The Parthenon Rhymes with Cinderella Castle
Illustration: Leonhard Rothmoser.
Upon visiting the Parthenon in 1841, Hans Christian Andersen wrote that “Every little feeling was dead in my breast; I was filled with joy, peace, and happiness; and I bent my knee in this immense solitude.” Even though the temple had fallen to pieces by then, it still seemed to exert a powerful grip on Andersen, who fittingly called the Acropolis a “ruined fairy world”.
Completed in 432 BCE, the Parthenon is a temple dedicated to Athena, a grand marble structure made to inspire the population through its ornate details and perfectly proportioned columns and facades. Perfect, not because they were physically so, but thanks to its architects’ ability to take advantage of how our eyes and brains interpret shapes. The temple’s columns slightly taper inwards, while the stylobate is subtly curved, making them appear perfectly straight when seen together. We can only imagine how the Athenians must have felt upon seeing this building – not the ruin we perceive today, but a perfect, seemingly permanent and absolutely dignified composition intended to reflect the qualities of those in power. Architecture, especially on a scale as vast and prominent as this, has an ability to convince us of the existence of something superior.
Another, more modern, example of this architectural sleight of hand is Cinderella Castle at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, designed by Herbert Dickens Ryman and fellow Disney “imagineers”. Constructed in 1971 from concrete, steel and lots of paint, the castle is a centrepiece for the park and can be seen throughout the resort. Here, however, we are tricked by our preconceptions about how the appearance of objects changes in relation to their distance from us. Seemingly reaching much higher than the structure’s actual height of 189ft, the topmost sections of the castle have been painted in a slightly desaturated colour, while architectural features, such as windows, become smaller the higher up they are. The street that leads up to the castle has been designed to achieve a similar effect through reducing the size of the upper levels of its buildings in order to make them also seem taller. Combined with the castle, this tableau creates the illusion of a longer street and larger castle in the distance. Maximising the intellectual properties it controls in an attempt to maintain their relevance is something that Disney is good at, but the castle stands out as a physical adaptation of this method – something we can actually interact with and experience.
Both the Parthenon and Cinderella Castle try to physicalise myths, a means of building legacy that manifests as a fairytale and influences our perspectives of reality. It’s rare to find these kinds of wild optical manipulations employed in contemporary buildings, but it’s all too easy to see a similar desire to push a narrative through colossal and eye-catching buildings. We can still be blinded by the projected immensity and grandiosity of these structures. After all, large buildings are an inescapable and in-your-face communication tool – designs that can blur the line between reality and fiction without us realising the mechanics and intentions that lurk behind them.
Words Tetsuo Mukai
Illustration Leonhard Rothmoser
This article was originally published in Disegno #36. To buy the issue, or subscribe to the journal, please visit the online shop.