Modernist architectural thinking argues for a direct expression of structure and purpose. Le Corbusier, in his epochal Towards a New Architecture lecture, presented what he termed the “engineer’s aesthetic” and proposed the appreciation of forms generated by function. Ornament was unnecessary. “Our engineers produce architecture,” he wrote, “for they employ a mathematical calculation which derives from natural law, and their works give us the feeling of harmony.”

Perhaps no works better represent this aesthetic than Le Corbusier’s iconic Notre Dame du Haut in Ronchamp, one of the earliest Modernist churches. Notre Dame du Haut is not a total departure from traditional church architecture; it has the usual features associated with a traditional church such as stained glass windows, an imposing tower, and high ceilings that symbolically draw the eye and the mind towards heaven. But the building is iconic for blending practical functionality with an expressive sculptural modernism. Its fame stems from its dramatic, curved concrete forms, a shell-like roof, and ethereal light effects created by scattered boxy windows. It is an engineer’s aesthetic informed by a regard for the beauty of form as much as by pure functionality.

Another of Le Corbusier’s architectural work that celebrates the harmony of function and form is Villa Jeanneret & Villa La Roche, two semi-detached houses commissioned in 1923-25 by Raoul La Roche, a Swiss banker from Basel and collector of avant-garde art. Villa La Roche now houses the Fondation Le Corbusier. Due to building regulations, windows were limited, so light courts, a roof terrace, and skylights were introduced to harness the natural light available. The sleek white exterior with a curving roof terrace evokes the deck of a ship, while inside, a series of contracting and expanding corridors allows the dweller a personalized experience of the space, which in this case, is an exhibition space for Mr. Roche’s collection of avant-garde artworks.

In keeping with “Corbusien color-space,” Villa Roche’s interior makes use of a polychromatic color scheme, ranging from dark gray, to lucid blue, to pale sienna, the color palate providing a vivid contrast to the entirely white façade.

Across the other side of the world, Eastern aesthetics, particularly in Japan, has informed the look and feel of architecture from ancient times. From Zen gardens to traditional Japanese houses to some of the most iconic modern buildings of modern times, Japan has materialized the wisdom of the Japanese proverb: “a whisper can be heard when a shout cannot.”

Japanese architect Takefumi Aida is a renowned for his reductive approach to architecture that is guided for a search for tranquility amid the cacophony of urban life. He once wrote that “nothing is so hard as to preserve a silence in a tumultuous urban life.” Aida’s early houses rejected the turbulent world surrounding them, harboring their functions and inhabitants within, confronting their neighborhood with a defiant façade. With titles like Annihilation House or Nirvana House, his buildings embody tranquility using the power of austerity.

Tadao Ando is another prominent Japanese architect whose mantra is austerity. His Azuma townhouse (1976) in Osaka shares Takefumi Aida’s rejection of its surroundings. Composed of an austere geometry and a solid concrete facade towards the street, it has no openings on the side walls. At a time when urban deterioration was growing, the building was designed to block out the city while creating a self-contained domestic environment within.  

Ando’s architecture has remained austere in form and materials, if not in spatial play and the control of light in his forty years of practice. In the hubbub of the Japanese urban environments, these houses are little less than havens from the assault of advertising, noise, and visual clutter.

Behind these examples of the reductive approach is the notion of attending: in what way do we view, process, and evaluate what is before us? It is an approach that extends beyond buildings to landscaping, such as the design of public gardens and parks. Again, the Japanese seem to be centuries ahead of Western minimalism, seen most clearly in the tranquil rock gardens of Kyoto. The most famous of these is the 15th-century Ryoan-ji, the Temple of the Peaceful Dragon. While there are other similar gardens of great beauty, Ryoan-ji remains the preeminent example of powerful, abstract, Zen Buddhist landscapes designed to invoke deep meditation.

Measuring 30 by 10 m, Ryoan-ji garden is about the size of a tennis court and is composed solely of 15 large and small rocks, some encircled by moss, grouped in five clusters on a bed of carefully raked white sand. From a distance, the rocks resemble islands, the sand a tranquil sea.

Austerity here lies in the acceptance or purposeful design using few elements – in Ryoanji’s case, moss, sand and rocks. By limiting the landscape to a few elements, Ryoanji echoes the aforementioned Japanese proverb’s statement that “a whisper can be heard when a shout cannot.” Ryoanji is a place where the visitor is invited to pause and feel the power of reduction by attending to what little is before them rather than seeking the absent multitude of species or the brilliance of floral colors. The garden is the equivalent of 4’ 33”, John Cage’s famous piece of “non-music” in which the audience is invited to listen to the whispers of ambient sounds that fills the concert hall even when no formal music is played. As Cage says, the music never stops; we just stop listening.