
The air we breathe
Chris
Thompson
|
Architecture
is as natural as breathing.
It's an
impulse, an instinct, the tangible extension of self-preservation. To
say the history of architecture reflects the history of us is no more
an overstatement than arguing the persistence of life is our nature.
But it's
easy in the modern world to lose the fundamental definition of architecture
as shelter. It's come to represent more than survival. Architecture
is cathedrals, skylines, warm homes on winter nights. Architecture is
strip malls, parking ramps, fast-food restaurants.
Architecture
soars in the clouds of art and stumbles in the alleys of commerce. We
wield architecture with the philosophies of our generations and let
it stand as a testament to our ambition. The architects of our time
mirror our priorities, and their work is as striking or repulsive as
our needs dictate.
And it's
everywhere we want it to be with a range limited only by our imagination.
We bend architecture to the curves of our whims. We want it invisible.
We want it to scream for attention. We honor its foresight and deride
its pomposity.
But it's
always there, waiting around a corner or at the end of a long, winding
driveway. And for all of its public context, our reaction to architecture
is almost always personal, that is when we notice it at all.
It's so
ingrained, so elemental, that most of it doesn't even register. And
much of it doesn't need to. Architecture, with a utilitarian core, makes
its living on usefulness, and it doesn't often have the time or inclination
to move us with its elegance.
But when
it does, it stops us cold. It leaves us sitting at a green light or
shocked on a busy sidewalk. The elements of architecture can astound
us with their simplicity, overwhelm us with their grandeur or simply
make us smile.
Great architecture
captures our attention. It forces us to take notice, even to come back
again for another look. It stays with us, urging our consideration,
challenging our conventions.
It's at
those moments that the science of design becomes the art of invention.