Beauty

I rather love Alain de Botton.

Although it was somewhat awkward in Essays on Love when he was describing the making of teh secks and I was thinking of his balding head. Still, that was an incredibly good book and such a novel way in which to explore "love." And really, he is rather sexy (and speaks French).

But away from that, an episode of his The Perfect Home series is on tonight on ABC2 and he's looking at "beauty."

This stems from his book The Architecture of Happiness (seriously, buy it now), which has the premise of that where we are has a heavy influence over who we can be. De Botton says, "...caring about the look of things has a hard time sounding like a sensible, adult thing to be concerned with." But it is important, and not just to aesthetes.

I watched something about brutalist architecture the other week, which was quite interesting. They were awfully blunt and harsh, but strangely attractive when well done. That said, I wouldn't want to have to look at them for too long.

But this is all about beauty and not brutalism. Although there may be some who find beauty in brutalism as an architectural thing. And beauty can be "as simple as the colours, furniture or quality of a window frame," which emphasises the importance of design and style. That said, variety can hold its own beauty and sometimes ugly buildings can hold it, even if it's only in their decay.


A beautiful building isn't just agreeable in itself, but has the potential to elevate the soul, apparently. Although this ties more to the school of thought that "beauty is goodness made into matter." There is such a myth about beauty representing goodness, as though there's a moral equation that connects the two. If something is beautiful, it must therefore be good. How disappointing Einstein didn't come up with an equation for that... But as long as the building doesn't collapse and squish the people in it, then perhaps it's not too bad.

Anyway, that's a bit of a tangent there and the interesting thing I found was the exploration of religion and architecture. According to many thinkers over the years, buildings are repositories for feelings and ideas. I think it was Gaudi who said churches were caves, but caves in which God lives. Thousands of dollars/pounds/etc and hours of artisan's work have been poured into making church buildings look fantastic and provide spaces in which people can feel reverent or connected to something bigger than themselves.


St Ignatius said that what is before our eyes can impress us deeply. Perhaps it can even influence us in what we believe or how we approach life. The emergence of Protestantism saw a move away from this, with the emphasis being placed on the relationship you have with Jesus, rather than the state of the soul being aided by the building you worship in. Although I belong to a Protestant faith, I love the more "Catholic" aesthetic when it comes to church buildings. There was a good series about the history of Christianity in England on Sunday mornings a month or two ago that looked briefly at this sort of thing - the avoidance of icons, stripping back beauty so people wouldn't be "distracted."

I loved the churches we visited in Germany and England last year. The sense of peace in them was so comforting and they were genuinely beautiful. Even better when someone was practicing the organ at Winchester Cathedral.

But away from the religious aspect, I think I prefer what de Botton describes as the "Protestant" aesthetic when it comes to houses. To a degree. There's only so far that function over attractiveness can go before it becomes Soviet. Buildings are about much more than keeping the elements out - they're places we connect with so many experiences in life, whether or not we realise that the buildings are housing some of the events about which we feel happy or sad or comforted.


I found de Botton's comments about "coyness" over beauty in architecture interesting. The mass-produced stuff makes me think of those insta-suburbs to the west of Melbourne or are occasionally found lurking in groups of buildings in existing suburbs where there was once a free plot of land. Mostly they look like cardboard boxed with as much soul and warmth as soggy toast. Not that repetition as a norm is something new - it's been done for centuries on end, whether they were copying classics, such as the architects doing work in Bath a couple hundred years ago, to mud huts in Africa.

But perhaps it's that I don't like the way of life they suggest. The "values" suggested by such constructions are not ones I hold or something like that. "If you don't find it beautiful, you're saying you can't imagine being happy there," as de Botton said it.


What would a building be like if it were a person? Apparently our reasons for liking buildings tend to be the same as the ones for liking a person. So what do I think about my home? People often comment about how they'd love to live in a place like mine, how it's an "artist's retreat" or somehow makes them think of how much I would enjoy it. My house is currently a work in progress, and not just because of the damage done by the storm and neighbour's tree.

I'm working on repainting, when I get time and the motivation. My boss and his wife used to own the house and they commented the other night when they dropped their dog off for me to dog-sit for a couple weeks that the way in which I've painted it has made it look much bigger and lighter. It was interesting to hear that from them, as it came from people with an intimate connection to the building, rather than some people who may have seen it once or twice.

But is it beautiful? Well, I like it in it's own chaotic little way.

"It makes you feel good just being here" says the guy in the ad following the show. Hmm... And that's all that counts in the end, I suppose.