Fonte, a wall lamp with a stone shade and a walnut disc, mounted inside an arched alcove above a shelf of books, seen through an open gray-green door

A wall lamp in the alcove: light falls from the stone shade to the shelf, and the arch above stays dark.

$134.20

The Soft Minimal

Space and Form

DWELLING

We are born with an instinct to dwell. We search for shelters that make us feel bounded and centered, thus reducing the infinity of space and time to dimensions that are more comprehensible and comfortable for the human psyche. Through the works of art at The Soft Minimal, we transform the shapeless form of reality into orderly structures with a hapticity we can sense, that support our daily lives and evolve along with us. While function necessarily guides form, the most fundamental attribute of space is how it feels to reside in.

Elevate, a white striding figure lifted by eight red balloons on a white marble base, on a concrete hearth ledge beside oak built-in shelves

The anatomy of a work of art gives the human body a frame of reference, of interaction and meaning. As the body moves around it, its form directs our emotions and behaviors via the qualities of its openings, closures and cavities. We sense our relationship to the scale of a space that holds art or the height of a ceiling, to the fullness of a room, the flow of connected zones and all the contours of the works within them. Depending on the proportions, we may feel pleasantly possessed or lost. In the pursuit of human well-being through design, it is, therefore, essential to work with space from a poetic and embodied, not just a mathematical, perspective. We can work as a painter, sculptor or composer does, harmonizing form, emptiness and rhythm with the aim of beauty. As with art, the work needs to be perceived and interpreted by the body if it is going to move us.

The Echo, a small bronze sculpture with stacked rings above an oval hollow in its body, on the lowest shelf of a tall oak cabinet with arched glass doors, among black ceramics and books

The anatomy of a work of art gives the human body a frame of reference for interaction and meaning. As the body moves around it, its form directs our emotions and behaviors through the qualities of its openings, closures and cavities.

THE VOID

The modern addiction to sight blinds us to one of the most powerful forces in the design of art: the void. The empty realms between visible matter vibrate with possibility. Through them, light, air, sound and time flow uninterrupted. The space breathes. While we cannot see voids, we can read their edges to map landscapes of tension or harmony. Forms need intervals to define them, and the composition of negative spaces between objects affects how they interrelate. These vignettes of nothingness can speak volumes: a cluster of forms with little space between them signifies abundance and intimacy, whereas a large, sparse living room can feel unwelcoming and alienating unless the works of art within it are intentionally placed.

Lapilli, a marble tic-tac-toe board with nine stone spheres, five brown and four white, on a travertine table top in slanting afternoon light, with CaffèInAria, a white cup tilted above a curved stream of coffee in matte resin that rises from a splashed pool, standing at the front edge beside a green drink in a tall glass and a hardcover book, with a gray sofa behind

Ascend, a small white figure reaching for a red heart on a slim rod above a marble base, on a travertine coffee table in an attic living room with a sloped ceiling and a cream modular sofa, with Lapilli, a marble tic-tac-toe board with nine stone spheres, five brown and four white, at the near end of the table beside a small ceramic bowl and a stack of stone coasters

As we are constantly orienting ourselves to our surroundings, the arrangement of sculptures and voids impacts how our bodies relate to space. The duality of solid and void reflects our dual human desire to be held and free. It is our nature to prefer dynamic environments that combine closed, occupied or sub-spaces with intangible emptiness and open volumes. This provides the diverse terrain we need to explore the full range of human emotion and facilitates the various private and communal activities of domestic life. It is the task of the human-centric designer to imagine how the body enters a solid structure, stands in its cavities and lives with its décor, leaving enough room for autonomy and intrigue, movement and stillness.

Vespers, a cordless silver mushroom lamp, unlit on the counter beside a window in afternoon light, with a large stone bowl and a ceramic cup nearby, in a kitchen of oak cabinets behind a black steel and glass partition

PROPORTION

For much of the modern history of interior design, from sculptures to wall lamps and pictures, proportions were calculated based on scientific ideas of the Golden Ratio and the Vitruvian Man. These measurements shaped architecture based on the ideal anatomical human and the ideal equation of beauty. Rather than discussing design exclusively in terms of geometry, size and material, we should adopt a more poetic and philosophical language that addresses the experience, atmosphere and meaning of spaces.

Archetypes, two matte figures, one tall and slender and one short and solid, on a long wood ledge beside a cluster of ceramic vases, with a large abstract painting resting on the ledge behind them and Fonte, a wall lamp with a stone shade and a walnut disc, lit on the wall to the right

We can measure both the square meters and the emotional weight of a room: it can be small and intimate or large and impressive. The spatial flow can make sense and please the senses. We can calculate the atmospheric value of natural surfaces compared to synthetic. It is about finding the optimal balance between what we find to be practical and orderly on the one hand, and stimulating and comfortable on the other. Through how they make us feel, certain spaces transcend geometry to become metaphors for complex ideas. Basements carry us down to the depths of the psyche where secrets are stored. The womblike atmosphere of a small bedroom soothes our inner child into a primordial sleep. Grand works of art connect us to the thoughts within us, as vast as unfathomable cosmic realms. The cozy corner of a room tucks us away like the extremity of a spiraled shell. Knowing this, we can shape the home and arrange works of art in a way that encourages the thoughts, feelings and behaviors of a healthy organism and a well-lived life.

Vespers, a gold mushroom lamp lit on a dark blue dresser beside two books, in a small bedroom with linen bedding and a beige curtain

RHYTHM

Rhythm is fundamental to our experience of space. While walls, floors and ceilings are static elements, their compositions create a sense of flow. We move to the rhythm of architecture. As human bodies are built for motion, we tend to prefer varied spatial arrangements that stimulate senses and muscles into varied actions. Sunlight streaming down a long hallway gives our eyes a sublime stretch. The leading lines of a room can inspire how we approach its horizon. A grand work of art draws our gaze and spirit upwards. These spaces spark the unconscious flow of kinetic energy through us: as we read the landscape our muscles and joints respond in kind. If architecture is to provide a satisfying frame for the body, its floor plans, structures and surfaces should be rhythmic.

AeroCherub, a large white cherub looking up at a red chrome sphere, standing on a marble block at the foot of a wood staircase in a double-height hall in afternoon sun, with a pair of Thrive figures on the mantel, one white and one black, each on its own base with an arm throwing a bunch of red roses, and AmorSignum, two bands curving toward each other with a heart-shaped gap between them, on a stack of books on the coffee table

THE BODY

Human-centric design of works of art should also consider body image theory: the unconscious and ever-changing awareness of our body in space and of an invisible boundary just beyond our skin. The experience of a space or object is dependent on our individual perception of our body, which we begin to map early in life. While this phenomenon is not measurable, we can feel it and allow it to guide the sensitive arrangement of form. It is a balancing act of design structures and materials, their nearness, distance and direction, that respects the psychological boundary beyond the body. As designers, we need to tune into our own body image awareness to envision comfortable proportions within a given floor plan or the way a chair would best support us.

Disarm, a white figure holding a red bomb to its chest, on a low stone coffee table in front of a cream sofa, with sheer curtains and a monstera

The very reason for buying any work of art for the home is to reinforce the safety of the fragile human physique and support our busy minds. In this way, the spaces we surround ourselves with become an extension of our bodies and moods. Just as we close our eyes, we draw the curtains to block out the world and retreat into ourselves. We tighten our muscles in response to a threat, and we lock the door to strengthen the protective boundary between us and the outside. We inhale fresh air through our nose to our lungs, just as opening windows breathes life into a room. When stress overwhelms us, we declutter our surroundings to reinstate order. If we want to change ourselves, we change the space around us. Art and design should facilitate us in all aspects of our lives: they should be dependable and useful, but they should also be empathetic. The walls should not talk; they should listen. By understanding that spaces shape us as we shape them, we can create sensitive works that offer safety, solitude and togetherness.