3
0
I’ve always believed that simplicity is underrated. There’s something beautiful about stripping away the unnecessary and letting the essentials shine through. It’s not easy, though. Making things simple takes skill, effort, and sometimes a bit of stubbornness to resist the urge to complicate things. Da Vinci had it right when he said, “Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication”. The trick, of course, lies in making it look effortless.
Take engineering, for example. Isn’t it amazing how a thousand little parts can work together so perfectly to create something that just works? The best products are the ones you don’t have to think about – the ones that feel so obvious, so intuitive, you almost forget how much thought went into making them. That’s real genius.
Think of a smartphone. Underneath its sleek glass and metal shell, there’s an orchestra of processors, sensors, and circuits. But do you, as a user, ever worry about it? Nope. You swipe, tap, and live your life. All the complexity is hidden beneath a veil of simplicity, making technology feel like second nature. That’s not just design; it’s wizardry. Or take a mechanical watch – hundreds of tiny components working in harmony, keeping time with precision. Yet, when you look at it, all you see is the smooth glide of the second hand. It’s a masterclass in how simplicity on the outside often demands genius on the inside.
Architecture is no different. I love looking at classical structures – the Parthenon, ancient Hindu temples, Egyptian and Roman structures and things like that. They’re grand without being loud, balanced without being boring. Every column, every line, every detail feels intentional. There’s a quiet confidence in these structures, a sense of permanence.
Compare that to some modern architecture, where complexity often feels like a crutch. It’s as if adding odd angles and unnecessary twists is supposed to impress us. But let’s be honest – it just feels exhausting. Buildings shouldn’t look like puzzles waiting to be solved; they should feel like they’ve always belonged. But yeah, who am I to judge!
And then there’s art. This is where I get a little opinionated. I always been drawn to classical art – paintings that make you feel something. Look at the works of few immortal artists – Caravaggio’s dramatic play of light and shadow or Van Gogh’s swirling, emotive skies. They didn’t need some fancy design theory to connect with people; they just had intuition. They knew how to channel emotion into their work.
Take Japanese sumi-e paintings, for example. With just a few brushstrokes, they can evoke entire landscapes or capture the essence of a season. There’s no need for excessive detail – the space around the strokes is as important as the ink itself. It’s a visual Haiku, minimal yet profound.
Haiku poetry itself is a testament to the power of simplicity. In just three lines, it paints an entire scene, often capturing the essence of nature or a fleeting moment. Matsuo Bashō’s famous haiku, “An old silent pond… / A frog jumps into the pond— / Splash! Silence again,” is a perfect example. It’s stripped-down, but it lingers in your mind far longer than a sprawling epic ever could.
Or consider Scandinavian design in furniture – clean lines, natural materials, and a focus on functionality. Something as simple as an Eames chair or an Ikea table combines aesthetic and utility without any extra flair. It’s practical art that quietly improves your day-to-day life, and you never have to overthink it.
Modern art, though? Eh, not my cup of tea. Sure, I can respect the creativity, but a lot of it feels like overthinking for the sake of overthinking. It’s all color theory this, design framework that. Where’s the soul in that? Call me old-fashioned, but I’d take a painting that pulls at my heartstrings over a splash of colors that needs a three-page essay to explain itself. When a piece of art needs a three-page essay to explain itself, I feel like it’s missed the point.
Art, in my mind, should be a punch to the gut – not a riddle to decode. Oscar Wilde said, “All art is quite useless”. I think that’s the point – it’s not supposed to be logical. It’s supposed to make you feel something, no explanation required. And for me, the best art (or anything, really) comes from instinct, not some rigid formula or theories.
Simplicity matters because it lasts. Whether it’s a product that solves a problem, a building that feels timeless, or a piece of art that speaks directly to your soul, the best things in life don’t need to scream for attention. They just are. When done right, simplicity has a way of transcending time and trends. It’s not minimalism for the sake of minimalism. And in a world that often confuses complexity with progress, true simplicity is nothing short of revolutionary.
Truly simple, yet soulful…complete sense of simplicity, though thought provoking…good one..
Mies van der Rohe says- “Less is More”, similarly the very emotion of being simple means to be elegant and beautiful.