"I confront the city with my body; my legs measure the length of the arcade and the width of the square; my gaze unconsciously projects my body onto the facade of the cathedral, where it roams over the mouldings and contours, sensing the size of recesses and projections; my body weight meets the mass of the cathedral door, and my hand grasps the door pull as I enter the dark void behind. I experience myself in the city, and the city exists through my embodied experience. The city and my body supplement and define each other. I dwell in the city and the city dwells in me.”

– Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses

Our perception of the world is a potpourri of experiences—the things we see, the sounds we hear, the surfaces we touch, the scents we smell and delicacies that tantalise our taste buds. Yet, somehow, most of our ‘memorable’ encounters in the world today are dominated by our sense of vision; we are attracted by what strikes the eye and abide by a certain palette of aesthetics that is momentarily relevant. When assessed closely, the presence of a hierarchy of senses and a disproportionate emphasis on visual facets—or as Pallasmaa puts it, an ocularcentric culture—is unquestionable in the contemporary world. A combination of mediatic, socio-cultural, and even economic factors ensure that fixation on the visual, accelerated especially in the modern age. How does this sensory imbalance impact humankind, more specifically, the architecture they inhabit and the designs they use? What entails a practice of design free from sensory hierarchies? Is it even possible?

A visual history 

The concept of ocularcentrism, a kind of visual dominance conveyed by scale and grandeur, was present in classical Greek thought, where sight was expressed by Plato and Aristotle as the superior sense. It can, however, be traced further back to the earliest houses built by humans that were influenced by the visual language of caves, the first human shelters. During the 1st century BC, Roman architect and engineer Vitruvius, in his multi-volume treatise on architecture, De architectura, codified principles of beauty, proportion and symmetry in architecture—delineating ‘proper’ positions for elements to achieve a pleasing image. These classical models and visions of Greek and Roman thought went on to fuel architectural thought and manifestations during the Renaissance period in Europe.

The phenomenon of architecture yielding from visual cultures also trickled into the early 20th century as precursors to the Modernist movement, with architecture styles such as De Stijl adhering to the geometry and colours of its namesake movement in art, and Futurism annunciating the arrival of the ‘next’ through its purely visual manifesto, seldom manifesting as built. Vision has, thus nearly always been a fundamental tool that has guided all of human creation across ethea. However, the rampant hegemony of all that is visually appealing in the world, and subsequently, in its design and architecture, is still fairly recent. The appeal of the architectural image, its ability to be theatrical and to market its conjured visions of community, shared harmonious living, and an evasion of real estate’s capitalist machinations underscoring most of our built environment are increasingly being designated a higher status than architecture itself in contemporary practice.

Winding back, it is fascinating to observe how the historical documentation of several architectural styles—from art deco to the Bauhaus school of thought, and other multifarious renditions of modern architecture—irrespective of their origins and philosophies, survive in purely visual forms. By that, the implication is that even textual treatises end up being reduced largely to visual associations and ocular records as opposed to the more holistic qualities of spatial experiences, how they felt or the sounds they encased. Contemporary practice has only seen an exponential surge in this paramount ‘image', with visualisations and renders aspiring to be no less than spectacles. Design and architecture have grown to pursue a memorable visual impression—one to be cast and sold, a compelling advertisement more than the grounded experience and depths that transcend the sensory limits of the human eye.

Stimulation and isolation

Visual dominance has only increased manifold with the numerous technological advancements and the relentless downpour of images that people are subjected to in the digital era. The current emergence of generative artificial intelligence programs such as Midjourney, Dall E and Adobe Firefly augment the ceaseless repository of images chasing visual allure. In a fast-paced world where we can look at opposite ends of the planet simultaneously, vision seems to be the only sense that can keep up with the astounding speed. An ocular bias comes to the fore across creations that supersede the body and its other senses, leading further to an imbalance in sensory stimulation—while one sense is overloaded, the others often lie dormant. Pallasama further emphasises how this suppression of senses barring vision pushes humans into detachment and isolation, with feelings of exteriority overpowering those of rootedness. "The gradually growing hegemony of the eye seems to be parallel with the development of Western ego-consciousness and the gradually increasing separation of the self and the world; vision separates us from the world whereas the other senses unite us with it,” he writes in his book.

A symphony of senses

This brings us to the central question: what would it be like to design in a world sans sensory hierarchies? The significance of each sense—the privileged and the subconsciously frowned upon—in allowing the human body to ground itself and yield holistic and immersive experiences is no longer an aspiration for architecture. Albeit, catering to a ‘market,’ architecture and design cannot (and must not) be reduced to their desirability alone; their repercussions are far more layered and nuanced than the elusive gratification a compelling facade might offer. Many practices across the world recognise this rift and conceive creative experiments as sensory retreats. One such Montreal-based practice, Daily tous les jours, focuses on building infrastructure that cradles joy and interaction in public spaces, doing so through harnessing sound, music, taste and touch. Their interventions, buttressed by innovative technology, come to life only with human interaction—putting humans in the centre of design.

In May 2022, the Design Museum, London, platformed the widely popular sound phenomenon of ASMR in an exhibition titled Weird Sensation Feels Good: The World of ASMR. The show dived into the sounds that imitate gentle touch, and how they instigate oddly satisfying and relaxing responses. An exploration of the intersection of haptic and auditory senses, the exhibition came forward as a due inquisition into ASMR’s potential to alter emotions. The sphere of product design has witnessed similar attempts to turn objects as mundane as everyday furniture into sensory surprises. A seemingly simple intervention by Hemmo Honkonen transforms furniture design into instruments and interactive performances, a mechanically produced sound associated with each action—reinterpreting furniture objects as an orchestra.

Multisensory architecture

The haptic or even the olfactory sense is utilised, not nearly enough but often, in architecture and design for the differently abled; tactility—both physical and visual—is injected in projects to cater to specific needs. The same, however, cannot be said for projects catering to a larger audience base. American architect Chris Downey, who lost his vision in 2008 and continues to work towards building inclusive spaces poses a question that urges one to ponder: “How do you share delight in architecture with people who can’t see it?” His work lays bare an approach that calls for a deeper connection between users and the space, a model where they interrogate the world around them through what they touch, hear and smell. Even though his empathetic experiments are oriented towards people with disabilities, his blueprint can perhaps be replicated across typologies, cities and diverse peoples.

Reimagining the status quo—with all senses

Imagining a world without sensory hierarchies is not as easy or direct, given that the models of built environments we have been inhabiting have internalised them through centuries. It is also interesting to examine if feelings of alienation and estrangement growing rapidly in a technologically pacing world are related to human rootedness in environments being sensorially compromised. Multisensory architecture and experiences become more and more relevant, even if not nearly as enough, in the global landscape, and many practices continue to embrace the (still) unconventional archetype. The issue is scaling up as much as it is winding down. Amidst the ever-evolving world and its capricious creative landscape, can we, as readers, viewers, consumers and inhabitants of the myriad of creations coming to life each day, imagine—not with one, but all senses—what the ‘human’ in design looks, feels, sounds, smells, and perhaps tastes like?

(Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official position of STIR or its Editors.)