Columbus: A Love Letter to Architecture

… I’m at the crossing near San Giovanni di Laterano in Rome. It’s twilight. The sun is about to set and I’m rushing to metropolitana. Although I’m in a hurry by the Lateran Obelisk I pause. The intense shades of blue and violet are setting and I’m unable to stop myself from looking around and breathing in the last light of the day. And there it is — Via Merulana, one of my favorite streets in Rome. From where I stand — at the exact point where the axis of the street lies — dense alley of green trees follows downhill until it converges into the darkness of the night that is almost upon us, red stoplights of cars being the only navigation into the heart of it. Red flashes on deep green all fading away into the mystery of what cannot be seen…

If you are deeply passionate about architecture and space you may recognize the feeling.

Columbus is a 2017 directorial debut of Kogonada, and a film that is almost entirely about the same sentiment. The poetry of architecture takes up most of its screentime, and even when it seemingly focuses on the characters it treats them almost as an integral part of the space.

“Architecture is the structuring of emptiness” — Kogonada

Love for architecture is not something you can portray easily. It may seem to be a no-brainer at first. After all, thousands of people do it every day with their cameras and drone footage, don’t they? Just look up Instagram. But it’s a tricky balance. It’s easy to create an advertisement, manufacture something that sells, that looks good and feels tempting.

A love letter is different though, it’s about understanding.

Love for architecture is about facing your own irrelevance. Our intelligence does have its limits. But as long as you keep searching for a deeper underlying order behind the physical space we find ourselves in, architecture may provide necessary reassurance. It’s hardly about answering the big questions. On the contrary, it’s about asking them with the humility of acceptance that the answers might be far beyond the capabilities of our rationality.

The grandeur of architecture sets the human being in perspective. It makes you feel small. But if anything, this irrelevance is liberating once you accept it. Because even if there are no answers given, there is this persistent sense of them existing nevertheless.

Love for architecture is about finding the right point of view. And this often means being extra attentive and aware of the world around you. It’s about taking your time and exploring multiple perspectives before you find the right spot. It’s a skill actually. The one that when transferred to the level of social interactions proves especially valuable.

Columbus manages to capture it perfectly. The scene in which Casey and Jin meet for the first time might be the only one where the camera indeed moves during the take. But even then it’s first and foremost for the benefit of the space — the fence initially separates them but needs to reveal an opening to enable them to meet properly — to unite the spaces each of them occupies. This particular scene aside, the film is almost entirely shot with a static camera. Some scenes use multiple angles, but hardly any features moving shots.

There is this one particularly striking scene — almost 4 minutes long, shot in one take from one specific point in the room.

Actors are hardly in focus, the lights are dimmed. Yet the negative space, the emptiness between the characters is deeply structuralized. We see them apart, together and on their own again through mirrors and shades and from this sole point of view chosen and constructed with the utmost care.

Love for architecture is also about love for intelligence. Although the intent behind a particular building or structure may be hidden or inconceivable, it’s the underlying confidence in the existence of this intent that’s integral to the admiration of architecture. It’s the belief in innovation and in our innate potential for creation. And what’s even more important — in our ability not only to envision ideas but to bring them about in real life.

That’s something truly empowering. It’s paradoxical really — understanding architecture can make you feel irrelevant and empowered at the same time.

Love for architecture is about recognizing patterns too.

A lot in architecture is technical and forged by repetition — lines, curves, surfaces, aspect ratios, lights and shades, forms and decors.

Admiring architecture is like solving a puzzle. And walking the streets of a city can make you feel almost like a detective solving the great mysteries of time.

Some of the patterns will tell stories of civilizations long gone, others can reveal entire hierarchies of meanings and ancient wisdom. And then there are those that will offer a glimpse into someone’s intimate struggle for meaning in the midst of an everchanging world.

Finally, love for architecture is about silence. It’s about the journey you take on your own. The idea can feel scary at first, but eventually, it gives back more than it asks for. Some things need to be understood in seclusion, and love for architecture requires self-awareness and desire to reflect. It’s an action in its essence.

In one of the interviews, Kogonada talked about differences in attitudes towards emptiness in Asian and Western cultures.

“It’s an Asian concept that there is meaning in the emptiness. And in Western culture, I think, there is a desire to run away from it, to ignore, to fill the spaces. But there is something that’s both true and beautiful about emptiness.” — Kogonada

Silence is just another form of emptiness. And love for architecture lets you find a way to refrain from filling the spaces — from referring to words when they aren’t necessary.

Columbus is a masterpiece in its own right. Some aspects of it may work better and some less. But if you ever wondered how it feels like to experience life primarily through the eyes (besides the mind, of course), this is a perfect illustration. Some of us rely on sounds, others on smells and touch, and taste. And depending on each — the way we perceive the world differs, our perspectives vary, the means through which we navigate the space change.

Awareness and mindful respect seem to be central to the representation of these invaluable perspectives. Columbus has both. And maybe that’s where the key to modernism with a soul eventually lies.