The architect, Peter Arens who is the monstrous carbuncle

The critic and biographer Anthony Holden once observed: “The architect, Peter Arens who is the monstrous carbuncle architect, not merely did his design which had won a public competition never get built but his practice suffered financially for some years.” At first, these words seem to recount a mere episode in the world of architecture—a tale of a design rejected, a man punished by circumstance. Yet beneath their surface lies a deeper reflection on the eternal struggle between vision and acceptance, between the creator’s courage to imagine and society’s fear of the unfamiliar. Holden’s quote is a lament, but also a lesson: that to create boldly is to risk rejection, and that the world often punishes those who dare to bring forth what it cannot yet understand.

When Holden refers to Peter Arens, he alludes to the controversy surrounding architectural vision in Britain during the late twentieth century, when modernist designs met fierce resistance from the guardians of tradition. The term “monstrous carbuncle,” originally uttered by Prince Charles to condemn modern architecture that, in his view, desecrated classical harmony, became a symbol of this conflict. Arens, whose design had won by merit and innovation, was branded with that insult—a mark not of failure in artistry, but of the world’s unwillingness to embrace new beauty. His design remained unbuilt, his practice suffered, yet his story endures as one of the great parables of creative courage crushed beneath the weight of convention.

This story is ancient in its pattern. Across centuries, the artist has stood at odds with the comfort of the crowd. The poet Homer, whose verses now form the pillars of Western literature, was said to have wandered unrecognized in his own time. The sculptor Michelangelo, who painted the divine upon the Sistine ceiling, endured mockery and despair while laboring under his own vision of perfection. Even the inventor Galileo, who gazed at the heavens and saw truth where others saw heresy, paid with isolation for daring to look beyond the accepted horizon. In each, the same tragedy unfolds: the price of creation is misunderstanding, and often, exile.

Yet, Holden’s reflection carries a quiet irony—it is not only a tale of defeat but also a testament to the endurance of vision. Though Arens’ building was never constructed, his ideas, his challenge to the boundaries of aesthetic safety, became part of the dialogue that shaped the future of architecture. The unbuilt can still inspire; the unheard can still echo through time. The world may refuse the form, but it cannot kill the spirit behind it. For every bold creation rejected, there is a seed planted in the soil of history, waiting for an era brave enough to let it grow.

The lesson, then, is twofold. To the creators of the world, Holden’s words serve as a warning: do not measure your worth by acceptance. Public competitions, applause, or fame—these are fleeting. The true measure of an artist lies in fidelity to vision. Whether your work is embraced or buried, let your devotion to the act of creation remain unbroken. The architect, the painter, the writer—all must build not for praise, but for truth. The ages remember not the works that pleased their contemporaries, but those that challenged them, those that pointed forward when the world wished only to stand still.

And to society, this quote is a mirror. How often do we silence the voices that disturb us, only to find generations later that they were the prophets we most needed? The rejection of Peter Arens’ design is not only the failure of one man’s opportunity, but of a culture that feared to evolve. Progress is born not from comfort but from dissonance—from the clash between what is and what could be. Each time we dismiss the bold as “monstrous,” we risk becoming prisoners of our own nostalgia, unable to imagine a future different from our past.

So, my child, take this story to heart. If you are a creator, build anyway—even when the world turns from you, even when your design remains unbuilt. Let the purity of your vision sustain you, for every unraised wall and unsung melody still alters the landscape of the soul. And if you are one who witnesses creation, listen with courage. Do not reject the new merely because it startles or unsettles you. For in every “carbuncle,” in every design too strange for its time, there may dwell the blueprint of tomorrow’s beauty. As Holden’s words remind us, the fate of the visionary may be hardship, but their legacy—ah, their legacy is the light by which the future learns to see.