In Defense of Beautiful Things

 

Four summers ago, while on a class trip to Paris, I found myself wandering along the Seine River with a handful of friends in the late afternoon. Given an hour block of freedom before we needed to return for dinner, we decided to wander among the street vendors that lined the river in the name of sightseeing and exploration. As we reached the end of the street, a small bookstore was tucked away in a corner off to the right, concealed in such a way that it would be easy to miss. Turning over our right shoulder, we crossed under an archway of trees and followed a cobblestone sidewalk to the front of the store, once hidden by the branches overhead.  The evergreen-colored storefront was cornered against the white cement walls that extended upwards toward the sky, interrupted by subtle string lights hanging from the surrounding branches. Antique tables were scattered near the store’s entrance, cluttered around bookshelves and displays. A line of five or so people stood outside the front entranceway, and my friends and I filed into line behind them. The storefront was nothing less than enchanting, and I felt a swell of excitement rush through me as I stood in line, despite not knowing what I would find inside.

 

Fast forward to a year and a half later, where I sit huddled over textbooks and notepaper at a window seat just after dark. Now in college, I’ve identified coffee shops as my preferred places to study, and have consistently sought them out whenever in need of a dose of productivity and a bit of relaxation—in the rare moments that the two are able to coexist. This coffee shop in particular is one of my favorite places to go, particularly after the sun disappears and the interior becomes illuminated by the small lights lining the wall displays. Having just completed the first week of December, the window is lined with string lights and snowflake decals in its individual contribution to the holiday spirit that has completely encompassed Ann Arbor. The reflection of the small lights in the window intermingle with and those of the bulbs lining the Michigan Theater marquee beyond the glass. As I copy down notes with my coffee resting beside me, I feel embraced in a sense of warmth and content as I continue studying—an impressive feat considering the multitude of final exams I have lingering on the horizon.

 

A few months and a new semester later, I find myself walking across campus towards North Quad for my 8:00am discussion. Having missed my alarm and walked into sub-freezing temperatures with a head of hair not quite dry from my shower, I find myself in the aftermath of an overnight snowfall with a less than pleasant disposition. After ten minutes into my fifteen-minute walk to class, I realize that I’ve spent the entirety of my commute with my head down, headphones in, and eyes focused on the snow-covered pavement ahead of me. It wasn’t until I cross the Michigan League that I remove my headphones, pick my head up and acknowledge the setting around me. An opaque layer of snow lines the sidewalks and tops of bushes, and the Michigan league itself—a red brick structure with grand, cement lined windows—hovers between the uniform frosty gray of both the ground and the sky. Streetlamps scattered on the sidewalk contribute a faint, warm glow to the scene, tracing the pathways into snowy oblivion. The silence and stillness surrounding me took my breath away, and my initial reluctance to leave the residence hall that morning became a hesitancy to continue on my commute and leave the glowing landscape in my snow-lined tracks.

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 All three images carry a sense of beauty that is hard to articulate. Not one of the three take your breath away with their magnificence and grandeur, they are simple moments exhibiting small but powerful hints of intriguing contentment. I am always fascinated by these moments, ones that are completely unexpected but carry an immediate sign that this moment is one to be remembered, one to be appreciated.

 

Perhaps the beauty of each moment lies in the emotions that the experience carries. The storefront represented a “hidden gem” that was unassuming from afar, but exuded adventure and intrigue once you got close enough to see the books lining the exterior walls and the people waiting apprehensively to enter inside. The window seat on that December night was a quiet retreat in the midst of a busy atmosphere, lined with string lights that distracted from the copious amounts of final exams and holiday shopping that loomed on the horizon. The snow-lined landscape on that February morning was a moment of appreciation in an otherwise miserable morning, one that had the unlikely power to turn my thoughts away from the morning’s mishaps and towards a sense of beauty, silence, and stillness. Each image had the power to transport me away from reality and towards a place where my senses were heightened to the surrounding beauty, beauty that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.

 

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I believe these images are the ones present at some of the most memorable times in one’s life; the inhibition of screaming along lyrics at your favorite musician’s concert, the illumination of fireflies set against a dark backdrop of a late night bonfire with friends, or the enlightenment that accompanies a meaningful and insightful conversation with a confidant. However, just as memories vary from person to person, so too do the standards for which one considers something to be beautiful. While one person may look at a forest landscape with great awe and admiration, they may find an image of a sunset—perhaps igniting emotion in another individual—as not necessarily carrying any notable impact. But despite the differences, there seems to be certain pattern for the reasons as to which people find things beautiful, specifically in the attributes of an image that one admires and appreciates.

 

In noting something as beautiful, often there is a degree of admiration for the effort that was exhibited in an attempt to create something pleasing to the eye. While there are some instances in which one finds beauty in a setting that was created entirely by accident, in most cases, creating something visually pleasing was an intention of the curator of the image.

 

Upon visiting the bookstore in Paris, for example, it was clear that a substantial amount of effort had gone into designing the storefront. Perhaps my interpretation of the storefront as a “book haven hidden under tree branches and string lights” was not the intention of the designer, though the decision to include string lights, specific color schemes, and collections of bookshelves lining the exterior wall was all done with the intention of captivating an audience. In other words, a designer cannot know the reasons as to why each individual appreciates her work does so in a way that is so personal. They can however, recognize this inevitable admiration, and work to include elements that will provide the emotional and aesthetic basis to which people will be attracted. Perhaps then, the true significance of why someone deems something “beautiful” is because bother parties—the observer and the creator—share a theoretical moment in which both appreciate and admire a ting’s aesthetic value and meaning.

 

Another supposed sign of beauty is in the cohesiveness of the elements that make up a “beautiful thing.” When the different aspects of an experience or an image come together in a complimentary way, a person’s appreciation for the image as a whole can be much greater than that of its individual parts. The coexistence of setting, objects, color and light can produce an image with much greater beauty than it would have had had one of those aspects been missing. Though the combination of these aspects may have very well been intentional, the observer isn’t always aware of this…therefore, the coincidental nature with which the elements interact stimulates appreciation for the image or experience at hand.

 

Take, for example, the holiday window seat.  The owners of the coffee shop could’ve hung the string lights in the window frame with full knowledge of the reflective beauty of the string lights inside and the marquee lights outside, though in all reality, it is more likely that this was unintentional, and the different aspects produced a cohesiveness that created something more beautiful than if each of the scenes were viewed on their own. It is in this coincidental creation of a beautiful image that proves to be attractive and set the scene for a person to have a memorable experience.

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Despite their importance and significance as argued in the previous images, I believe that “beautiful things” have gotten a bad rap as of lately. With the introduction of social media platforms and photo sharing applications, most prominently in the form of Instagram, the Internet has become saturated with depictions of what people find beautiful. However, just like with most other aspects that become mainstream, the documentation of beautiful things has become undervalued. Shared photos of breathtaking sunsets, beautiful clothes, or—perhaps most familiar—strategically-prepared food, have been deemed superficial and are burdened with phrases such as “basic” or “#aesthetic.” Has the introduction of social media photo sharing—regardless of how innovative it may be—undervalued the appreciation of beautiful things?

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