The Curse of Minimalism
I’m anything but an anti-minimalism crusader. I’ve been boring for quite some time, notorious for wearing the same Jockey sober solid V-necks all my college life.
The idea was pragmatic; you don’t have to spend time selecting outfits if everything looks the same. I’d find a Jockey store and be in and out in five minutes max. The T-shirts were also reasonably cheap at five hundred each and usually lasted years.
Minimalism saves time, mind space, and money.
But there’s a downside too. Let’s talk about examples. Look at this:
An ornate door of old. While it serves the same function as any other door, none can dispute its artistic credentials. I don’t know the owner of that house, but just by looking at their door, I could tell that they had high social stature, great pride in their culture, and were religious. A history or architecture buff could also identify them as a Rajasthani (notice the design of the miniature chajji over the idol above).
That entrance would’ve employed a few artists and stoneworkers. Merchants and cart pullers would’ve made some shillings too. The door would’ve marked the prestige of that family for decades.
Now, look at this:
It exists. Get the point?
This is not a phenomenon with doors; it is everywhere. Buildings, post offices, phone booths, cars, typefaces, you name it.
Perhaps the rising obsession with minimalism has to do with the backbreaking pace of modern life. Somewhere amidst salaries, taxes, morning coffee, and evening booze, humans have less time for stories and art. The same goes for objects that tell stories over basic functionalities.
Is it for the better that pragmatism takes precedence over passion? Or is it representative of an emerging bankruptcy of thought? Perhaps of laziness and escapism?
I don’t know. I’d probably continue with my V-necks for some time now. But every once in a while, I’d like to sit by a window that looks like this: