“How are we going to build a wall so high?” the medieval stonemason might have asked. “It will collapse without support.”
“Trust me, I know what I am doing. I’m calling the supports ‘flying buttresses.’ I guarantee they’ll hold the tallest wall you can build. I want this cathedral to soar,” the architect might have said.
I’m guessing that some stonemason actually asked that question about eight centuries years ago when cathedral builders decided to reach for the heavens. You can see the best examples of flying buttresses in European cathedrals like Notre Dame. In cheaper form on more modern buildings, engaged buttresses do the supporting work. The engaged buttresses are simply narrow perpendicular walls on walls, rectangular or semi-cylindrical columns running up the sides of smaller buildings. Your house or apartment building probably has versions called pilasters.
Support comes in different forms. There are those who, like engaged buttresses and pilasters, get right next to the person in need, becoming fully engaged and intrusive. The support runs from bottom to top, from initial to latest layer of life. Then there are those who, like flying buttresses, stand off a bit, let the person support himself or herself except where a precise shoring up seems necessary. The support goes there and only there.
Flying buttresses are graceful, airy, and precise in where they give support. There’s no unnecessary engagement with the wall. Walls can be self-supporting to a certain height. Flying buttresses meet walls after they stand on established footing that is their strength from below.
We live in a world of intrusive engagement, one that doesn’t allow the building of inherent strength. There’s nothing wrong with offering precise help where it is needed, but constant engagement robs individualism from the one in need of support.
A wall that begins on a solid footer can support itself to an impressive height. There, far above the ground, it might need some light and airy support.
“Trust me, I know what I am doing. I’m calling the supports ‘flying buttresses.’ I guarantee they’ll hold the tallest wall you can build. I want this cathedral to soar,” the architect might have said.
I’m guessing that some stonemason actually asked that question about eight centuries years ago when cathedral builders decided to reach for the heavens. You can see the best examples of flying buttresses in European cathedrals like Notre Dame. In cheaper form on more modern buildings, engaged buttresses do the supporting work. The engaged buttresses are simply narrow perpendicular walls on walls, rectangular or semi-cylindrical columns running up the sides of smaller buildings. Your house or apartment building probably has versions called pilasters.
Support comes in different forms. There are those who, like engaged buttresses and pilasters, get right next to the person in need, becoming fully engaged and intrusive. The support runs from bottom to top, from initial to latest layer of life. Then there are those who, like flying buttresses, stand off a bit, let the person support himself or herself except where a precise shoring up seems necessary. The support goes there and only there.
Flying buttresses are graceful, airy, and precise in where they give support. There’s no unnecessary engagement with the wall. Walls can be self-supporting to a certain height. Flying buttresses meet walls after they stand on established footing that is their strength from below.
We live in a world of intrusive engagement, one that doesn’t allow the building of inherent strength. There’s nothing wrong with offering precise help where it is needed, but constant engagement robs individualism from the one in need of support.
A wall that begins on a solid footer can support itself to an impressive height. There, far above the ground, it might need some light and airy support.
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