Not too long ago, I took an Introduction to Woodworking class from an accomplished maker. He knew me, at least had heard of me, as a former editor at Fine Woodworking, author of several woodworking books, and another accomplished maker. Right before, he pulled me aside and asked what the fuck was I doing in his class with the noobs? I explained that I was interested in how he approached things, because all good answers are found in the basics. For beginners, it's an introduction. For me, I learn the most about woodworking when I revisit what I think I know. The basics underlie everything, so learning something new in them has the chance of improving everything else.
It's the opposite for learning something complex and brand new. I will often design a piece of furniture that I have no idea how to build. When the client says yes, I rejoice that I get to learn something new. Complex pieces are really just a collection of many simple steps.
A friend marveled at this trestle table base, despairing he could ever make such a complex thing, as it had no straight lines in the legs for reference. I tried to explain that there wasn't anything particularly complex about it. The construction was just as simple as if it was all straight, flat and square, just there were a few more simple steps involved. Like a recipe with 15 simple ingredients instead of 10 simple ingredients.
I figure that designing a building is much the same. It's just 1500 simple steps. (And right now, I know about 8....so must study more... )
In 2020, I spent two weeks in Architecture school (a long story in itself).
Before classes started, my studio teacher called to introduce herself and get to know her students a bit better.
I took the opportunity to play a kind of long-game prank on her. I said I was interested in the naive questions, such as Why the straight lines? the flat planes? Why symmetry?
Over the phone, I could hear her eyes roll back into her head. Oh god, I've got one of them in my class. She then answered, honestly and straightforwardly, as if it was a direct question that had a simple or satisfying answer, something about ease of construction, etc. But, because I bailed out after two weeks, never got to develop the half-joke with her or with the class. So I'll have to do it on my own.
They are my honest questions. All complex matters are just a question of many simple ones, and the simpler the question, the more fruitful the exploration can be. The goal is never to reach an answer, but to find knowledge in the asking. Geometrical perfection is one of the simplest and most fundamental questions of design, and its exploration can reveal much to help us thrive in our built environments. It's a big leap from a straight line to human happiness, but this complexity, even inconceivability, comprises a lot of interacting simple things.
Why the straight lines? is Simple Jack asking why we have built environments based in geometry, as opposed to just living in the natural one, or living in a human equivalent of birds nests -- natural materials adapted to use without the refinement of geometric abstractions. There are few straight lines in nature (anchor threads in a spider's web?). Few flat planes (the still surface of a pond?). No 90 degree angles (Salt crystals? snow flakes?). Geometry is a product of the human mind, a distillation or simplification of reality into a fundamental tool of abstract thought. The shortest distance between two points. The division between two halves. From them, Symmetry. Equivalence. Balance. And the intellectual tools to think about (Western? Greek?) concepts of beauty, perfection, the eternal and immutable.
The question points towards the philosophical and practical aspects of abstraction; but it is mainly about human nature. Why are we drawn to geometric abstractions? And what have been the consequences of reveling in them for millennia? And then what, if anything, should we do about it? Revel more?
I turn back to the human in geometry: what part of human nature came up with the rectangular box room, and how in turn has living in it for millennia shaped human nature? What's the feedback loop? A visit to the fun house of a carnival, with wavy floors and angled walls makes us giggle with disorientation, and we are happy to return to our boxes to sleep and live. Should we be challenged? If so, why? What should we change in our boxes to make our lives better. Perhaps not easier or more luxurious, but rather to help us thrive.
Every architect in 2021 begins with a many-thousand-year-old tradition of flat and level floors, plumb and flat walls, rectangular rooms, rectangular doorways, flat ceilings, circular arches, and the full range of variations and developments into more complex geometries in a full range of materials and configurations.
The profession today seems oriented around personal artistic expression -- the "starchitects" have identifiable aesthetic styles, design rationales, and make statements about what their buildings mean and reflect about our age. My idea of the architecture of empathy is to keep this direction for monuments and such), but abandon it for all places humans live and work and instead pursue a client-oriented practice aiming to satisfy their personal needs, the way a tailor fits a suit of clothes.
Jeeves famously did his best to drive Bertie towards good taste in clothes, often failing when Bertie was left to his own devices. Architects should serve as similar advisers to us simple home dwellers, helping us make choices towards thriving.
What do we want or get out of our box homes with flat floors, flat walls and flat ceilings? If Cathedrals give us a concept of heaven and our place in this world, do our geometric homes give us a sense of control over a simplified environment? Do we feel the perfectly flat, plain walls reflect our straight and pure minds, free of corruption and fault? If we cannot tolerate a defect (not-flat, or not-straight) in our dwelling, can we not tolerate one in ourselves? Like a messy desk reflecting a messy mind, do we need a geometrically understandable home to clear and focus our minds?
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