Olivia Jordan

The Shape of Light: Lessons from Art, Skating, and Architecture

For a long time, I thought of light as something simple. It helped us see. It brightened a room. It marked the difference between morning and evening. I did not think of it as something that could shape structure or even emotional experience.

One day I was drawing still life during an art lesson and one of the items was a vase. I thought I did a good job and proudly showed my work to my art teacher. He told me that I did an excellent job on the vase itself. Then he asked me to look closely at shadows and pay attention to where the light is shining from and how it bounces from the bottom to the top. So I adjusted the shading. All of a sudden, the vase came to life.

In sketching, light is what gives form meaning. Without light, there is no shadow. Without shadow, there is no depth. A sphere becomes a flat circle. A face loses dimension. When I shade carefully, I begin to understand that light defines edges, reveals texture, and suggests weight. Even a small adjustment in contrast can change the entire mood of a drawing. I am not just copying what I see. I am interpreting how light describes it.

I began noticing the same principle in spaces around me. Sunlight entering through a window does more than illuminate a room. It creates direction. It highlights certain surfaces and leaves others in quiet shadow. In the afternoon, walls feel warmer. In the early morning, everything appears sharper. The space itself does not change, yet the experience of it does.

In skating, I have also noticed how lighting changes performance. Under bright arena lights, every movement feels sharper and more exposed. In softer lighting, transitions feel smoother, almost quieter. The choreography remains the same, but the atmosphere shifts. Light influences how the audience perceives motion, and even how I feel as I move.

As I explore design, I am beginning to understand that light is not an afterthought. It is part of the structure of a space. Windows frame not only views but also time, allowing the day to unfold indoors. Materials reflect or absorb light differently, changing texture and tone. A narrow corridor can feel compressed or expansive depending on how light enters it.

Then I did some research on how intentional light can be designed and read about buildings around the world that incorporate light effects in their design.

At the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas, designed by Louis Kahn, natural light filters through curved concrete vaults, softened before it reaches the artwork. The light does not feel harsh or artificial. It feels calm and balanced. It guides attention without overwhelming it. Walking through those galleries, I realized that light can be shaped as carefully as walls or columns.

In the Pantheon in Rome, Italy, designed in ancient Roman times, sunlight streams through the oculus, shifting constantly across the dome and walls. The space transforms with the day, and light becomes a key element of its architecture.

At the Salk Institute in La Jolla, California, designed by Louis Kahn, the central courtyard channels sunlight in a way that highlights the symmetry and framing of the ocean beyond. Light guides the experience of the architecture itself.

In the Church of Light in Ibaraki, Japan, designed by Tadao Ando, a simple cross-shaped slit in the wall transforms the otherwise dark space. The light itself becomes the most expressive element of the architecture.

At Fallingwater in Mill Run, Pennsylvania, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, light streams in through broad windows and terraces, changing how I perceive textures, colors, and forms, and connecting the interior with the surrounding forest.

In the Louvre Pyramid in Paris, France, designed by I. M. Pei, sunlight passes through glass, casting patterns on the floor below. Light here defines circulation, form, and even the mood of the museum.

What interests me most is that light itself is invisible. We never see light alone. We see what it touches. Yet it shapes everything. It defines form, creates emotion, and guides movement without announcing itself.

Observing light has changed the way I approach my own work. In drawing, it teaches me to notice subtle shifts in tone and shape. In skating, it shows me how movement can be shaped by space and perception. In design, it reminds me that every line, surface, and opening interacts with light to create experience. Learning to see light is learning to understand the world more deeply, and it inspires me to explore how attention to such details can bring clarity, meaning, and emotion to everything I create.