michael-dean-k/

I have been brewing on this Call for New Aesthetics. I’m stuck on the question of why we need a new aesthetic for the 21st century. To go one layer deeper, what role does an aesthetic actually achieve? Like let’s say you can trace the lineage from the iPhone’s design back to Bauhaus. If the Bauhaus never existed, and smartphones took on a different aesthetic, say one that is more ornate, would we not still have TikTok? I guess this all ties back to my conclusion at the end of architecture school, that probably played some role in leaving the industry: it is capital that controls everything, and as revolutionary as architecture aspires to be, it is something like frivolous dressing atop capital aspirations (picked this up from Manfredo Tafuri, a Marxist critic of architecture; IANA Marxist, but the critique is hard to forget). No matter how you design a bank, a bank is a bank. Bauhaus was not a revolutionary aesthetic movement, but a response to the economic reality of mass production (could be an oversimplification, but I think it's accurate to see it as a response, as most architecture is). There is a long history of architects trying to proactively change culture, but failing because they don't actually have leverage. And so what you really need is not just an aesthetic or formal style, but a reimagining of the programs, institutions, and rituals of society, and then a way to use form/ornament to realize those ambitious visions. Put another way, architecture can’t matter without the vision and power of a client, and I don’t think there’s a future for architecture within the OS of capitalism—but if capitalism is about to implode, maybe there’s a new opportunity.

Our last meal as pre-child adults was at Panera—something quick and light on the way to the hospital (plus she craved it)—and as we ordered our “pick twos” on a digital menu, I was struck by the beauty of a jazzy Christmas song that would have otherwise been extremely ordinary. It was “White Christmas” by Booker T and the M.G.s. My guess is that the stakes of an extraordinary moment—in this case, one of anticipation—can totally rewire musical taste (or preference in anything, really). Works that we attribute meaning to sometimes have nothing to do with objective qualities of the art, but in the circumstance in which you experience it. 

There has to be a better answer to the “why is nothing beautiful anymore?” discourse. This usually takes the form of plucking two objects, two hundred years apart, to make a point. If you take the best thing from the past and the worst thing from the present, you can make any conclusion you want, in any field. Are there not beautiful phone booths made in the 2000s? Might there actually be more of them than in the past?

Ultimately, though, I’m less interested in aesthetic studies if they don’t tie back to character. What good is beautiful architecture is everyone is ugly in spirit? I mean that. If we built beautiful, luxurious, maximalist cities, might that not reflect a kind of materialism in the soul of its people? Not saying that’s a given, but the real dilemma of architecture—the one that troubled me in my later years in school—is if the design of our world actually has any role in shaping its inhabitants. Maybe that’s an unfair thing to ask of bricks and steel. But maybe that’s why I shifted to other fields of design that are more influential in shaping virtue.

1. Small bedrooms: not much bigger than the space required to get into bed. No TVs, computer, or furniture. A bedroom isn’t a place to spend time in. Instead, reallocate that space for well-designed walk-in closets and storage.
2. The core space of the house should be “the studio,” a series of spaces for making things and working together. There should be a hierarchy, many nooks for specific functions (organized with sound/sight in mind), that all revolve around a central rotunda (for discussion, relaxation, review, presentation, wall display, showing guests). Again, no TV, that could be in a separate theatre room.
3. Design art & ornament around spaces of biological rhythms. You’ll use your dining room 3x a day, and your bathroom even more. This is where you display family crests and things that will consistently remind you of your values.
4. Minimal friction to outdoor walk: ideally, most functions are on the first floor so you get get outside without thinking. A staircase will provide the slightest friction, making you go outside less than you could.
5. Be mindful of where you place clocks. If any. I would recommend not having them in bedrooms, dining rooms, or studio spaces. Maybe put one in the foyer. If you need to know the time, you go to the clock space. The time is not something you should be ambiently aware of.
6. Time capsule cube storage: as often as you can, document and throw out things that won’t have much sentimental or practical value. For things you do want to save, don’t just store them away, because you won’t be able to find them for decades. Create a system where each year gets a cube of storage, and at any point you’ll be able to find things from your past.
7. Family tree idea: I just like the idea of dedicating a wall to visualize family lineage.
8. Sunken floors: Slight level changes (1-2 foot) force an awareness that you’re changing planes.
9. No shoes in the house.
10. A silent chapel space (not necessarily religious), ideally separate from the house, accessible from the backyard, where you can go to reflect.

Futurists fear that robots and AIs will terraform and harvest the world, but it already feels eerie and unnatural to see midwestern fields carved out into perfect grids. It is as alien as crop circles, but more terrifying and less creative. Perfect 90 degree angles. It is brute order and dull patterns; a metallic fishnet over the midriff of America. I’d be surprised if there weren’t good reasons for this, but it is spooky in its orthagonality. FWIW, I am pro-grid; a grid-head FFS. But the grid to me is an invisible structure to guide the creation of complex, organic, natural forms, not the form itself, disappearing into the edges of sight.

I like how you frame it as "beauty" instead of just writing quality. Composition isn’t just a theoretical thing that craft nerds care about, it leads to beauty. I’ve been trying to map this into “the good, the true, and the beautiful.” I think Essay Architecture sits in the 3rd, but the other 2 still matter. It’s possible to write a beautiful essay that is also an evil lie. I should probably write something how you don’t want to obsess over beauty in a vacuum—you want to use composition to articulate something good (generally subjective) and true (generally objective).

Another note on this is that maybe things shift from subjective/objective as you scale in an out. It’s a subjective choice on which medium you pick (writing/music/code), but then each medium has objective constraints, but then you have subjective liberty in how you solve each constraint.

Studio Ghibli—that's the meme, the vibe of the day.

Interesting how the thing that can go viral suddenly captures and permanently shapes everyone’s imagination. Out of all the possibilities, most people’s experimentation are now influenced in this one odd direction. What else is possible? It’s a weird moment, a race/competition for creative usage. There is stuff capable in 4o image generation that’s undiscovered by anyone.

4o can render a glass of wine to the brim. Another go-to example of the doubter has been eradicated.

I'm at a D-tier pizzeria and they’re showing CGI zombies on TV. I think part of entering the public sphere is learning to adapt to whatever is thrown at you. It’s just funny because so many restaurants take the idea of atmosphere so seriously, and now I’m here eating pizza as I watch people eat people.

Three constraints for architecture:

• T1: Function of a building (function)
• T2: The spatial parti & poetic themes (form)
• T3: Transcendence (form enables function)

Developers and rationalists optimize for T1, and designers and artists optimize for T2, but T3 covers the existential purpose of architecture. Can form transform itself beyond a shell for inhabitation, and actually transform its inhabitants? This has been called “the revolutionary function” of architecture, and Modernism is a textbook of failed attempts.

Great Reddit comment on Open AI’s releases:

Isn't it eerie that a tech company, potentially wielding one of the most disruptive technologies ever, is presenting its "12 days of product releases" at a modest, four-chair table, sipping from mugs? While it's likely intended to be delightfully ironic, it feels almost like a bait-and-switch. They're giving a friendly, homespun face to what could shape a dystopian future of their own making.

The setting—something akin to a cozy living room—feels dissonant. They're discussing technology that operates at an almost incomprehensible level of abstraction, yet they're explaining it to us in what appears to be someone's home. They've abandoned the traditional Silicon Valley keynote spectacle for what they frame as an intimate conversation with us, the users.

Between the four of them, there’s a single MacBook and an iPad, as if the vast compute power of Microsoft Azure supercomputer network could somehow be distilled into two personal devices. I wasn’t expecting the grandiosity of a Steve Ballmer screaming on stage or the pomp of Google I/O, but this minimalism feels calculated, even unsettling.

And then there’s the context surrounding the company itself. OpenAI—a company in the throes of dramatic reinvention—has seen dozens of employees leave in protest, high-level executives resign without explanation, and even its CEO ousted and reinstated in a matter of days. It’s a level of instability and reinvention I’ve never seen before in a company of this scale.

I’m curious to see what the rest of these 12 days will bring, but this juxtaposition of power and humility feels deeply intentional—and slightly unnerving.

On the museumification of architecture: My first project in architectural school was a museum outside of Grant’s Tomb memorial. Public spaces like this often have the most freedom for architectural expression. Framed views. Framed objects.

But what happens when residences are designed as museums? Sure, maybe a rich client with a private art collection actually needs this. But there’s a disconnect when designers only think about the poetry of space, and completely forget that spaces are meant to be inhabited by humans.

I don’t mean to imply the stark opposite of this: a kind of “stern functionalism.” More so, function supplies the constraints from which to make beauty from.