Vitor Zanetti

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Handpicked ramblings

A defying beauty

July 06, 2024 | Architecture • Opinion

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Maybe in a world obsessed with sleekness, polish, minimalism, post-modernism, the best architecture is raw and unapologetic. I love it, yet I suppose others don’t… Now, why wouldn’t they? Perhaps it has got something to do with the truth brought with itself: concrete, glass and steel all in the open, making a point and challenging the observer.

Brutalism is most often associated with exposed, rough concrete surfaces which convey a certain brutal beauty (pun intended) in a material that doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is. Many argue on the subject “ugliness” of concrete, but in particular I think it to be much the opposite.. It’s confident, it’s functional, and it doesn’t need to rely on superficial decoration. Brutalism is a rejection of ornamentation, and that’s where its power lies! It strips away everything that’s unnecessary, leaving you with the raw structure, the bones of the building. You don’t get deception — only the core, the essence.

There is a huge misunderstanding, in my point of view, that those gray, imposing structures are intimidating, especially when compared to more traditionally “beautiful” buildings with ornate façades or delicate details. Yet, there is the warmth of functionality, of purpose. A brutalist building doesn’t dress itself up for you; it invites you to appreciate it for what it is, for what it does. And when you start to see the intention behind the form, you realize there’s something deeply human about that – it’s almost as if the building is showing you its guts.

It’s also democratic in a way. Brutalist architecture often emerged in the post-war period when there was a need for affordable, functional housing and public buildings that could be built quickly and efficiently. These were structures meant for the people, not for the elite. They weren’t concerned with impressing aristocrats or conceding to the tastes of the wealthy. They were about solving real problems — housing shortages, government infrastructure, urban growth. Brutalism doesn’t care about impressing you with luxury; it cares about serving a purpose. And that, to me, is what makes it so powerful.

There have long been political reasons to undermine brutalism. These go back to the 1970s, and to the rise of free market economics that sought to sweep aside the post-war welfare states across Europe. […] Criticism of brutalism is often tinged with class hatred, a desire for gentrification and a ‘not in my back yard’ wish for these easy symbols of poverty or immigration to be swept away. — Grindod, 2018

In a weird way, to me brutalism feels more alive than other architectural styles such as with modern glass skyscrapers, with their flawless façades and sleek lines, which often feel sterile to me. They’re too perfect, too polished. But brutalist buildings? They weather, they age, they develop character. Over time, the concrete might crack, or moss might grow in the seams, and it only adds to the charm. It’s as if the building itself is part of the landscape, subject to the same forces of nature as everything else. Brutalism doesn’t resist the passage of time; it embraces it.

There’s something visceral about brutalism — something that stirs an emotional reaction. You can’t ignore them — whether you love or hate them, they demand your attention. There’s a certain honesty in the way brutalist structures acknowledge their own materiality, their own imperfections: it’s like saying “this is who I am, take it or leave it.”

Because one of the most fascinating aspects of brutalism — that uncompromising, dramatic, wilful architectural style of rough concrete and asymmetrical awkwardness – is that despite repeated attacks from the media, developer, even the Queen’s son Charles, loving brutalism has emerged as one of the most unexpected fetishes of the 21st century. 

— Grindod, 2018

Can a kid draw it?

September 22, 2024 | Design • Opinion

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I suppose simplicity is a key aspect of tech design. By this, I mean that evoking minimalism, clarity, purity—or whatever ‘form’ speaks to the best design principles — follows certain rules. But digging deeper into this idea has made me reflect on a few things…

I think I won’t ever get tired of mentioned the obvious: Apple. I can hardly think of an institution (yes, they’re beyond a mere brand) more synonymous with the idea that a great design is something a kid could draw. Take the original iPod, for example – a basic rectangle with a circular control pad. Even the iPhone, arguably the most iconic devices of all time, is essentially a flat rectangle with rounded edges. It’s not hard to imagine a child doodling these devices on a piece of paper and getting the general concept across.

Now, why is that? Why is it that these designs — so simple, so intuitive — are often the ones that stand the test of time?

Part of it, I believe, is cutting out unnecessary complexity. If the basic form of a product can be represented with a few lines and shapes, that means the essence of the product is immediately graspable. You don’t need to spend five minutes turning it over in your hands, squinting at it, and wondering where to begin. Apple has been masterful in this approach. It creates products that you know how to use almost immediately, because the design itself communicates the functionality.

Yet one can conclude that simplicity is deceptive. Sure, a kid can draw an iPhone, but the engineering behind it, the layers of software and hardware working in seamless harmony, is anything but simple. And that’s the catch! This is where the magic really lies — when a design is so good that all that complexity vanishes into the background. The user isn’t supposed to think about the microchips, the capacitors, or the millions of lines of code making it all possible. They’re supposed to interact with the surface, the tangible engineered product, to feel the heat of a stressed fanless MacBook, to sense the physical buttons, to be amazed at a Retina display’s dense pixels and so on.

Simplicity in design doesn’t always equate to good design, especially when you consider different types of users. A child may be able to draw the basic form of an iPhone, but they wouldn’t necessarily know how to use all its features. It’s intuitive up to a point, but once you start diving into advanced functionality — gestures, shortcuts (heck, most people ignore this amazing feature), custom settings — it becomes far less “accessible”. “Can a kid can draw it?” test works brilliantly in a “puristic” way, but does it apply to the usability of the product in its entirety? Probably not.

Now, if designers are always chasing the simplest, most universally understandable form, won’t they miss out on opportunities to push boundaries, to create something new and unfamiliar but ultimately transformative? Remember the whole butterfly MacBook keyboard fiasco? It was thin, it was elegant but also the very antithesis of what you’d expect from a functional design…

This brings me to another point: sometimes, designs that are too simple can become sterile. Apple’s design language has been so influential that it has shaped not just tech, but also other areas. Yet, there’s a fine line between something that is clean and modern and something that feels devoid of personality. A good example of this is the evolution of Apple’s software design. Skeuomorphism — the design approach that mimics real-world objects — was a hallmark of early iOS. The calendar looked like a physical calendar, the notepad had lines like a real notebook. Then, Apple shifted to flat design, where everything became more abstract, more about icons and less about representing real-world objects. Did that make the design better? I think, particularly, that yes! And this is to me what made Apple have even more charm.

On the flip side, not all good designs need to be something a kid could draw. Look at gaming consoles like the PlayStation 5 or high-end gaming PCs. Their designs are often intricate, angular, and anything but simple. Yet they are beloved by their audiences because the design reflects the complexity and power of the machines. A kid might not be able to replicate the futuristic form of a PS5, but that doesn’t mean it’s an objectively bad design. It’s a design that speaks to a different set of values — performance, innovation, and perhaps even a sense of otherworldliness, such as the “alien” design of the early Macs.

This brings us to an important point: context matters. The “can a kid draw it?” test might work well for consumer products aimed at mass appeal, but it falls short when we consider specialized tools or luxury items. A Leica camera or a Montblanc pen isn’t trying to be simple or accessible to everyone – their designs speak to exclusivity, craftsmanship, and complexity as a virtue. Similarly, professional software like Adobe Photoshop, Microsoft Office or AutoCAD have complex interfaces that might seem overwhelming to a beginner, but are perfectly suited to their experienced users who require a wide range of sophisticated tools at their fingertips.

What’s considered intuitive or simple can vary greatly across different cultures. For instance, color symbolism differs around the world – while red might signify danger or stop in Western cultures, it’s associated with luck and prosperity in parts of Asia. These cultural trickeries play a significant role in how designs are perceived and interacted with globally.

Also, as technology evolves, our understanding of what constitutes “simple” design evolves with it. Touch interfaces, voice commands, and gestural controls were once considered complex and futuristic. Now, they’re intuitive to many users – the simplicity praised in design isn’t static; it’s a moving target that shifts as our technological literacy and comfort grows.

In conclusion, while the principle of simplicity in design – as exemplified by Apple’s iconic products – has undoubtedly shaped our expectations and preferences in technology, it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution. Great design isn’t always about being so simple that a child could draw it. Rather, one could argue it’s about striking the right balance between accessibility and functionality, between familiarity and innovation.