
Why is simplicity so hard to achieve? Perhaps because it contradicts life as we know it? Because it is so contrary to our everyday experiences? Because it gives little or no expression to our feelings? Because it is too definite, too apodictic? These and all the other reasons one might be able to think up may indeed have a grain or two of truth in them, but on the whole we must suspect them of being evasive, convenient, or even cowardly, inasmuch as they all stem from an unwillingness to accept the laws that govern design. Simplicity is unavoidable and hence feared.
We cannot of course say that all that is simple must necessarily result from a strict reduction to essentials, that it must flaunt inspired poverty, that it must be particularly chaste or exceedingly modest. Never and nowhere must simplicity be denied the qualities of sensuousness, richness or costliness. These qualities must, however, be inherent in it; they must be entirely in keeping with its essence, and in no way must they appear extraneous. Simplicity must be discovered, recognized, acquired. It does not come of its own accord and will never be found by the wayside. Experimentation is probably alien to simplicity, for it lacks the certainty about its goal. Simplicity cannot be achieved unless it has a goal.
Thus simplicity is always something which we feel has been thought through to the end. It manifests itself, for example, whenever the material has undergone a mental process rather than just a manual one, for then the resultant form is the product of the intellect and the effect is relaxing, pleasing, even cheering. We, the observers, the ultimate beneficiaries, are at once astonished and not a little humiliated, for our initial doubts about its success were not inconsiderable and now we have been shamed into silence.