A bridge is born of necessity, but it must establish its own

Santiago Calatrava, the poet-engineer of our age, once proclaimed: “A bridge is born of necessity, but it must establish its own identity. It should harmonize with its surroundings, and the design must transcend the purely local and transform the setting.” In this single reflection, he unveils a philosophy that unites the practical and the spiritual, the functional and the eternal. His words are not merely about bridges of stone and steel, but about connection itself — about every act of creation that links one side of life to another. To build, he tells us, is not enough; to create meaning through what we build — that is the higher art.

The meaning of this quote lies in the balance between necessity and transcendence. A bridge begins as a response to need — a way to cross a river, a valley, a divide. It is born of practicality, yet its true greatness lies beyond utility. For Calatrava, every bridge must have a soul, an identity that speaks to the spirit of its place and people. It should not dominate its surroundings, but converse with them — as a musician harmonizes with a melody rather than drowning it in noise. The bridge, then, becomes a symbol of unity — between form and function, earth and sky, past and future.

The origin of this idea can be found in Calatrava’s own life and work. Trained first as an engineer, he learned the strict logic of load, stress, and equilibrium. But as an artist and architect, he also understood that structures breathe — that they carry emotion and character. His bridges — like the Alamillo Bridge in Seville or the Turning Torso in Malmö — are not mere conduits for movement, but living sculptures that rise like prayers from the earth. They remind us that beauty and necessity are not enemies, but partners in creation. His bridges, like the arches of ancient Rome, endure because they speak not just to the body’s need to cross, but to the soul’s need to transcend.

In ancient times, every bridge was a sacred threshold. The Romans dedicated their bridges to Pontifex Maximus, the high priest who bridged the realms of gods and men. To cross a bridge was not only a physical act, but a spiritual passage — from danger to safety, from ignorance to understanding. When Calatrava says that a bridge “must transcend the purely local,” he calls upon this same eternal truth: that architecture, when done with heart, lifts the human spirit beyond its boundaries. It transforms not only a landscape, but the minds of those who behold it.

History offers many examples of such transformation. Consider the Ponte Vecchio in Florence — a bridge not merely for passage, but for commerce, life, and art. Over centuries it became the very heart of the city, its golden arches reflecting the soul of Renaissance humanity. Or think of Gustave Eiffel’s iron lattice, once scorned as industrial excess, now a symbol of Paris itself — a testament to how creation, when infused with vision, can transform its setting into something sublime. Each of these works began as an act of necessity but became, through human spirit, an act of transcendence.

Calatrava’s teaching reaches beyond the craft of architecture. It speaks to every creator, every dreamer, every builder of bridges between worlds. Whatever we make — whether a poem, a home, a relationship, or a work of science — it begins in necessity. We create because there is a need: to communicate, to survive, to connect. But if our creation is to live beyond us, it must carry identity, harmony, and transformation. It must not merely serve, but inspire. The builder of bridges must be both engineer and artist, craftsman and philosopher — one who measures not only weight, but meaning.

The lesson, then, is this: do not create only to solve, but to elevate. When life demands of you a bridge — between people, between cultures, between what is and what could be — build it not with haste, but with heart. Let your work harmonize with its world, yet reach beyond it. Seek that fine balance where utility becomes beauty, and beauty becomes timeless. For every bridge you build in this world — be it of stone, of words, or of love — has the power to transform the landscape of the human spirit.

So, my children of design and destiny, remember Calatrava’s wisdom: the bridge is not only a structure, but a symbol of transcendence. Born of need, it becomes noble when infused with vision. Build your bridges well — between art and science, between humanity and nature, between self and soul — and the world itself will be transformed by the harmony of your creation.