The act of seeing can be described as a creative one in itself, apart from the object in view. At first glance, what forms in the mind is an image based on a tiny detail/s. Walking on the street while looking down, a pair of of shoes of a passer-by would automatically form in the mind, an image of a whole person in terms of gender, style and maybe, even the rest of their attire. Pointed heels could traditionally, lead to the imagination of a woman whereas broad, laced leather shoes, to a man. However, at times, it can be surprising if the mental image formed instantaneously isn’t the actual image. The gender of the passerby may be different, as could the style. Upon seeing other details of the object, one gets a sense of other factors behind the object, such as the socio-economic status, age, sometimes, even religion. This makes seeing, a creative activity for the spectator, an act of re-creating in reality what is already created in the imagination.
Most often, only a faint visual impression is necessary to think that an object has been seen completely. Perhaps, for this reason art lovers spend extended time viewing a single artwork, usually returning to it multiple times over. There is no objective correct way of seeing an object, or even an image of the object, but there are infinite subjective impressions of it. The impression it ultimately makes on a spectator depends on multiple factors of time, age, period, environment, etc., but also, more importantly, on the individual and their observation, susceptibility, mentality, education and environment. The image and the perception of it also evolve with time. This act of re-creating is usually carried out by the part of the identifying self with the object, by imagining the self in its stead. (Most clothing brands use this quality perceiving, as marketing strategies by displaying mannequins with perfect body proportions, draped in their clothes and designs. And this deception has led now, more than ever before, to the unreal body standards that pervade popular culture and its influence that has affected almost a whole generation of men and women. But that is an exploration for a separate essay.)
Throughout history, inanimate objects have been endowed with life and meaning. Rivers, lakes, forests and trees have been considered the spirits of nature and God, in most ancient cultures. And this tradition/belief/act continues even today, in a more advanced, civilised world. It is not limited to the spiritual or religious realm, children have names for their favourite toys, adults have names for their homes, and so on. Hindu architecture illustrates the existence of these beliefs from ancient times. Supporting columns in some rock-cut temples are at times, carved into human/mythological forms literally shouldering the heavy burden, a gigantic figure straining all its muscles under the load, which is a unique element to find in a rigid and unresponsive pillar. The different parts of a chair, table, bed and most furniture pieces are named after the human body - legs, arms, spine, etc. and at times, they are even shaped like identifiable living forms like horse hooves, lion paws or eagle claws. This mental image and identification with living, breathing forms has extended over time to other design disciplines like automobiles. Volkswagen Beetle, Ford Mustang, Dodge Viper and Jaguar are some examples. Novels set in ancient and medieval times often describe the city as a body with parts and a breathing soul, portals are often described as gaping. Even architecturally, there are instances from ancient times of animal forms such as the opening of one of the caves at Khandagiri, India which is shaped like the gaping jaws of a giant.
In speech and thought, architectural artifacts assume their own life. “A river ‘lies’ on the outskirts of the town, a building ‘stands’ near the central park, a house ‘sits’ between two mansions, a hill ‘rises’ behind the towers whose balconies ‘peer’ over the lawns.” Such animation even in speech makes it easier to experience architecture as a whole, rather than disparate parts that are merely seen. The novels of Manto, Dickens, Austen and several others used architecture as a meeting point of different characters, streets became voices of originality and social evolution. On the other hand, at times when architecture, no matter how beautiful, is imposed and almost alien-like to its local populace, there is a disjunct before it can integrate itself into their life and lifestyle.
The city of Chandigarh, built by Le Corbusier, Pierre Jeanneret, Jane Drew, and Maxwell Fry is a classic example of city planning that is designed and viewed as geometric forms and shapes. The metaphor of the human body is employed in the grid-like plan of the city - the 'head' contains the Capital Complex, the ‘heart' is the commercial centre, and the 'arms', perpendicular to the main axis, include academic and leisure facilities. An image of Chandigarh is almost two-dimensional in appearance where residential quarters are fairly homogenous, windows and doors, streets and lanes have the same dimensions, trees are aligned and even, building heights are same, until the eye rests on one of the all-dominating, massive buildings, the Capitol Complex, placed strategically at the head. This kind of architecture creates a vivid illusion of space by regular repetition of dimensions familiar to the eye, when seen in different depths. However, while physically standing on any street or sector of Chandigarh, the impression is vastly different. Instead of a mundane, two-dimensional view, there is the air and atmosphere of a city organised around its people, with pockets of activity at its ‘heart’ and ‘arms’, gardens at its base. There is no ‘one, particular spot’ from where the city is to be seen. While this kind of urban design and planning may not have proved to be most suited to its populace and cultural context, architecturally, the size and position of everything seen from any point in the city were carefully determined to give the best impression of depth, along the central vista. It is almost reminiscent of Baroque and Renaissance layouts in Europe (Corbusier was French) that would traditionally converge at a point.
An even prior and more beautiful example of this method, was the design of the Taj Mahal (India), built by Mughal emperor Shahjahan in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz. The use of points, lines and planes directs the eye to its centre, amidst the vast landscape and waterscape surrounding it. Years later, Shahjahan was imprisoned at the Agra Fort by his son, Aurangzeb, and was not allowed to visit his wife’s grave that lay right across the river. Consequently, Shahjahan found a spot within the fort to read the evening prayer facing west, exactly opposite the Taj Mahal. A tiny mirror was affixed to the wall ahead of him, so the first image he witnessed post-prayer was the reflection of the stunning mausoleum. In this cultural and personal context, this view of the monument is deliberately planned with zero interference or distraction. This is a rare example for its history, but ordinarily, we do not see a picture of a thing, but just receive an impression of it that mostly forms in the mind, without complete knowledge of all its sides, like the image of the passerby.
It is not often that a building can be described in detail even though it has been seen. Some buildings are distinguishable by style and physical elements such as churches, temples, even hospitals that are marked with an H. Only if there is special curiosity, would one further explore the building or else not. Upon closer approach, details become clearer - the height and width with respect to the neighbourhood, doorways and arches, openings and voids. This mental process of discovering and seeing, is similar to the architect’s process of designing. The larger form takes shape, basic plans and layouts are designed, and gradually details are added. Mentally, even the materials are assimilated into the details. In some building conceptions, material becomes the sole medium of architecture. Forms, curvatures, layouts and supporting elements are designed not just structurally, but also aesthetically keeping in mind, the quality of the material used and its capabilities. The Sagrada Familia is one such example where the construction has lasted over decades, as the building is still taking shape, details are being added. Material allows the architect to conceptualise solid forms and their textures.
However, there is another way of conceptualising buildings, which is by focussing on the non-solid form, the voids and emptiness, the space that remains, the space is not constructed. Designing space is an open-ended conceptualisation of what architecture itself means, the solid or the non-solid, or perhaps both. Usually a building is erected by assembling the construction materials on a flat site to erect a structure that encloses space, that becomes usable. A reverse situation is when the site is not flat, but a massive rock or hill, and usable space needs to be craved out of it. The structure may not ultimately be given exterior form, and probably left as is. Some of the most ancient structures in India, the Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves in Odisha, Shore Temple at Mahabalipuram, Ellora caves in Aurangabad and several others are classic examples where stone is carved out and space is created. This is the dichotomous role of the architect, to create by constructing or destructing.
The above image is perceived differently from when the focus is on the black part as against the white. Gradually perception can be switched at will from one to the other, alternately seeing both the images. But each time, there is a complete change in perception, neither image complements the other and both cannot be seen simultaneously. Usually convex forms are seen as figure, and concave as ground. On the other hand, there are countless patterns that appear the same no matter which angle they are viewed from. Weaving patterns are an example, where one can see a negative reproduction on the flip side. But usually such patterns that are double coloured, emphasise one of the two colours that dominates the pattern creating a sort of background and foreground. In the cave temples described above, the carved out voids are what the viewer perceives while the solid rock left untouched, is the neutral background. When one stands inside the cave, one is able to experience, not only the void but also the columns separating the space, that are carved out of the part of the rock that wasn’t removed. In this kind of architecture, one is led to wonder if architecture is equally an act of deception and manipulation, as it is of creation?
Many of the art movements in history have displayed this kind of transition from one idea to another, almost akin to the black and white figures. The change from Gothic to Renaissance period was marked by a shift in focus from imposing vertical elements to horizontal elements, and from sharp, pointed constructions to the more curved, smooth and beautiful articulation of carved space. Subsequently, the Baroque period (Baroque, literally meaning Black Pearl) broke the beauty of Renaissance to expose a kind of ugliness that underlies beauty. Similarly, while Modernism was identified with straight lines and planes, rhythmic form that is perfectly balanced, Post Modernism was an attempt to break the pattern, the rhythm and the symmetry. Maybe, it is natural order for human beings to break free of the present to be able to create something new. Ultimately, perhaps it is somewhere between building and breaking, that creativity occurs, creation occurs.
The word space, is complicated. One doesn’t usually know what it is, and yet knows. It can be the object, and also the lack of it. It can be a piece of land, or even the curvature of cupped hands, the area within a mug that can be filled, or a three-dimensional coordinate in air. Almost no language has an equivalent word for space. The Hindi word, jagah, usually refers to space as in place, antariksha refers to outer space, brahman to consciousness, atman to primordial energy. German art historians refer to the word raum, that is similar to the English room but broader in meaning, as in the enclosed three dimensional space within the walls of a temple. Raum Gefühl refers to the sense of the defined space, the perception of it. It is hard to categorise and define what space physically means. Perhaps one way to understand space is the experience of the void, the emptiness, the volume that emerges only when the solid form around it takes shape, the columns, walls, parapets, roof. In that sense, the role of the architect is the imagine, create and direct this perception, just enough so one can experience it, but also inhabit it. A house under construction is merely a skeleton, but once built, is meant to be lived in and manipulated by the occupant. The skeleton is erased from memory and hardly concerns the occupants. It is neither solid, nor void, but purely spatial organisation that matters then.
Eventually, the act of building may not always be affirmative in physicality, which leads to the question of whether space is then, presence or absence?