Through The Door
“The door handle is the handshake of the building.”
When I first read this line in Juhani Pallasmaa’s book, “The Eyes Of The Skin", I was loaded! It invoked in my imagination a set of mental conjurations. The ideas whirling in my mind appealed to something similar of that magical moment, in C.S Lewis’ children’s book, ‘The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.' Lucy, the youngest of the four is playing hide and seek with her siblings. After running around the big house to find the perfect hiding spot, she stumbles across a large, empty room. Gleaming out in the distance, was a big, old wardrobe. There seemed to be something mystifying, as though she were being beckoned… and with much hesitation, the journey toward the animate object began. The door had summoned her; and her tiny hands answered the call. And it was at that point that her senses drew her further in:
‘...there was nothing Lucy liked much than the smell and feel of fur. She immediately stepped into the wardrobe and got in and among the coats and rubbed her face against them... It was almost quite dark in there and she kept her arms stretched out.. She took a step further in - then two or three steps - always expecting to feel woodwork against the tips of her fingers. But she could not feel it... Then she noticed that there was something crunching under her feet... stooping down to feel it with her hand. But instead of feeling the hard, smooth wood of the floor of the wardrobe, she felt something soft and powdery and extremely cold. Next moment she found that what was rubbing her face and hands was no longer soft fur but something hard and rough and even prickly.’ Her senses were tantalised and she found herself being drawn further in; entering a new and enchanted world – one in which she would have never imagined! She ‘felt a little frightened, but she felt very inquisitive and excited as well.’
The door was the beginning… there was much to discover.
That quote and the mental image that strung up as a result, remained with me for quite some time. I sat and reflected on what it was that this composition of perfectly, assembled words written by Juhani was telling me; and how did it relate to the built environment? Of course, looking further into it, he meant much more than what I am going to delve into. But for the sake of keeping your attention for such a short moment in this blog post, I want to focus on one aspect of the quote; and deal with what I believe he was appealing to.
So often in architecture, we focus solely on our visual sense that we neglect our other senses. We follow movements and use all kinds of “isms” to explain our design approach. We design according to "fashions" and "trends." I often hear phrases being used, such as, "funky" or "rustic" to explain design positions. The 20th Century had us witness the total annihilation of beautiful, traditional architecture; and being replaced with "post modern" lunacy that seems to be displaying ego more than anything else. To approach architecture in such a way is to dehumanise a space. It is superficial, pretentious and speaks of nothing. It is sterile and lifeless. It kills our sensibility and doesn't allow for us to dream; to consider something deeper. It is nihilistic, void and narcissistic.
My contention is that we need to take a more phenomenological approach to design.
Phenomenology? I can hear some heads scratching... phenoma-whaaat?! Remember in my previous post, when I quoted Joseph Ratzinger about the purpose of Philosophy - this has something to do with that. The motive behind any Philosophical approach, he says, is to question - not for the sake of questioning, but to arrive at an answer. Phenomenology is a philosophical term or word that is used to describe an approach that concentrates on the study of consciousness; and the objects of direct experience. In other words, as it relates to architecture - it's saying, let's take a deeper look at how human beings actually experience space. Let's design for people, rather than for the "isms."
We are embodied creatures; we make reality intelligible to us through our senses - we are connected with the world through our senses! It is through our senses that we experience space. As Juhani Pallasmaa puts it, “We do not live in our bodies but are ourselves embodied constitutions… Our entire being in the world is a sensuous and embodied mode of being, and this very sense of being is the ground of existential knowledge.” Is this actualisation something we have forgotten, or indeed, lost?
A phenomenological approach makes note of the fact that when we design spaces, we do not go into it with any preconceived ideas and ideologies. Our approach should be, rather: how will the person experience the space, as opposed to, how will the space “look?” Juhani makes a strong case that we fall short of the mark when trying to create beautiful spaces, and only consider the sense of sight. If we are to experience beauty in its true form, we must understand that all our senses need to be appealed to. Juhani points out how, for example, the sense of touch can take higher precedence in the lived, embodied experience over sight - he notes, “The eye is the sense of separation and distance, whereas touch is the sense of nearness, intimacy and affection. During overpowering emotional states we tend to close off the distancing sense of vision; we close our eyes when caressing our loved ones.”
Think about the most beautiful experiences that we share on the most intimate levels. Our sense of vision is important, yes - please don’t get me wrong, but I feel as though we have lost sight (pun intended) of the bigger picture! When we close our eyes for a moment, we close off a part of us that takes precedence, and allow for a cultivation of the improbable; and to be drawn into something much deeper. Antoine de Saint-Exupery emphasises this point in one of my favourite moments, of one of my favourite books, "The Little Prince." The Fox is getting ready to say goodbye to his new friend, The Little Prince. The Little Prince needs to go back to his planet to be with his Rose. They are sad that they must part ways. They take comfort in one another and then the Fox proceeds to "give a gift of a secret," he whispers: "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." The fox is appealing to something much deeper than what we perceive through our sense of sight. Sadly, as adults, we have lost that child-like quality to imagine beyond what we see.
Ok, so back to the quote that I couldn’t seem to quite shake off.
When we, so to speak, reach out our hand to touch the door of any building, we should be encountering a new world; one in which our senses are invoked. Through the physical, we are appealing to the metaphysical nature of our being. To quote Juhani Pallasmaa, “Architecture is usually analysed and taught as a discipline that articulates space and geometry, but the mental impact of architecture arises significantly from its image quality that integrates the various aspects and dimensions of experience into a singular, internalised and remembered entity. The material reality is fused with our mental and imaginative realm.”
It made me realise that we don’t just look at Architecture, we must experience it - just like Lucy did when she entered the wardrobe. Just like The Fox and The Little Prince did when they parted ways and could no longer look at each other. They appealed to their senses that invited them to consider something profound; to delve into new depths and discoveries.
I'll land the plane here by giving the final word to Juhani: "A real Architectural experience is not simply a series of retinal images; a building is encountered – it is approached, confronted, related to one’s body, moved about, utilised as a condition for other things, etc... As we open a door, our body weight meets the weight of the door; our legs measure the steps as we ascend a stair, our hands strokes the handrail and our entire body moves diagonally and dramatically through space."
And just to enumerate the point, check out the below image painted by the Master Caravaggio, "The Incredulity of Saint Thomas." Regardless of our prioritisation of the eye, visual observation is often confirmed by our touch.