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.

The components of patience

I came across a few loose pages this morning while reconstructing my office after the painters and carpet layers finished. They are leaves of the spotty and unbound diary that I've occasionally kept. The pages are from March 1, 2005, at time when I was reeling from my decision to accept a job offer from a large international corporate law, and the unexpected vitriol from some fellow students, but mostly a professor or two. I wrote the following about three professors and their responses.

Sweet H, she listened and offered thoughtful support over my job predicament the other day, without offering real advice, without offering vision. Comforting, because I believe that she and I share a vision of something. Compare this with K who offers support as one engaged by my promise, my future, and his active vision of it. A sense of engagement that I appreciate only slightly less. And, of course, his eccentric company is delightful and affirming in itself. Compare them both with S's self-doubting/self-righteous guidance, at once intensely self-serving but grounded in deep values that I share. I am not prepared to condemn her words or final judgment of my character just yet, as a result of self-imposed humility, sympathies, self-doubt, and desire to be generous. Perhaps these are the components of patience.

I think that I was wrong about the components of patience. Now I wonder if I was patient because my professors' responses to my decision generated enough thoughtfulness to allow patience to appear. But what are the components of patience? Certainly some forbearance of reaction. A waiting while hoping.

It seems easy enough to be patient. Simply wait and assume that good will come. And it also seems like an active discipline, because it is not indecision or mere inaction; patience may imply that an appropriate reaction is at hand and there is a readiness to react. Moreover, it seems like a discipline based on wisdom - a knowing that you do not all, that all is not what it appears to be at the would-be moment of reaction. A wisdom that a better reaction will become apparent if one waits and observes. Patience may be another word for learning. To be patient is to continue to learn. Perhaps. Especially if you accept the theory that once you begin to act, or move forward, learning stops and the application of what you have learned has begun. The theory continues that you will not start learning again until you've stopped acting. Another way to describe this theory is that patience implies hoping. The hope that forbearance will give a better outcome to expose itself.

Considering what I've written above, I draw the conclusion that with hope in a relationship, patience may be appropriate. The next question is how to practice patience. How does one trigger it? If anger or reaction generates spontaneously and without warning and can absorb all reality into itself, masking hope and other possibility, how can patience be exposed as an option? It seems to me that it must be learned to be an automatic response, as automatic as anger or reaction, it must become a reaction. Thus it must be practiced as one trains for any desired response, whether physical (as in sports, for example) or mental (as in mathematics or language). And I must practice patience.

Anger

Why are familial relationships the most dangerous? Whether your style of conflict resolution tends towards actual physical violence or merely loud arguments and passive snark, you may save your very worst for the ones closest to you. How is it that I can spend my day smiling and peacefully bearing offensive behavior from mere acquaintances or perfect strangers, but arrive at home ready to bristle and bark at my spouse for the slightest perceived offense.

It is somewhat of a mystery. I have had theories, of course, such as the following examples. One is most vulnerable and trusting at home; insults wound more deeply. There is more at stake with our loved ones; I guard the margins of the relationship to prevent smaller issues becoming larger ones. The relationship with a spouse or other loved one is more secure, more capable of suffering the rough buffets of anger; my less secure relationships might dissolve permanently if I show my anger. I, like many others perhaps, have a volatility to my personality that needs a safe outlet; it is my role as a spouse, and likewise my spouses role, to absorb the anger of our loved other and provide a safe outlet with forgiveness.

Perhaps these theories have some truth to them. But today, in thinking of anger more generally (and re- reading Robert Thurman's Anger), I wonder if as I struggle successfully against the feelings of anger, as I slowly conquer my inaccurate conviction that others are the cause of my anger, my fight comes closer and closer to pure anger itself, i.e., to myself. If anger is an addiction, a harmful habit that provides enough short lived feelings of power and relief from a sense of insignificance, then it(I) will struggle all the more violently the more successfully I control it. As I zero in on the source, myself, anger strikes more savagely and more quickly, more desperately. Anger distracts me by imagining threats to an imaginary mineness, or possessiveness, of the close world of my privacy, home, and family. The last refuge for the will.

This suggests two delusions: First, that there is any spot where the will operates freely (alas, that there is any definable will wanting expression that is not the result of compounding the various other forces in the world); and two, that my family, my space, is mine to control (alas, that my family, my space, is something different from the world.

This all sounds very dire. But that too is a distraction, because the news is good. I have anger cornered.

I have to slap my radio to make it work

And I find that comforting. It occasionally begins to kill its sound. A sort of slow draw down into fuzzy almost silence and then absence of sound. It takes a moment to believe that there is nothing and then a little longer to believe that the pause was not deliberate and longer still that it is not a technical problem at the station. An odd sequence, because the radio reliably loses its voice every 20 minutes or so. A solid slap and the sound surges back.

And that is the best that I can do. All I can bring myself to write- in months, maybe a year. I walk around observing, constantly reflecting on the interesting, the extradordinary everywhere. And I can no longer bring myself to write them down. What genius, arrogance, optimism, ignorance, or disdain a prolific writer must have. Absent these motivators (or the need for income), only some bizarre psychological defect could explain the editorialist.

September 4, 2008

No weather...Atlanta is becoming proof of entropy. No weather, no movement, just heat. Normal day, nothing new or outrageous. McCain's speech was unusual, more than a little bizarre. --"Kick the Buggers Out!" Except, we are the buggers.-- there was more than a little dissonance. It made me like him more, but reinforced my conviction that it would be impossible for him to ever earn my vote.

Marian slept with me last night. She hasn't spent the night with us since we began enforcing nighttime sleeping without breastfeeding first. I missed her terribly when we went to bed, and a wonderful coincidence, she couldn't sleep. It was the perfect excuse to sweep her out of her playpen and take her into the family room where we curled up on the couch. She quickly settled down and nestled next to me. Amy went out with friends last night, by herself. We switched cars after football practice and I went home to put the baby to bed and eat dinner by myself in front of the Republican Convention. Practice was good, nice to be out, but light on the work-out and light on socialization. I'm falling out of shape, but not sure how to make a change, yet.

At front of the house, beautiful vine-like plant with tri-compound leaves, pinnate to oval shaped leaflets, and beautiful, tall and wide florescence of blue pea flowers. Not sure what it is.

August 30-September1

Nice weather all weekend. Not hot, overcast for much of the weekend. Gerri went to TN to visit her mother. Amy, Marian, and I were left to ourselves. Saturday was beautiful. Birthday party for Sarah Harper at the little park on Cumberland, Robert grilled hamburgers. Marian loved the slide and swings. Saw some purple Shiso (Perilla) on the way, roadside next to a little creek/stream. Saw Marie for the first time since Dana's wedding that afternoon. And I discovered Zyrtec (made me a new person). Ragweed and Giant Ragweed are in bloom - I've never noticed allergies before, but I was suffering from something this year. Even had nausea, but the Zyrtec cleared it up and gave me energy that I still can't believe.

Sunday started with a leisurely breakfast and then the Decatur Book Festival. Marian enjoyed a Capoeira demonstration. Amy and I enjoyed a Red Seal and Well's Bombardier at Brick Store. With clear and pleasant weather, I made some progress on the reed fence in the back. And cut a few more of the patterned pieces for the baby gate. Disappointed that what I thought was common primrose or cutleaf primrose may merely be a type of wild lettuce. Marian went down to bed early, and Amy and I were able to have a much needed extended and relaxed evening to share some physical affection and to talk.

Monday, an early visit to a consignment store (half off day - it was packed). We did some work around the house. Amy's been marvelous at keeping the house together - with a schedule for each day of the week. Monday is the day to wash the sheets. Weather was overcast all day, but never rained and was very hot in the afternoon. With Marian strapped to my back, I put up some more reed fence, and cut the first log for the fenceposts. Cleared off the little deck - removing the various grills and just leaving the smoker/grill - built up on bricks. Most exciting, we finally got our compost heap started. Half a blue barrel with the bottom cut out. I cut an old doormat in a circle for the top and fashioned a wooden handle. We wrapped the barrel in reed fencing. Gerri made it back for dinner, grilled pork chops, salad, and broccoli. Marian went to sleep without a single cry - and I finished the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. This was the first time that she has gone to sleep without a single complaint. I was a little sad that she laid down without any protest into child's pose without the need for any encouragement. Gustav was on our minds all weekend, though it was clear early on that Ocean Springs would only get mild storm weather.

August 28, 2008

With the newbies and the other office staff on board, we moved files, shelves, and filing cabinets out of what will hopefully become a please conservatory/lounge. It lacks furniture and plants...Weather was pleasant all day, but no rain. Amy and I had cocktails at the Botanical Garden while chasing Marian around. She ran, screamed, fell into, tore at, oohed over and proudly pointed out (as her own discoveries) flowers and leaves off all descriptions. The still fountain/pool in the conservatory was a particular favorite. At $3 a cocktail, perfect weather and the beautiful gardens seemingly to ourselves, it was a magical evening...very pleasant. Saw the Japanese garden from a new angle, offset concentric circles with a single dynamic vertical line.

And the DNC Convention. Gore and Obama in an absolute feast for the eyes...good television, hours of oratory that was completely compelling. I was blown away and more than a little inspired...made hopeful, if for no other reason than that people were listening, paying attention for hours without special effects and cut aways. Made me think about some of my old aspirations at public life with a renewed (but cautious) enthusiasm.