, sadness, or joy. When I am sitting in a beach chair staring out at the waves, or on a porch watching birds fly across a field, or on a big rock watching wisps of mist float through the mountains, I at least for the time that I am focused on the view, have no consciousness of the human trappings around me, how nice my chair is or stylish my clothing, how beautiful I think other people believe me to be, the status and nature of the company I am keeping, or even my state of health. For a few moments, I am simply watching, breathing, heart beating, and feeling rather peaceful. I am the luckiest and wealthiest person on earth. All that matters is right in front of me. Of course, I will get up eventually, but even the memory of the view, and your ability to take a view whenever you like will empower some perspective and distance from the painful nonsense that sometimes consumes me.
posted by Michael at
6:57 AM
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