What does it mean for work to have been inspired by a particular source? Is this referring only to the 'visual impact'? Our world has become so fundamentally visual with digital photography being so accessible, and so readily photoshopped, propagated and promoted, that we seem to forget about considering its impact on us. What are we neglecting? The question about influence remains to be pondered; is it more that looking alike? Should it be?
We have had earthships enthusiastically promoted worldwide by Michael Reynolds – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2012/03/earthships-and-bananas.html - with interest being stimulated sufficiently to have others take up the concept and build their own earthships, but none, or should one say very few, of these homes have the intelligent, inventive, inspirational charm and integrity of the originals, even though they conform with everything an earthship might claim to be. In spite of this, it is an obvious statement to say that these places built by others were ‘inspired’ by these originals, despite their lacking something when compared to them. What is being referred to? Is it that the process is the same; or the concept; the approach; the ambition; maybe the intention; or the visuals, even if in part?
In this anniversary year of Antonio Gaudi - the Gaudi Year commemorates the 100th anniversary of Antoni Gaudí's passing (June 10, 1926) – we are seeing a revival of interest in Gaudi’s role in history, a matter that is being concentrated in our minds by the completion of the towers of Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. It has to be emphasised that the building is NOT being completed this year, in spite of the suggestions in the media. The question lingers: is Gaudi merely a lone, weird, anomaly in the architectural world, or has he been a significant influence? In parallel with this publicity, there is a revived discussion on parametricism – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2026/05/parametric-parameters.html. Inevitably the two come together, with Gaudi’s work being claimed as the beginning of this new, twenty-first century style – see: https://www.dezeen.com/2026/06/17/gaudi-centenary-impact/. The idea is that Gaudi has been a significant inspiration in modern architecture; not merely a personal quirk of history, but a whimsical poet in form who has encouraged others to do likewise.
Along with this proposition, we get, as if by way of proof, the idea of the development of this notion of influence or inspiration that is said to continue on as an historical thread through the work of Saarinen, Gehry, Hadid, Calatrava, Javier Senosiain, and EMBT Architects. Benedetta Tagliabue, the principal of the latter firm explains that:
she particularly admires Gaudí's experimentation, use of physical models, collaboration with artisans and obsessive pursuit of making designs a reality, while also sharing with him a "common aim" in seeking to evoke nature with curving architectural forms.
"These are very beautiful ideas that I will try to maintain in our studio," she said. "So yes, we are influenced by Gaudí, because we have the same desires. But we try with all our best not to copy Gaudí, because copying Gaudí is really something very difficult and extremely dangerous."
What is this influence, this inspiration? Is it a matter of visuals alone, with curves ‘evoking nature,’ while trying not to copy Gaudi’s forms, but to get close to the same appearance in some manner of self-conscious shaping? One suspects that this following, this influence, is expected to be more than merely replication, or should be, but how might one have the 'same desires' that drove the initial shaping and making? Some issues are identified by Tagliabue: experimentation; use of models; obsessive pursuit of making designs; seeking to evoke nature, as if it is seen to be necessary to schedule the characteristics of the circumstance; or is this merely a matter of perhaps labelling the necessary steps to achieve or structure this 'desire' - as if there might be a book of rules, or a demand to justify the strategy that gives a similar appearance.
The matter is complex because the enthusiasm for another’s work frequently means attempts to capture the same sensed wholeness, the experienced wonderment that ends up merely as bland similitude alone - it looks like a . . . – a replication that is justified by the itemised, apparently identical 'desires' - well, some similar traits, in order, so it appears, to overcome the claim of plagiarism or being a copy cat. Corbusier’s chapel at Ronchamp has become one such revered icon, inspiring many who churn out attempts at ‘not copied’ lookalikes that demean and mock the original, and themselves, be this as a chapel, a home, a truck stop (see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/06/ronchamp-rest-areas-and-meaning.html), or a pump house. Even with the very best intentions and respect, the end result becomes an insult that demeans the original with the cartoon reference.
A scheduling of the various elements that form the basis of respect and enthusiasm for another’s work might begin the rationalisation of the inspiration, but what is missing is the wholeness, that raw necessity in idea and belief that lies in the flesh and blood, and relates to it. Rationalisation establishes a barrier defined in its limitations that establish a platform for action removed from the emotive subtleties being sourced.
The situation has occurred with earthships, in spite of the manuals and guidelines, which makes one ponder this historical link that seems to want to be drawn between Gaudi and today’s styling. It is simply a mockery and misinterpretation of Gaudi’s work to link it to, for example, Gehry’s ‘crumpled brown paper bag’ building and others formed ‘fluidly’ on the basis of an inspirational scribble or an ‘interesting’ AI invention, in spite of any perceived correspondence in the 'wacky' visuals. The same can be said about Hadid’s morphed work, where forms are dredged up from what could be seen as computer games; mere happenstance. What appears to be ignored is the native intent. The similarity that allows the association to be suggested, seems to rely on the ‘different’ looks, the unusual appearance, and the analysed perception of these quirky forms that appear as mysteriously ‘strange’ as Gaudi’s work – hence the proposition.
In one way, the Sydney Opera House has a stronger connection to Gaudi’s work than the examples that claim to be parametric. The opera house is rooted in the rigour of spherical geometry, just as Gaudi’s work is grounded in funicular geometry. Utzon’s shells are defined by the example of the cutting of the orange in the same way as Gaudi’s forms are the outcome of weighted strings: but there is more: Gaudi’s work is also intertwined with Gaudi’s life and belief, his culture and contentment. It seems to be a very schematic notion to claim influence in part only, or on the basis of visual or a descriptive similarity alone when there is a wholeness that is experienced, appreciated, and desired. Does the claim simply become that “I am just like . . . in a particular way” alone? Where does intention lie in this matter? Is it critical or an irrelevant aside? Does one merely ignore personal matters, arguing that these are ‘unscientific’ – unreliable; too intimate? How does Gaudi’s strict Catholicism fit into this work? Can it be ignored?
Looking at earthships, the subtleties of intention and personal involvement can be seen to be critical. The original works have been truly handmade, much in the style of Gaudi’s process, (yet one would never claim that they were ‘inspired’ by Gaudi’s work), where thought, care, attention, and invention are brought to every act, ad hoc as it were, resulting in a set of surprises that gel to become the earthship. The intimacy of influence – it is terrible to think of Gaudi as ‘an influencer’ when we have today’s self-centred, promotional hoo-ha connotation – is always at least one step away from the grounds of these sensitive beginnings that might inspire others to seek to reveal what is really only an aspect of this experience, rather than delving into the inner nature of things, origins – situations, materials, possibilities - establishing a starting point that will always give lesser outcomes because of the neglect of the very matter that influences – a vital inner necessity (Kandinsky, Concerning the Spiritual in Art); a certain, essential integrity.
We need to try to understand the relationship between intentions and forms; the link between meaningful personal matters and actions. If we seek to be inspired or influenced by another, we need to look beyond form and process into matters far more ephemeral and significant, because otherwise we will only be dealing in visual matters or rational interpretations that will always be a matter of catch-up.
This is a personal and emotive subject that our era pushes aside with its excitement and interest in AI that becomes a huge distraction that keeps suggesting to us that we are involved in something meaningful, when all we are doing is creating an emotional void, a disconnect between feeling and form in the origins of form, irrespective of how we might intellectualise our inspiration. We need to try to understand how intentions matter.
Another way to ponder the matter of intentions is to consider portrayals. The acclaimed re-enactment of Freddie Mercury’s Live Aid performance in 1985 by Rami Malek in the biographical film, Bohemian Rhapsody, a role for which he received an Academy Award for best Actor, allows one to consider inspirational sources and activities. While this 21 minute set in the movie has been played side by side with the original clip, such is its perfection, there remains a significant difference in intent that lies at the heart of matters referenced or inspired. It is how we manage this ephemeral difference that makes the difference. We might itemise the steps, the singing, the dancing, the gestures, etc., all to achieve a similarity, but Malek is not Mercury – he just appears to be. The importance here is the appearance, not the origins of this energy and enthusiasm for the event, and, one might add, the personal situation Mercury had become aware of. Architecture has stepped away from this emotional world and its relevance in action, being happy to deal with appearances alone, perhaps because it is too difficult to incorporate such subtlety in our lives, preferring to rationalise matters for a less challenging consumption – yet this significance is relevant.
The Zen world seeks to touch on this field of intrigue in a variety of enigmatic ways, realising that getting close to these things destroys them, noting that: If you find the Buddha on the way, kill him. Yet we struggle on with rationalisations. It is this puzzle that lies as the challenge in Tagliabue’s inspiration/influence in spite of the fact that she particularly admires Gaudí's experimentation, use of physical models, collaboration with artisans and obsessive pursuit of making designs a reality, while also sharing with him a "common aim" in seeking to evoke nature with curving architectural forms.
Irrespective of the enthusiasm of the 'same desire,' and the deep love for the work that inspires, matters personal remain relevant. With Gaudi it was his belief - in the service of the divine. Eric Biétry-Rivierre, in Antoni Gaudí, Modern Architecture’s Master of Synthesis and Glory, notes:
This modern architect in the service of the divine, mocked by both the avant-garde and the classical establishment, devoted all his energy to the Sagrada Família.
https://www.lefigaro.fr/en/antoni-gaudi-modern-architecture-s-master-of-synthesis-and-glory-20260620.
We need more than ‘look-alikes’ if we are to be ‘inspired’ by Gaudi.
Our obsession with appearances leaves out so much of the subtlety of the whole. One could liken the easy availability of a demeanor to the durability of stone and the problems associated with this situation noted in the following quote from The First Inventors:
At the very bottom of the oldest archaeological site in Australia, we also find evocative pieces of cultural evidence; ochre crayons, finely worn into a recognisable nub. These speak to the rich inner worlds of their makers. It seems that art – long thought to be a relatively recent invention – was, in fact, part of the earliest societies to make Australia home.
The difficulty of reading into the deep past is that the evidence is uneven. Most of what matters to a culture or society will not survive hundreds, let alone thousands, of years. Relationships, desires and aspirations; tears, tenderness and joy; warmth, love and laughter; these have no archaeological trace. The challenge is not to conflate what has been left behind (ie., stone) with what was once considered to be important. This is the trap western scientists fell into when they dismissed Indigenous societies as ‘stone-age’ peoples, a classification that simply proves the tautology that durable things are durable, not that human lives revolved around stones. In fact, like elsewhere in the world, most technologies were made from fibres: nets, ropes, housing, clothing, fish traps. No peoples should be understood, or defined, by the longest lasting elements of their refuse. Instead, as novelist Rachel Kushner reflects, ‘We must learn to leave room for the rest, for the vast and vanished world of which durable traces form only a tiny part.’
Billy Griffiths, Larissa Behrendt and Sean Ulm, The First Inventors, Allen & Unwin, Australia, 2026, p.23/24.
There is an embodied complexity; see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/08/design-as-dreaming-hunt-not-hunting.html. Perhaps one can sum up the situation with the familiar adage: Never judge a book by its cover. The problem with inspiration as appearance alone is made clear in this article: https://www.designboom.com/design/antoni-gaudi-architecture-way-schiaparelli-haute-couture-daniel-roseberry/. Might one assume that Gaudi would not be amused by this indulgence? The void is a great as that referred to in this extract:
The richness of these narratives – and their topographic specificity – eludes easy description or explication. There is a remarkable map, drawn up by anthropologist Norman Tindale, but developed by Kaiadilt knowledge holders, which gives us a sense of the density of narrative on even a small place like Berntinck Island. Every inlet, every reef, every crest is known, named and storied. Yet even this finely wrought map flattens into ink the embodied understandings of these places. It fails to capture the layers of meanings, affiliations, rights and responsibilities attached to these land and sea estates. The feelings of home, the depth of ancestral connection, the obligations of care. Perhaps the closest any outsider can come to understanding the sensuous wonder of these places, and their irresistible pull to those responsible for them, is through fine artworks, such as the immense painting in the ton Island Art Centre, which has been created on and about Country.
Billy Griffiths, Larissa Behrendt and Sean Ulm, The First Inventors, Allen & Unwin, 2026, p.113/114.
The accessible appearance, 'the refuse,' is simply 'ink' on the page that is easily fudged and smudged. There is always far more than appearance. Consider the text on the Torres Strait double outrigger canoes:
In their colourful splendour the canoes look alive, and indeed, to those who craft and use them, they are sentient beings, imbued with spiritual meaning and capable of independent thought. They are ritually 'woken up' before a voyage, and how they are treated, and made, can influence the safety of a sea journey.
Billy Griffiths, Larissa Behrendt and Sean Ulm, The First Inventors, Allen & Unwin, 2026, p.133/134.#
Actions, with their intentions, have origins and consequences.
AI Overview
Antoni Gaudí, widely known as God’s Architect, dedicated his life to creating architecture that functioned as "a Bible in stone". Viewing nature as God's manuscript, he translated biological and geometric shapes into soaring, spiritual structures. His deep faith and profound designs recently led the Vatican to declare him Venerable in April 2025.
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P.S.
Note on book design: why did the photographic inserts in the centre of this book not get positioned two pages earlier to be before Chapter 8, Kin, instead of being tucked in after the first page of this chapter? Is book production now all fully automated? Did anyone check the proofs?
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One is reminded of a Ronnie Barker sketch where he is seen making suggestive gestures with his hands in front of his chest in an attempt to describe his conversation as he stumbles over his words: "The lady with the b-b-b-big b-b-b-bay windows."
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