Emotions are vital in both meanings of the word. They are essential to our understanding of the world around us, and, are often animated, lively or spirited. They also determine what architecture we enjoy. Taking a quick look around the busy streets of Toronto, I can hear the architecture that speaks to me, and feel the ones that have "souls", a notion first introduced to me in Peter Zumthor's “Thinking Architecture”. However, not all buildings that have a "soul" are of our liking. Architects disagree on their favorite designs all the time, and so, I have come to a conclusion in relation to this idea of a building's soul; that is, for us to like a work of architecture, not only must the building have a soul, but it must have something in common with our own, free soul. Good architecture is not a one-way lane; the building does not perform to impress us, and we do not watch and give criticism in response. Good architecture is a dance between our bodies, our souls, and the concrete matter.
Emotions are crucial in my design process. I will keep an architectural feature only if it feels right. It must fit with my personal experience of comfort, which sounds biased, and it is, which you realize when you begin to ask what other's find "comfortable". Yet, most of us would agree that our current living space is fairly comfortable, and furthermore, we can all agree on general rules of thumb for what is comfort. These general things are the basis for any mass housing project. A person who would consider renting a condo, for example, in a big city, would probably agree that spacious rooms, nice furniture, big windows, providing lots of light and good views, all makes a comfortable space. Re-reading that sentence, really all of those elements could apply for a project in the suburbs, or a tree house. But saying words like "roomy" and "clean" is easy; thinking about how we can push forwards this baseline of comfort, and make our living quarters even MORE comfortable is a harder task.
Comfort is a soft couch, a large cushion in which to sink. Comfort is warm and enclosed. It’s how we feel internally: protected by skin, and with nothing in excess. Every organ has a purpose and its size, colour, shape, all follow that function. Comfort is also simple. We shouldn’t have to jump over tables to get to the kitchen. Comfort can change: we get bored of looking at the same wall every day. And unfortunately, comfort is more often a memory than a presence. We find comfort in reminiscence of good times, but something makes me doubt that those memories are really as good as we remember them. One reason it can become difficult to enjoy anything is the moment is cause it's simply our human nature to always see that space for improvement. We create expectations for what our lives should be, and even when reality meets those expectations, our ego asks "what's next"? I could blame this issue on the flashy consumerist culture dominating our phones and television, but I believe it's been a consistent issue throughout human history. It's not necessarily a bad thing, as it has driven a lot of progress. But anyways, it's definitely easier to observe our lives in the past tense and fill the missing gaps to create a comprehensive story that we can repeat to ourselves and others, to, well feel comfortable.
One idea that striked me in today’s studio lecture was that there may not be such thing as ”home” in the modern world. We are indeed in a constant search for a home; often feeling troubled and wanting more; to find that home that we can call ours. We look to music, social media, religion.. for a “home”, when we can’t seem to find one in our environment. Again, this isn't necessarily negative, in fact, I believe it can be one very understandable reason to keep living.
As counter-intuitive as it sounds, I believe that to find your home, you should stop searching. I don't mean stop talking to people, isolate yourself, and wait for the world to bring you gifts, but that you must first accept your current circumstance as something that may, or may not, change; and that it's okay. Spend less time finding comfort in the past or the future, only the now. I mean, there may be something better waiting for you, but there really may not. This is related to the reason why I believe people in poorer living conditions may find it easier to call something their home than your typical middle class American. When you don’t have as many expectations from life, you appreciate little things: family, friends, shelter, health. You begin to connect with people about real time thoughts and feelings, rather than about castles in the air and your materialistic desires. Real connection brings real comfort. That’s also maybe why we seemed so much okay with the world when we were children than we do now. We had dreams, not expectations. We accepted the circumstances in which we were placed, as our home; and we didn't look for more.
I think that’s why when I think of things that make me feel safe, welcome or “at home， I will naturally think of feelings from when I was younger. I think of the blanket tucking me in my bed, a kind of roof sheltering me from the outside world. I think of my moms arm, acting as walls separating me from the external air. It's hard to think of moments now when I truly feel at ease and safe.
Maternal or paternal love is a kind of comfort that most can relate to. This is one case where reminiscence of our past can actually be a helpful design tool when designing buildings that we can call “home”. It goes back to what I was saying before about observing and reacting to our emotions when we design. Finding moments in our lives that stir an emotion should not be ignored, but rather studied to understand why. This chain of thoughts came from a photo I saw recently of the interior of the Media Library in Thionville by Dominique Coulon & associés. It looks so comforting to me. Thinking about why, it didn't take me long to realize that I associated it with laying in my bed and having my mom cover me with a warm blanket.
One more thought.. it doesn't relate to the idea of comfort or home, but I guess it's still about emotions. I realized that it is super important to assess our emotions many times, and review out designs at different points in our day, week or month, because the architecture I enjoy can vary on my mental state. To make sure your current attitude is not reflected in your design choices, you should give time to process thoughts and look at designs with fresh eyes. Furthermore, I think it’s a good exercise, when your see a design to which you feel no connection, to put yourself into another person’s shoes; an imaginary character, with no appearance or identity, just one that sees the world and feels emotions differently that you typically do. This will prevent an architectural lens too early on that may hinder you in the long term.
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