Modernist Architecture and the Soul

     The following is an essay of mine, written for pleasure.


     Around the beginning of the twentieth century, roughly accompanying the emergence of abstract art was a new form of architecture, often known as Modernist. Its classification is baffling, for its forms and expressions varied widely, and still do, even among works by the same architect. But it is most frequently characterised by starkness, randomness, and ugliness.
     Distorted and contorted, their chaotic forms pervades modern life. The exteriors and interiors of these buildings convey little sense of order, glass walls leave nothing mysterious and hidden, and there is almost no notion of beauty present, unless twisted, geometric, concrete facades and gleaming steel pipe pillars is one's ideal of architectural beauty.
     But these buildings convey something, something beyond the whims of their makers. Behind this form of architecture is the philosophy of modernity, written in concrete,glass, and steel. Like these buildings, modern man is random, aimless,without a sense of order, purpose, mystery, or beauty. He, like these Modernist edifices, is merely a creature of whim and practical function.
     If architecture is to improve, to convey order, truth, purpose, beauty, and mystery, then modern man must change. Man must regain a sense of, an appreciation for, and a love of the supernatural. Otherwise, what he constructs today will become the monuments of his despair tomorrow.

     (I am not an architect or a student of architecture. This is merely based upon musing and observation.)