The Beauty of the Street: A Matter of Perspective
Mountains, cars or ants? The question of what looks beautiful when you step outside captures the tourism of the unfamiliar: paying for what you ignore at home.
English · Original discussion in Spanish · Published
When was the last time you saw something beautiful when you stepped outside? The question, seemingly innocent, reveals two ways of looking at the world. For some, the answer is two mountains, one nearby and one in the distance. For others, there is nothing worth admiring, perhaps a car or two.
Beauty is not universal: mountains, ants and cars
The discrepancy lies not in the landscape, but in the observer. Those who claim a mountain is just "a lump of dirt" find the movement of ants fascinating; those who see a bar or a street procession as something that makes the neighbourhood ugly later pay to visit, in exotic destinations, what they have on their doorstep for free. Beauty, in short, is selective: the distant is rewarded and the everyday is scorned.
Living shut in to avoid seeing the street
The extreme case is someone who admits to living on a 7,000 m² estate and never setting foot on the street except for administrative errands, finding only "manure and sheep." A powerful image of voluntary confinement: shielding oneself from the urban while, at the same time, missing what one never looks at. The initial question ends up being a portrait of how we look —or stop looking— at the space we inhabit. In the end, beauty is not out there; it lies in the decision to find it. Or in the excuse not to.
Beauty is not universal: mountains, ants and cars
The discrepancy lies not in the landscape, but in the observer. Those who claim a mountain is just "a lump of dirt" find the movement of ants fascinating; those who see a bar or a street procession as something that makes the neighbourhood ugly later pay to visit, in exotic destinations, what they have on their doorstep for free. Beauty, in short, is selective: the distant is rewarded and the everyday is scorned.
Living shut in to avoid seeing the street
The extreme case is someone who admits to living on a 7,000 m² estate and never setting foot on the street except for administrative errands, finding only "manure and sheep." A powerful image of voluntary confinement: shielding oneself from the urban while, at the same time, missing what one never looks at. The initial question ends up being a portrait of how we look —or stop looking— at the space we inhabit. In the end, beauty is not out there; it lies in the decision to find it. Or in the excuse not to.
Also available in: Deutsch
Summary of a discussion on Burbuja.info - Foro de economía, actualidad y política., translated from Spanish and reviewed before publication. Read the full discussion (24 replies).
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