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Just to play Devil's advocate and to see if we can get an e-conversation going, I tend to think that we, I'll say typically just to be safe, don't discount beauty, but rather exalt visual beauty to a much higher level than it should belong, while simultaneously ignoring the vast range of human emotion (and perhaps "ignore" isn't the right word). These "peripheral" architectural emotions are discomfort, anger, isolation and claustrophobia, hot and cold, and a myriad of other emotions. Not to say that we should design a space to be uncomfortable necessarily, but we always tend to the idea that getting to the beautiful means getting back to nature, and vice versa. Our landscape, our nature, contains a wide range of emotion, most prevalent of all is fear and mistrust, I would argue. We are still ever fearful about flooding, tornadoes, hurricanes, the dark of a forest, or the stark isolation of a desert; these are scary ideas, but we design "happy" or "beautiful" gardens and parks to make the environment seem more palatable. Moreover, we choose awe inspiring pictures of nature in it's most docile form to inspire our designs.

Our world may reveal beauty to us in glimpses, but that beauty, I believe, can only exist because of relativity. We need juxtaposition; if we are fearful of the roaring waves of a gulf-coast, it makes the sunset more beautiful. Why should a building, or a landscape for that matter, have the pre-requisite of being beautiful through and through? Can we design a building or a landscape that represents a combination of fear and comfort? Just a thought exercise, but an interesting one, at least that's what I think anyways.


There is someone that is coming or passing away in your life around the clock, so you may lose sight of those seen, and forget those remembered. There is gain and loss in your life, so you may catch sight of those unseen, and remember those forgotten. Nevertheless, doesn‘t the unseen exist for sure? Will the remembered remain for ever?

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