Looking for beauty

A significant amount of time in my life was spent by searching for beauty. Or perhaps, noticing beauty would be a better choice of a word. Either way, in the twenty years I have existed, I have found it. I have found beauty in many different forms. And that is wonderful itself. All the possible forms that beauty can take.

What is beauty, though? What is it for me? And is it different from what do you perceive as beautiful? Quite possibly. As it is said, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And thus, what is beautiful for me, might not be beautiful for someone else. Or maybe even for anyone else. Does that devaluate the object of my admiration? No. In fact, that makes it even more alluring. The beauty is there for me and me only. I do not have to share it. In fact, I find it vulgar when people I do not care about love the same things I do.

And in that selfish arrogance, I am often tortured by loving the things that are loved by many.

Fortunately, beauty does not care. It shows itself often. Frequently in places, I would expect it the least. It can be grandiose, it can be subtle. Hidden in tiny details or obscenely exposed to everyone.

It is there for us, for the people. It has no purpose and yet, it is the grand virtue many strive for. We want to create the beauty. We want to find the beauty. And I am a fool for wanting to keep it for myself.

Where have I found the beauty you may ask. Well, I will tell you. The list is long though. Just promise me you will not steal it from me.

Concrete in any form. The rough board formed concrete or as smooth as Tadao Ando would love it. From liquid to rock solid, it can be shaped as we desire. Is that not an ultimate satisfaction to be able to create any shape we can imagine?

Spaces with high ceilings, atriums, halls. Nothing empowers creativity more than an open space where ideas can bounce as an echo between the surfaces only to land on a paper to be bound.

High-rises. I admire and despise them at the same time. Magnificant scars on the tapestry of the city. Rising high and buried deep. Dazzling and disrupting all at once.

Women. I do not need to write more.

Abstract art. I hate when I do not understand something. Looking for understanding that never comes makes me love abstract.

Textures. As a kinesthetic person, I love to touch and be touched. Objects, textures, people. Wood, steel, fabric. The leather is especially pleasing material to feel. I love pebble beaches. As some people like to be buried in sand, I do the same in pebbles. Oh, and bricks, they are modest and slightly rough, just enough to feel the work that was needed to make every single one.

Mathematics. If you do not find it beautiful when the result of complicated formula comes out as an integer then I have lost hope.

Fighting and sex. Two occasions when you step down the evolution ladder and let the instinct take over.

Words. I deeply enjoy reading or listening to eloquent speeches and books. The more complex, the better. Knowing and learning new vocabulary expands my horizon.

When building forms a coherent whole. The smallest detail should tell the same story as the first sketch. You know, the one that is usually never shown, the one that could have been conceived on a dirty napkin or drawn by a pen that costed 10 cents.

When people bend the rules. Not break, just bend a little. Especially when it makes logical sense not to follow it and find the way around.

Sketches. Not mine though. My sketches are on the opposite side of the spectrum. Sketches in general. It is a language people communicate. It can be learned and is easy to understand. And in the same manner, as a voice of a person, it carries a character. You can tell a lot about a person by seeing their sketches. It is so intimate.

Books. The silent keepers of knowledge. Patiently waiting to be read and understood. Agreed with or frowned upon.

There would be many smaller and bigger things if I wanted to write about them. Cities, specific buildings, small objects I use daily or specific people.

The point is not to tell everything. More of a reconcile with the fact that there will always be a beauty in the world, that will be forever hidden from my sight. And that the beauty is inclusive. It is there for all of us and I cannot usurp it.

Cheers