Architecture and design of spaces is insignificant to us in the way the clothes we wear to sleep are. But we think a great deal when we specifically choose our house, the way we do when we choose clothes to go out.
The ingrained acceptance of architectural work as simply existing for utility has removed from us the very necessary truth that the spaces we inhabit are intractably linked to the limits we reach psychologically.
The design of living spaces are, to most of us, simply for the act of living, and as such, any design philosophy that utilizes that sole action is accepted to be the most important, and is thus put forth first as a requirement.
And there’s nothing wrong with that. But in the 21st century, centuries since architecture and design progressed from just a necessity and shelter to a philosophy and area of innovation, it's important that in the global consciousness and in the mind of the common person, there is an idea instilled that these places should complement progress -- not just in its own area but in every other area and subject.
This series will deal with the philosophy of architectural design that not only encourages, but compels humans to reach far beyond their limits and think outside the box.
First and foremost, I must establish that I don’t want people living in giant bubbles (although that’s rad), and I don’t have a personal agenda against simple, utility-driven designs. Or even the more complicated aesthetic languages that stem from it like Brutalism and Bauhaus.
As a matter of fact, a lot of what I suggest in this series pulls from minimalism and modernism.
This series, though it will point out flaws in corner-heavy, geometrically-rigid, and quadrilateral design, isn’t against it. It simply suggests that the antithesis of these designs is what allows creative thinking and dialogue, and should thus be built as well.
Not arguing that corners are evil, nor that humanity should suddenly abandon every square building on Earth and migrate into giant domes like futuristic Hobbits.
Utility exists for a reason. Corners built civilization. They maximize space, organize environments, and make the housing of billions possible. Because beyond space to house the body, humanity needs, nay, deserves, space to house the mind and soul.
To avoid writing the same words over and over, I’m going to divide the main subjects into two simple, albeit very generalized and, some might say, slightly misleading terms.
These are curves and corners. I trust the reader enough that they’ll understand whatever is intoned and also that they aren’t snobby enough to judge.
The core problem to address in this essay is that modern design treats all designs of spaces as housing spaces, and thinks that housing spaces simply means simplicity to encourage easy and simple living.
This is a global error in design thinking. Not all spaces are meant to serve the same function, yet modern architecture often behaves as if they are. There should be TWO types of spaces -- one for man to function, and one for man to transcend.
We only have the first one, and it’s the only one we seem to want to know.
Let’s split curves and corners
Corners are for repetitiveness, utility, survival, cost cutting, and density. Even with such prerequisites, modern architecture for housing has grown to something beautiful, but it remains just that -- housing.
Curved architecture, as I will delve into in this essay, is about many things -- openness, ambiguity, sensory variation, and though it may seem like a far-fetched claim this early on in the essay, a way to connect to the universe and ourselves and propel our minds further.
Corners vs curves operate in a way that mirrors the flaw that holds us back from intelligence, which is our subjugation to animal instinct. It symbolizes functional vs psychological. This is the first philosophy I will expand on.
Anthropocentrism is the catalyst for a large portion of modern philosophy, and contemporary design reflects it. The belief that we are the greatest species due to intelligence and cognitive ability collapses once we remove the protective framing of religion and apply basic constructivist reasoning.
What remains is a much less stable idea: That our perceived superiority is largely self-authored. One of the central points in this argument is that our equality with everything else is grounded in biology.
We are nature’s product in the same way every other organism is. Nature does not validate human claims of superiority but simply produces outcomes without moral hierarchy.
And this anthropocentric framework has deeply influenced design, and in doing so, has ironically limited the possibility of genuine transcendence in human thought.
Modern functional design assumes that spaces exist primarily to house human life in the most efficient, safe, and repeatable way possible.
And to be clear, this is not an error in itself. It is necessary. Survival, density, safety, and efficiency are legitimate architectural demands.
But when this becomes the only lens through which all space is designed, it produces a broader stagnation that extends beyond architecture.
One of the major misconceptions in architecture today is that it exists primarily between aesthetics and utility. In reality, it begins much earlier, at the level of science: How space is structured, how movement flows through it, how light, air, and geometry interact with human presence.
Limiting these foundational questions to only what best serves immediate human habitation reduces architecture to a purely functional system, rather than a cognitive or experiential one.
This is where the distinction becomes important. We need spaces that do not only accommodate life, but actively provoke thought, because thinking is the mechanism through which human potential expands.
Shapneel Shahaj is an architecture enthusiast.
