A Beautiful Home

I encountered this image on some far-flung Gymnst page. It didn’t have any notes or links associated with it, so I can’t credit it to anyone. It was labeled, simply: A Beautiful Home.

It may well be. The correct-er term for it would be a beautiful house. The noun “home” indicates something about the occupants. It could be peopled with Jack the Ripper devotees for all we know. But I doubt it. I’d have a hard time believing the denizens aren’t salubrious. By their works you shall know them, and all that.

So we’ll play it as it lays. It’s a beautiful home. Why is that?

It’s Saturday, so I’m going to give you folks the day off. I’ll answer the question. You rest. We’ll use only the information at hand, i.e., just what you see. It’s entirely possible the interior is a gray-walled, gray-floored, barn-door, modern farmhouse abomination. But I doubt that. It’s unlikely anyone who went for this style on the exterior would flip the HGTV switch and go full retard inside. So we won’t assume any facts not in evidence, your honor.

Why this house is beautiful:

Human scale:

The proportions of the entire house, and the dimensions of the components that make up the house, are based on human beings. The windows are divided into panes about the size of a person’s face, for instance. It’s a big house, but it looks like a normal family could live in it and not need walkie talkies to find each other. The wood siding is coursed in rows about the width of a man’s hand. They wanted a big entry, but they split it into two modest sized doors, instead of a big, silly one. The place looks like it was designed by and for regular human people.

Visible head:

In symmetrical architectural styles like Adam colonials, the door is located in the center of the facade, and windows are placed in identical places to their left and right. The front of the house basically becomes a head with a face. People instinctively know how to approach a house with a visible face as a cue. When the Victorians got rolling, they shifted the symmetrical rectangle idea to make a version of a pinwheel. The houses still had a face, but it was smirking. An off-center head is still a head, and this house immediately lets you know where to go and what to do when you get there. Snout house need not apply.

Proportion:

This is related to the scale of the thing. The house is massed in interesting blocks, and has a very complicated roofline. But nothing much is exaggerated. Nothing is clownish. You can kinda guess what’s going on in each part of the house by the general size of the and shape of the parts.

Color:

The colors of the house are taken from nature, and not just nature, but the local version of nature. Nothing is garish. The roof relates to the sidewalls which relates to the trim with relates to the stone which relates to the setting.

Landscaping:

Good landscaping is getting pretty rare. Houses, hardscapes, and plantings look like they’re at war with the earth. Earlier builders understood that a house could look like a scar on the land. Alien. So landscaping was used to properly soften the join between the structure and the ground. This house does it very well. There’s a gentle transition from the earth to the house, and pots on the stairs and the plants creeping up the walls blur the difference between hardscape and landscape and the house itself.

Texture:

The stonework is coursed ashlar or something similar. It’s gathered into straight buttresses and bands along the foundation line, but still displays a variegated texture that lends interest. The shingled walls look like shakes in the picture. The roof looks like individual pieces lying side by side with their neighbors, not a monolithic sheet of stuff.

Rhythm:

The windows are ganged into rows instead of big, gaping sheets of glass. The walk is flagstone that repeats itself in a jazz motif. The steps have a tempo. The house is composed, not just put together.

Style:

This doesn’t look like an old house to me. It’s a revival of a revival, I’ll bet. Perhaps it’s a Richardson Romanesque Revival Revival. It’s got steeply pitched gable roofs, stone banding, stone buttresses, stone chimneys, a jerkinhead roof, and rounded arches here and there.

There are rules to building in a style like this. The designer used the rules in an original way, and delivered something that strangers on the intertunnel would call beautiful.

Things have changed. Designers now start with the idea that there shouldn’t be any rules, so they can do anything they want. That’s why most everything built in the last thirty years or so is an abomination. And the only original things about a house are the way each one is worse than the last one. Oh well. I hope you can find a beautiful house of your own. Or maybe make one out of a not-so beautiful one. I’ve tried that a bit, and it’s funner.

The Future of Framing Is Here. And It Sucks

Many moons ago, I used to read Fine Homebuilding magazine. I’m not that interested in building fine homes anymore. This Old Hovel would be my kind of publication, but it don’t exist. But I got to wondering what was going on in contemporary home building, and what sort of new techniques are being used in new house construction.

Because the intertunnel is functionally retarded, asking for contemporary anything, or modern whatnot, just delivers a deluge of SEO-infected drivel sites with pictures of “modern” or “contemporary” house plans, because those adjectives have been debased beyond recognition. Modern-style houses aren’t, by the way. The style is basically as old as Arts and Crafts. It’s barely more modern than a Victorian. And contemporary just means a 60 or 70 year old house idea.

But Fine Homebuilding appeared from the scrum, and lied magnificently when they claimed that “The Future of Framing Is Here,” and that “Smarter strategies can save money, speed construction, improve energy efficiency, and cut down on job-site waste.”

You can read the whole thing if you want to. But to save time and your eyeballs, here’s a graphic depiction of their ideas:

I’m fairly obtuse on a good day, but today I’ll be unequivocal: You don’t want any of that.

As you all know by now, I have a modest and unassuming personality, so I think everyone should just do what I tell them and I shouldn’t have to explain myself, because I’m, you know, me. But just in case you need some ‘splainin, Lucy, I’ll list my objections forthwith.

No header in non-bearing wall

The headers in wall framing do more than carry loads from above. Part of their job is to stiffen the opening. Windows really, really don’t like any deflection in the framing in the rough openings, and get jammed shut pretty easy if the opening doesn’t stay square. And lots of interior things like to be nailed to that header you don’t think you need, dudes.

Header hangers eliminate jack studs

Super duper bad idea is super bad. I’ve already explained why almost everything in your house is a bendy thing atop two crushy things.  This can’t be improved upon, but it can be wrecked. The author thinks steel is stronger than wood, so he’s making things better. He ain’t. The hanger brackets can be stronger than a fat girl’s ice cream scoop, but it doesn’t matter. You’re hanging the brackets on nails. Things hanging on nails sag over time. A beam on top of two posts doesn’t. And framing brackets cost more than the bits of 2×4 you use for the jack studs anyway. And nailing off brackets is time consuming and uses a lot of fasteners, which aren’t free, you  know. And the opening is less stiff, and might bow out or in in the middle because it’s a bearing wall. So the window might bind. And there isn’t enough wood around the window to nail interior trim to. Other than that, I have no opinion about the practice.

Single top plate

No, no, no. To use a single top plate, the author is forced to place all the roof framing directly over the studs, which is very fussy and time consuming. And we’re back to having a very small target for interior finishes. And the ceiling is 1-1/2″ lower. And framing lumber isn’t all made from old growth trees with grain like railroad tracks anymore. A single top plate will wander under snow and wind loads, and just plain warping with humidity changes. Double it up, and it’s stiffer, and the two pieces sort of average out any lack of straightness.

Place windows and doors on stud layout

This is akin to telling your wife not to deliver your baby on Super Bowl Sunday because you won’t be home. Cart, meet horse. The proper placement, proportions, and total size of windows is really important. Treating it like an afterthought to avoid using an extra wall stud or two is el stupido.

Rigid foam sheathing improves thermal performance

This is called petitio principii. Begging the question. It’s assumes without evidence that bowdlerizing your sheathing to improve thermal performance is an absolute good. It isn’t. Your sheathing has a lot of work to do. Your insulation has other work to do. Stay in your lanes, people.

2×6 at 24 in. on center

Nope, nope, nope. A 2×4 is 3-1/2″ wide. A 2×6 is 5-1/2″ wide. The author is desperate to stuff more insulation in the wall, so he makes it deeper. Then he figures he’s using bigger studs, so he can space them out wider, and stuff in yet more insulation. It’s all dumb.

If he bothered to do the math, he’d take the 2 extra inches of framing and multiply it by the linear footage of all the exterior walls in the house. There’s about 240 linear feet of exterior walls in a small cape. That means that the interior finished space is 40 square feet less because you used 2×6 instead of 2×4 studs. Why not just make the house design 40 square feet smaller, and use the less expensive lumber? You’ll probably save $6,000+ on the deal, even on a small house. It’ll cost less to cool and heat because it’s smaller. Oh yes, and you won’t have to pay a premium for deeper window jambs and sills. And you won’t have to have as much glass in the house, because the rooms aren’t dark because the windows aren’t set in niches. And if you’ve got a single top plate, too, the ceilings are slightly lower, and less light makes it into the room, so you need more or bigger windows.

Single stud at rough openings

I thought we put a surveyor’s stake in this thing’s heart already, but I’ll bite. You want all the openings in your walls to be as stiff and strong as possible. This is simply cutting corners any way you look at it. Walls do interesting things under unusual loading conditions, like high winds and not enough structure around openings. You do not want your house to do interesting things.

For point loads, the rim joist acts as a header

Jayzuz, no. I thought we were “cutting down on jobsite waste.” It’s vanishingly easy to go to the cutoff pile and find floor framing lumber scraps to double up at the rim joist where point loads are carried. Once again, the author doesn’t understand the problem. The floor joists are not going to be crushed by a point load. They’re going to rotate. The only thing keeping them from rotating if you don’t double them on the inside with a block is the toenailed fasteners through the rim joist. The nails are pounded into the end grain of the joists, which is inherently weak, too. It would take a gopher/helper an hour to go around the site with cut-offs from the scrap pile to fix all these. What is the point?

Stacked framing transfers load directly

Once again I say brethren, “So what?” It’s fussy and time consuming to line up all the framing just to save a few framing members and a top plate. You’re also letting structural concerns completely lord over things like the size of the rooms. So the windows go any old place the framing likes, and the floor framing can’t accommodate things like stairwells where you want them, lest you use an extra 2×10 or something. Silly.

Minimize stud nailers at intersecting walls

Oh, I’ve had to work on drywall in this sort of carpenter’s houses. There’s nothing to screw into in the corners and around the ceiling, and what is there bends like a Comăneci even if you can find it. There’s a reason why so many framing problems are solved by strongbacks. Strongbacks are framing members nailed perpendicular to one another. They’re straight in the first place, and don’t bend easily.

Properly sized header with foam on interior

I’m not sure if the author doesn’t know how to frame, or how to write. Headers have been made for many moons by sandwiching a piece of rigid foam in between two pieces of lumber. The insulation acts as a thermal break, and makes the header the right thickness for the wall framing. And you can nail stuff to your heart’s content inside and out.

No Cripples under ends of windowsill

We’ve been over this, haven’t we? Two cripples under the sill use maybe 4 lineal feet of 2x4s. You can usually find them in the scrap pile, but even if you can’t it’s about a buck and a half of lumber per window. I built two houses without using a single dumpster, so I know this stuff by heart. Skipping cripples is just shoddy work, no matter how hard you try to call it economical. Remember the crushy things, people!

Two-stud corners won’t compress batt insulation

We’re begging questions again. Who the hell is still using batt insulation? Blow in cellulose. Or loose fiberglass. Or if you don’t like money, and would like to get rid of a lot of it in a hurry, spray foam. Good luck fishing a wire in your house forevermore if you go that route, though.

Smarter strategies, huh? Well, what do I know? I’m just some guy on the intertunnel. You’re free to follow Fine Homebuilding’s advice if you like. They’re like, important and official and whatnot. You won’t save any money, the work will go slower, your energy efficiency will be worse, and you’ll have a dumpster full of framing cut-offs instead of jack studs and cripples in your walls. Other than that, I’m sure you’ll enjoy living in the fourth little pig’s house. It’ll be restful to sit outside it, and watch it sway in the breeze.

Philistines Gotta Philistine

According to Wiktionary, “philistine” is an adjective meaning “lacking in appreciation for art or culture.” I think that falls far short of the definition. I forget where I heard it, but the most able assessment of a philistine I’ve ever heard is someone who knows the difference between beautiful and ugly, and deliberately chooses ugly.

It’s a philistine culture, now, top to bottom. People don’t lack appreciation. They spurn it. Girls know coloring their hair with Pepto-Bismol and putting a ring in their nose is ugly. That’s why they do it. When abstract standards of right and wrong go out the window, standards of etiquette and taste go out with the same bathwater.

I know I’ve mentioned it here several times, but Frank Gehry has done more harm to the human race than psoriasis. He knows his structures are ugly, no matter what he says publicly. That’s the point. Believe me, I know it’s hard to make a beautiful, sturdy, useful building of almost any size. Guys like Gehry understand it’s much easier to make an ugly one, and say, I meant to do that, where’s my check? It’s hideous. Ain’t it grand?

I’ve likewise pilloried the architectural style that makes Gehry the Larry Fine of the drafting table: Brutalism. I could paste in a long description of Brutalist Architecture, but I’ll save us all some time and sum it up thusly: Commies love concrete. Brutalist architecture doesn’t just spurn the wants and desires of people who enter or pass by their abominations. Brutalist architecture denies the essential humanity of humanity itself. It is the design motif of the prison, the abattoir, the death camp, the Stasi office, the nuclear fuel dump, and various colleges that produce students who like to bomb road races, like UMass Dartmouth.

So Boston City Hall is the ugliest building in the world, maybe. I can live with that. The government got big, and the people got small, so the kind of statement it makes is inevitable. But I can’t stand by and see anyone praise Brutalist churches and get away with it. Here dezeen magazine, which has to be dezeen to be believed:

Sacred Modernity showcases “unique beauty and architectural innovation” of brutalist churches

It showcases, something, alright, the same way overweight plumbers showcase things when they’re crouching in front of your sink.

Here are two examples. I chose them at random, basically. They’re all equally bad ideas, like speed dating at a carnival sideshow:

I’d mention the first one is plagiarized from the torture scene from Brazil, but what’s the point? They’d probably give the architect a raise if they hear that. The second, a concrete Tetris game gone bad, looks like the plans for a maximum security prison that got wrinkled in a paper jam in the fax machine, and they built it that way anyway.

I’m not disappointed in the architects. They’re jerks. Jerks gotta jerk. It’s the churches that paid for these monstrosities that should be ashamed of themselves. But then again, those churches have all lost their nerve and don’t even mention society’s obligations to each other, or to posterity anymore. Let’s look at a snippet from the article praising these sacred seawalls gone rogue, and see if we can grok where they’re coming from, man:

“In essence, the experience of encountering brutalist churches often involves a transformation from scepticism to appreciation, as individuals are confronted with the unique beauty and architectural innovation that these structures represent.”

Yup. Even he knows it’s crap, but bangs on his brain to convince himself to pretend it isn’t. Philistines gotta philistine.

The Most Outrageous Polychrome Architecture In the World

I was always interested in architecture. Building stuff. I liked small “a” architecture best. Little pink houses, for you and me. Vernacular housing for regular people is durn interesting in many parts of the world.

However, when you study architecture in a formal setting, they don’t give a fig for little houses for regler people. They like public buildings, big apartment buildings, office towers, and other big, honking structures. I’ve seen lots of examples of every sort of architecturally important structures from all over the world. Forever and a day, I’ve always assumed that the Sainte-Chapelle, in Paris, France, was, and would always be, the most outrageous polychrome building in the world. Boy was I wrong. More on that later.

First, let’s look at Sainte-Chapelle, shall we? Here’s a picture of the interior of the nave from their own website. See what I mean?

Ste. Chapelle is Gothic, of course, but the term “Gothic” covers a lot of ground. In France, there were four different eras of Gothic architecture. This is the best example of Rayonnant architecture I know of. Rayonnant is the third of four Gothic styles, and was superseded by the Flamboyant style, which is less flamboyant than the Rayonnant style, if you ask me. Flamboyant stuff was fascinated with intricate tracery and lots of weird ribwork on the ceilings. But laying on all the tracery kind of smothered the buildings. They begin to look more like coral reefs than architecture to my eye. Rayonnant minimized the structural stuff, loaded up with outrageous stained glass, opened up the interiors, and generally looked like you were standing in a kaleidoscope. Great stuff. Here’s another look at the interior:

I’ve never been there, but even in photos, it’s kinda staggering. When I was a kid, I thought I’d go there someday and stagger around in it, but it was not to be. I’ll never darken France’s doorstep, or their hotel towels. But I’ll assuage my disappointment with the knowledge that they’ve come in second in the outrageous polychrome dustcatcher sweepstakes. I’ve discovered the Meenakshi Temple in India, and it’s a doozy:

It’s a whole neighborhood of these polychrome whathaveyous. If you go over to the Wikiup, they’ve got hi-res images you can really zoom in on. That’s handy, if you don’t have any magic mushrooms and want to get transcendental anyway.

You can click right here to go to the Wiki page and poke around. Here’s another one:

I dare you to got through the links and zoom in on the pictures. Here’s one. Monty Python’s animator has got nothing on these guys:

The interior of these shrines are another kind of outrageous:

Well, if I ain’t going to Paris, I’m certainly not going to Madurai, India, so they can rest easy. I will, however, scratch my head and wonder why anyone wants to see the Taj Mahal for its architecture when this place is (figuratively) right down the street. It makes the Taj Mahal look like the Garage Mahal, doesn’t it?

Similar To Be Built

So, if movies went through a process of Spenglerism, from rude iconography to cheap entertainment to low art to high art, where exactly did they end up? Postmodernism.

Postmodernism is a very important concept to understand. It’s also a very difficult concept to understand. It’s  shambolic and protean. Organized mayhem. As soon as you start finding a method in the madness, the madness shifts. I’m most familiar with postmodernism in architecture, but it’s basically the American way of life in everything from films to fire hydrants.

Here’s the American Heritage dictionary definition of postmodern. I’ll grant you that it’s a postmodern dictionary that doesn’t feel very attuned to any American heritage I know about, but it will have to do, because I’m lazy:

adjective

1. 1. Of or relating to art, architecture, or literature that reacts against earlier modernist principles, as by reintroducing traditional or classical elements of style or by carrying modernist styles or practices to extremes.
   2. Of or relating to an intellectual stance often marked by eclecticism and irony and tending to reject the universal validity of such principles as hierarchy, binary opposition, categorization, and stable identity.

I first encountered the term postmodern because of architecture. It reared its confused, ugly head back in the ’50s, but it really didn’t get a full head of steam until the ’80s rolled around. It’s allegedly a reaction to the bland, featureless ethos of the international style. You know, this sort of thing:

So since 1930 or so, people had inexplicably gotten the urge to live in a simulacrum of a dentist’s office, like that one, and postmodernism was supposed to fix that. How? By copying Las Vegas, of all things. From the Wikiup:

Las Vegas was regarded as a “non-city” and as an outgrowth of a “strip”, along which were placed parking lots and singular frontages for gambling casinos, hotels, churches and bars. The research group studied various aspects of the city, including the commercial vernacular, lighting, patterns, styles, and symbolism in the architecture. Venturi and Scott Brown created a taxonomy for the forms, signs, and symbols they encountered.^[3] The two were inspired by the emphasis on sign and symbol they found on the Las Vegas strip. The result was a critique of Modern architecture, demonstrated most famously in the comparison between the “duck” and “decorated shed.”

The “duck” represents a large part of modernist architecture, which was expressive in form and volume. In contrast, the “decorated shed” relies on imagery and sign. Virtually all architecture before the Modern Movement used decoration to convey meaning, often profound but sometimes simply perfunctory, such as the signage on medieval shop fronts. Only Modernist architecture eschewed such ornament, relying only on corporeal or structural elements to convey meaning. As such, argued the authors, Modern buildings became mute and vacuous, especially when built for corporate or government clients.

So the modernists got rid of all decoration. That was bad. The postmodernist decided to fix it by building everything to look like dentist offices only with misshapen and proportion-less classical elements stapled all over them willy nilly. Like this:

There are lots of ways I could think of to fix Brutalist and International style buildings, but Postmodernism ain’t one of them. It reminds me of this:

Because what we’re looking at here, really, is pastiche.

noun

1. 1. A dramatic, literary, or musical piece openly imitating the previous works of other artists, often with satirical intent.

   2. A pasticcio of incongruous parts; a hodgepodge.

I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to drill it into the side of how many people’s heads, but architecture shouldn’t accommodate jokes. Irony is mentioned in the definition of postmodern, you’ll recall. Architects don’t do irony. Architects aren’t supposed to tell jokes. Hell, a good architect probably hasn’t ever heard a good joke.

Making visually disturbing, disorienting structures might be fine for the Las Vegas strip, but it’s of no use to regular people living in regular housing. Back in 1920, people knew that architecture rendered in disturbing misshapen pastiche was appropriate for the set of a horror movie, not a suburban split-level:

Honestly, I don’t know why Frank Gehry doesn’t have to send a percentage back to Caligari’s copyright holders:

Lamebrains praise this sort of thing, because it’s wrong, and they love the wrongness of it.

Architecture had rules. The rules were based on three things: commodity, firmness, and delight, if you ask Vitruvius. They’re as applicable today as they were in antiquity. Does it accommodate the occupant’s needs? Is it sturdy? Is it beautiful? Everything is supposed to be based on the human being, too. The scale of it,  the amount of decoration, the size of it, the effect of it. The commodity part also warns you away from wastefulness, as one of the primary occupant’s needs is to be able to afford the damn thing. And affordability also means adaptability. There’s an old joke that a bad doctor gets to bury his mistake, but a bad architect can only advise you to plant vines. Do-overs cost too much in architecture to start telling jokes in sticks and bricks.

Architecture shouldn’t be anti-human. But it is, now. The last stop on the postmodern express, where everything is just a jumble, and can be all decoration, or no decoration, swollen and misshapen and malformed is just fine, any old whichaway you feel like it, and the human beings who have to live and work in a structure don’t matter one bit, devolves into this:

Hmmm. “SIMILAR TO BE BUILT.” I know a threat when I hear one.

If I were you, I’d demand to live in a post-postmodern world as soon as possible. You can’t live in a regular postmodern one. They didn’t make a spot for you, or anyone else human for that matter.

Deimos, Phobos, Jeanneret, and Rohe, AIA. How Can I Direct Your Call?

“Less is more.” – Ludwig Mies van der Rohe

“Less is fussy.” -Sippican Cottage

If you’ve never heard of him, van der Rohe is the patron saint of Minimalist architecture. He, and his Swiss partner in crimes against humanity, Chuckie Jeanneret, have done more to make humans miserable than anyone since Deimos and Phobos.

Mies, as his toadies like to call him, is one in a long line of frauds who taught their acolytes that ideas are more important than people. If you run totalitarian states, ideas like that idea lead to mass graves while you convince everyone your ideas are peachy. If you’re an architect, people just have to live in the sterile concrete birdhouses you built for them, and lump it. Think I’m exaggerating? He built this, in Chicago:

The main idea, if you can call it that, behind “less is more” leads to all the botoxed Instagram strumpets on Better Homes Than Yours tearing out all the walls in every house they encounter. Less must be more! They’ve got weird ideas about how people should live, and ideas trump reality every time.

The central theme of the Minimalist movement is to remove all surface decoration, and when you’re done with that, get rid of anything that looks structural if you can manage it. Rohe’s most famous home is a double-wide terrarium in Illinois that no sane person would want to live in.

It’s underwater every couple of years, because on top of a dumb design, it’s built in a dumb place — a flood plain. Anyone trying to live in it would have to keep the blinds closed morning, noon, and night. You’d have to buy a thousand acres in every direction to get any feeling of privacy, but the house is surrounded by other houses. It depended on hand-waving fraud for its pizzazz, just like all modern architectural messterpieces. A house is a form of shelter, and part of the feeling of shelter is strictly visual, not just massive walls between you and the outside. A feeling of shelter is deliberately made impossible in that house. If you prefer to live like an ant with a demented child holding a magnifying glass over you, instead of a normal human person, Rohe’s your man.

I’m sure there’d be a line to live in it if it were for rent, don’t get me wrong. There are lines to get grommets inserted into your earlobes at the mall, too. The idea that you’d really like this house if everyone else on earth was dead appeals to a certain clientele. The architect blames society for looking into your transparent house, and global warming for building a low-slung house in a flood plain in the first place.

But my real beef with stuff like this is that it’s fussy. You heard me right. I’ve had a hand in building Minimalist houses, and you can’t believe how fussy a complete lack of ornament can get. Push past simply stripping all the trim out of a building, and go to work on hiding the structure, and the fussiness goes hyperbolic.

The reason that there is trim around your doorframes, and windows, and the join between the floor and the walls, is only partly aesthetic. It covers up the transitions from one thing to another. It’s the simplest, most inexpensive, un-fussy way to do it. It’s not just coverup, either. Done correctly, it appeals to a human’s sense of proportion, and safety, and color, and texture, and a lot of other stuff.

Ask a child to draw a house. They’ll draw a rectangle with a triangle on top of it with smoke curling out of a chimney, and a door and windows that look like the symmetrical features of a face.  That’s because children are smart, and not jaded yet. Ask Mies to draw you a house, and you’ll get an abbatoir.

You can boil the trim in a house down to their plainest version if you must, but you can’t get rid of it unless you’re prepared to spend ten times what the trim costs. The construction tolerances for that human goldfish bowl he built in Illinois are space-shuttle-ish. It’s a complete waste of time and money and effort to achieve such studied simplicity and stupidity. There’s a reason why your iPhone costs more than a phone with a screw showing. It’s not a good reason, but it is a reason.

I’ll teach you, if you’re interested, how to spot something stupid masquerading as something simple. Simply look for this word:

Elegant

If it says it’s elegant, it’s fussy and stupid. Whenever you spot that word anywhere on the internet, just substitute “fussy” for it, and whatever you’re reading will make sense. If you’re a crank like I am, put fussy and stupid in there instead. You’ll never put a foot wrong with the translation.

Look at Rohe’s alleged masterpiece, the German entry for the 1929 International Exposition held in Spain, and generally referred to as the Barcelona Pavilion.

This might be the fussiest structure of any kind I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been around the architectural block, a lot. It’s in the running for the fussiest object ever made by humans, especially when you consider how useless it was. It’s fussier than the Chartres Cathedral or a Faberge egg. It cost a small fortune. Well, actually, a large fortune, and they demolished it right after the exhibition was over anyway. Why not? It’s useless, no matter what it cost. It turned into a place to get in out of the sun for people who grew tired of looking at more interesting things at the exhibition. You could have managed that with a canvas tent, a bucket of water, and some dixie cups.

There were a couple of Barcelona Chairs on display in it, which he also designed, and one lumpy statue, but that’s it. Barcelona Chairs got famous from this event. You can buy copies of them today, and people do. They’re elegant, according to their sales blurbs. They’re uncomfortable, according to my ass, but discomfort is a small price to pay for something that looks comfortable, but isn’t. Besides, did we mention it’s elegant?

Let’s take websites, for another example. Web designers are often asked to make the text “more elegant.” What this actually means in practice is “less legible.” The Apple cult has convinced the public that nearly invisible, thin, goofy fonts rendered in light gray text on a light gray background are not only easier to read, they’re elegant. They’ve also convinced that public that a wafer thin phone is elegant. I guess it makes it easier to fit inside the mandatory gaudy oversized ruggedized case, so I guess they’re only 99% full of merde.

On a good day, elegant is Brutalist, which is the opposite of actually elegant, and no way to live like a human being. On a bad day, you’re up to your shins in water, with your neighbors looking and laughing at you through your glass walls. Luckily, there are no partitions in your house, so there are no electrical plugs about to take water and  shock you back to your senses. Keep living your elegant life, until you can palm your masterpiece off on the National Park Service. It’s the elegant solution.

[Thanks for reading and commenting. Please recommend Sippican Cottage to your most discerning friends, and all the rest of them, too.]