half of what I say is meaningless

Today I was toured by a legitimate master of the arts. Francisco “Bobby” Manosa was a great architect, but more importantly, he was a great family man; and that, to me, is what made the experience of his home so great. A lot of modern architects design spaces in a heterotelic manner—make the form catch attention, use expensive materials, make it look “sleek/edgy/classy/refined/insert-highfalutin-adjective-here”, and then finishes it up with a concept completely unconnected to the design, for “design’s” sake, or to make the design appear more legitimate. Arch. Manosa does the opposite and drew from 2 very simple yet significant aspects: his family history and coconuts. Coconut trees, fruit, bark, etc. were used as finishes for a majority of surfaces and walls, and family history was used as the finish to the experience of a well-loved home for the whole family, and a cozy visit for any guest.

On a sidenote, my favorite part was their front door. The inner panels were embellished with wooden studs (think of a 4-faced pyramid, flattened to about hmm, 15 degrees each?). He tells us that out of all the studs covering the door, he only made 5, the rest were made by his househelp, and that having made a part of the house—the one that welcomes guests, and keeps them safe every night, they felt they really were part of the family history of the house, which enabled them to stay with the family for more than 40 years.

People often say that architecture is all form or all function, and fails to reach into our soul to put us into action; that art or writing tickles a person’s mind more than a structure does. It could be true, art or literature or dance really do drive a person because of the soul the artist evokes. But imagine you’re in a giant box, a glass box, how would you feel? And then imagine that box becoming an all-wood box, then an all-steel box.

Architecture does more than evoke an artist’s soul, it stretches out and reaches for your own.