Ah, the tyranny of black. It's a sentiment that resonates with anyone who's felt the creeping encroachment of charcoal facades and somber interiors on a landscape meant for light. I say, it's not a matter of taste; it's a matter of bad taste—a misunderstanding of place, culture, and climate. It’s a visual crime, a kind of psychological assault on our collective aesthetic sense. There's a certain humor in it, a tragic comedy where entrepreneurs, fueled by a simplistic notion of "luxury," insist on turning their spaces into architectural funeral homes. It's as if they believe that by wrapping a building in the color of mourning, they can signal a kind of serious wealth, a gravitas that the space itself might lack.
But true luxury, like true good taste, is subtle. It doesn't shout; it whispers. It respects its surroundings. It's the difference between a loud, garish statement and a well-fitting, understated suit.
Croatia, particularly its Mediterranean coast and lush interior, is a symphony of color. It's the sun-bleached stone of ancient towns, the terracotta roofs against the deep azure of the Adriatic, and the endless, vibrant greens of forests and vineyards. This is a land of pastel shades, of wood and stone and the gentle colors of nature. It’s a kind of effortless, organic luxury, one that finds its expression in simplicity and harmony with the environment. This is our "superfood,” a design language that is right under our noses, as nourishing to the soul as the blueberries in the yard are to the body.
The intrusion of black and anthracite is a brutal rejection of this heritage. It's an aesthetic colonialism, a foreign sensibility that has no place in our sunny, verdant landscape. It’s as jarring as a sunflower in a poppy field, a stark, unwelcome presence that kills the spirit of a neighborhood. For example, "El Toro" restaurant—a place that, despite its culinary merits, became a soulless monolith of bad taste. It was a visual tumor on the corner of a street, a place that, instead of embracing the community, turned its back on it with tinted windows and a funereal palette. That it has closed is, perhaps, a karmic balancing of the scales. It's a testament to the fact that you can't build a community space on an anti-community foundation.
A Matter of Psychology and Design Philosophy
The attraction to black as a symbol of glamour is a fascinating psychological quirk. It’s often rooted in a desire to project a sense of sophistication and gravitas, to appear “serious” and "important." But what it often reveals is a lack of confidence—a need for a bold, non-negotiable statement in lieu of a nuanced and thoughtful one. It’s the equivalent of yelling to be heard, rather than speaking with clarity and purpose.
A truly skilled designer understands this. They know that color is not just an aesthetic choice; it’s a psychological tool. They understand that a black plate can indeed make food look unappealing, just as a dark, cavernous interior can repel a sense of warmth and welcome. The designers and architects who embrace this understanding are the ones who create truly great spaces.
For them, the palette is a language, and the conversation they want to have is one of joy, harmony, and light. Consider the work of Axel Vervoordt, the Belgian interior designer known for his wabi-sabi philosophy. He embraces muted, natural tones, reclaimed materials, and a sense of quiet elegance. His spaces aren't just decorated; they are curated to feel like they have always existed, a part of the landscape rather than an imposition upon it.
Similarly, in fashion, think of Issey Miyake. While he's known for his innovative pleats and forms, his work is deeply rooted in a connection to nature and a minimalist aesthetic that finds beauty in simplicity and texture over stark, dramatic color. His color palettes often reflect the earth and the sky, the very essence of the Japanese landscape he draws inspiration from.
And then, there's the visionary, if whimsical, example of Lenucius' horseshoe in Zagreb. A master plan for a verdant U-shaped chain of squares and parks. It was an early example of urban design that prioritized greenery and open space, a grand statement in pastel and forest green that created a harmonious, breathable heart for the city. It’s a perfect historical counterpoint to the current "visual crime" you describe—a monument to the idea that urban spaces should lift the soul, not oppress it.
Recently, our decision was to cancel the construction of a building due to the anthracite color on the site of the old family home, was not an overreaction; it was a profound act of aesthetic and moral integrity. It was a refusal to participate in the slow, creeping murder of our neighborhood's identity. Because, as you've so eloquently stated, this isn't just about a color. It's about a worldview. It's about understanding that the places we live and work in should be extensions of who we are—vibrant, nuanced, and full of light—not symbols of a dark, misguided, and frankly, ugly, notion of what it means to be successful.
Patriotism and Visual Identity: A Fight for the Soul of a Nation
For me, as a true patriot, this aesthetic threat runs far deeper than just bad taste. It's a matter of profound disrespect for the space we created and fought for. The struggle for Croatian independence wasn't just a fight for borders and political freedom; it was a fight for the visual identity of our people, our culture, and our legacy. It was a battle for light, for the pastel colors of our fields and forests, for the azure blue of the sea and the whiteness of the stone. It was an attempt to build a world that reflects our soul, not one that suffocates it.
Therefore, any threat to any of our senses—whether it's a cacophony of sounds, the smell of rust, or the visual pollution of the color black—deeply offends me. I have tasted what death is like. It's a dark, black stain, with a smell like rust. There is nothing beautiful about it, and looking at the color black, unless it's elegantly and thoughtfully incorporated into fashion design, feels like a threat. It is a visual aggression against everything our ancestors stood for and defended. Color, or its absence, is not just a matter of fashion or trend in this context; it is an expression of respect or disrespect for the very fabric of our existence.
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