I once read that the greatest beauty is in destruction, and that nothing is truly realised until it has been completed and then ravaged. I can understand the appeal of it, the idea of taking away that which makes it beautiful, only to enhance that which remains. A ruined church maintains its potential for beauty; our imaginations elevate it past the limits the architect constrained by. But I think destroyed beauty is merely the first step. The true beauty is in reconstruction.
You see, once something is destroyed there is a lingering malevolence, something untoward that tarnished the reimaginings going on in your mind. It’s a very obvious force; that which did the damage to the original. This is the primary reason that reconstructed beauty is so much more emotive and moving; you have what was, (the building before it was left a poor imitation of what it was), what is, (the building in it’s destroyed grandeur, frail and strong,) and what will be, (the building restored and reimagined by the minds of contemporary society).
There, encapsulated in a moment of scaffolding and disrepair, is contained evidence of past, present and furture. Destroyed and beautiful thought it may have been, it is a sorrowful beauty, riddled with nostalgia for what was. The beauty of something being rebuilt represents human perseverance and the banding together of many, showing how we survived and will continue. Herein lies the true beauty.
All of that I wrote during my lunchbreak today. I get into some heavy shit when all I have is some post rock and lucozade to fuel me.