When we think about the buildings that shape our cities, it’s easy to get lost in their grandeur. From a distance, they can be breathtaking—monuments to human ingenuity and ambition. But here’s the thing: a building’s true success isn’t just about how it looks from afar. It’s about how it feels up close. This tension between urban scale and human scale is something I’ve been pondering a lot lately, especially after visiting Peter Zumthor’s David Geffen Galleries at LACMA. Let me explain why this matters—and why it’s more than just an architectural critique.
The Urban vs. Human Scale Dilemma
From a distance, the Geffen Galleries are stunning. The way the building floats above its podium, its sleek windows contrasting with the Googie slabs, is a masterclass in urban design. It captures the essence of Los Angeles—sprawling, eclectic, and bold. But as you get closer, something shifts. The building, which seemed so dynamic from afar, starts to feel distant. The giant concrete walls, though impressive, lack the texture and warmth that invite human connection. It’s a building that works beautifully at the urban scale but falls short at the human one.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how it reflects a broader trend in modern architecture. We’re building bigger and bigger, but in the process, we’re often sacrificing relatability. Personally, I think this is where many architects miss the mark. It’s not about size; it’s about scale. A building can be massive but still feel approachable if it’s designed with incremental scaling in mind. This concept, which refers to the presence of multiple levels of scale with incremental changes, is something we don’t talk about enough.
The Science of Connection
Here’s where it gets interesting: studies have shown that certain design elements can evoke positive emotional responses in people. Alexander Coburn’s research at the Penn Centre for Neuroaesthetics identified three key factors: coherence, hominess, and fascination. What many people don’t realize is that these factors aren’t just about aesthetics; they’re about how a space makes us feel. A building that feels coherent, homey, and fascinating is one we’re more likely to connect with—and return to.
Incremental scaling is a powerful way to achieve this. Take the Sydney Opera House, for example. From a distance, it’s a monument. But as you get closer, it reveals layers of detail—the fanned-out triangulated strips, the pearl beige tiles, the mosaic patterns. Each step closer offers a new experience, making the building feel relatable and engaging. This is what I mean when I say architecture should be socially sustainable. It’s not just about looking good; it’s about feeling good.
The Role of Materials
One thing that immediately stands out in Zumthor’s LACMA building is the use of flat concrete. While it works at an urban scale, it feels cold and soulless up close. In my opinion, this is where materials can make or break a design. If the podiums had been made of rammed earth or board-form concrete, as originally envisioned, they might have felt more inviting. But budgets and practicalities often get in the way of artistic vision.
This raises a deeper question: how do we balance ambition with accessibility? If you take a step back and think about it, the materials we choose aren’t just about aesthetics; they’re about how we want people to experience a space. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the Sydney Opera House uses materials to bridge the gap between urban and human scale. The tiles aren’t just functional; they’re tactile, inviting you to touch and engage with the building.
The Future of Urban Design
As our cities grow, so do our buildings. But if we want these spaces to be sustainable—not just environmentally, but socially—we need to rethink how we design them. Personally, I think the key lies in incremental scaling and thoughtful material choices. It’s about creating buildings that reveal new layers as you get closer, that feel as engaging up close as they do from afar.
What this really suggests is that architecture isn’t just about creating icons; it’s about creating connections. A building that feels relatable at a human scale is one that will stand the test of time. So, the next time you walk past a towering skyscraper or a sprawling museum, ask yourself: does it invite me in, or does it keep me at a distance? That’s the question we should all be asking—architects, city planners, and citizens alike.
In the end, it’s not just about the buildings we create; it’s about the relationships we foster. And that, in my opinion, is what makes architecture truly meaningful.
