In 1832, as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe lay on his deathbed, he famously uttered the words “Mehr Licht” (more light). This oft-cited expression has been generally interpreted to mean “more Enlightenment,” owing in no small part to the widely held association of light with modernity. But this could be an overinterpretation. The full sentence he spoke was: “Macht doch den zweiten Fensterladen auf, damit mehr Licht hereinkomme!” (Open the other shutter, so more light can come in!). Turns out he just wanted more daylight in his dying moments.
In architecture, light tends to be similarly overinterpreted. Whether it’s the light of God entering the stained-glass rose window of a Gothic cathedral, or the light under which a “masterly, correct and magnificent play of masses is brought together” by Le Corbusier and his many disciples, light tends to be treated much more metaphysically than physically, and always as something unquestioningly good. There is never too much natural light in architecture, only too little. This notion has resulted, over time, in an overabundance of glass on a great many “modern” and “progressive” buildings that are today effectively overheated greenhouses entirely dependent on expensive air conditioning to maintain a tolerable comfort level.
Natural light is, after all, what is over-heating our planet, which begs the question: in light of the climate emergency, should we continue to see daylight in the same light? Isn’t it perhaps time to draw the shades on so much glass and overexposure? You would think so, but that is not at all the reality on the ground. Expansive glass is more fashionable than ever, even in warm regions, and especially among the filthy-rich, for whom it is undoubtedly a conspicuous sign of having money to burn. In Spain, for example, there has been a building trend among “pijos” (slang for rich people) to build luxury homes with expansive, unmediated sun-exposed glass walls. The intended message is “modern” and “minimalist” sophistication, but to anyone with the slightest environmental bent it symbolizes the architectural equivalent of a gas-guzzling luxury SUV (which also just so happens to be the kind of car typically parked out front). Those glass-and-white Ibiza-style McMinimalist McMansions represent nothing less than the perversion of modern architecture.
Had climate change been around in Goethe’s time, his last words –not to be taken lightly– would undoubtedly have been “close the other shutter, there’s a lot of hot air in here!”
Criticalista 