Dark Quiltwork

Mercedes Benz G-class

          I recently had the terrible misfortune of seeing the above vehicle up close and in person. You, too, may be surprised that Mercedes Benz produces such an eyesore. What is worse, aesthetically challenged individuals are buying and driving the thing, affronting the senses of their fellow men wherever they go. Maybe you want to say, “Craig, it’s a matter of personal preference – some people might think the Mercedes G-class is a beautiful vehicle.” To which I might answer something like, “No, your favorite ice cream flavor is a matter of personal preference.” Similar to the architect, the car designer has the opportunity to design something orderly and pleasing to the senses. As exhibited, some fail.

Beyond offending others, what utility does the G-class have? It may serve the purpose that every other vehicle serves – getting one from A to B – but if that is all, why make it the way it is? After all, modern society generally gives up on beauty in hope of utility. Now, it seems, there are monstrosities about that are neither beautiful nor practical. Take, for example, the EMP Museum in Seattle, WA: surely, such a contortion does not provide practical space. 

One gets the sense from examples like the G-class or the EMP Museum that there is no real purpose to their design. The Mercedes’ engineer designed the vehicle because he could. Frank Gehry designed the EMP Museum the way he did because he could. The museum claims to be "dedicated to the ideas and risk-taking that fuel contemporary popular culture"; I'm sure if you asked, Mr. Gehry would say that his design is supposed to embody those ideas and risk-taking. What ideas are those, what risk is he really taking?  

The building does not offer an opportunity for contemplation but for confusion. If one looks long enough, one might see three mangled hearts with aorta, atrium, and artery amiss, as if snipped and blowing in the wind. What one does not see, no matter how long and hard one looks, is the real in light of an ideal. There is no revelation, no unfolding, no invitation to a sacred space. Ross wrote a short piece, not long ago, where he described “a great “veil,” if not a black curtain” that Marcel Duchamp has helped bring “over reality: the anti-avante-garde in art.” The museum design is not a vanguard, not a forerunner; it does not lead the way to something beyond the chaos of our world. It is one of the many quilting squares that make up the dark curtain that hangs over reality today.