Art history teacher Tiina Meeri and architectural photographer Risto Vähi believe architecture should lean toward beauty, as this creates a pleasant urban space that people can easily connect with. "Functionality is, of course, important too, and the ideal is when beauty and functionality come together. I think functionality can also be executed beautifully, but that requires a bit of skill," Vähi said on Vikerraadio's "Teise mätta otsast" talk show.

Vähi, who runs a Facebook page dedicated to introducing Estonian architecture, said people generally tend to find older buildings more beautiful. He suggested this may be because older buildings are associated with people's youthful memories. "It might also be a natural part of human nature to value or idealize the past, while at the same time constantly striving toward something new," he reflected.

According to Meeri, men and women tend to have different tastes in architecture. "It seems to me that women are more drawn to rounded forms," she noted. She also pointed out a divide between architects and the general public. As a teacher at the Tallinn 21st High School, she sees this in her students: "I get the sense that those inclined toward architecture — those who plan to become architects and eventually do — tend to prefer designs that are simple, clear, unadorned and functionalist. [...] The average person tends to favor something cozier and softer."

Vähi said architectural taste also depends on cultural background. In Estonia, buildings have historically been simpler — even when constructed in European styles such as Art Nouveau. "When I post a photo of a stylish, decorated building, people do like it. But somehow, they seem to feel more at home with simple houses — as long as they're not too boxy," the photographer observed.

Sheet metal makes things cheap

What buildings does the Estonian public unanimously consider ugly? On this question, both guests were in full agreement. "We didn't coordinate this in any way, but it's like a sacred truth. I have a small family and also asked them. The answer was the same: the Viru Center," said Tiina Meeri. According to Risto Vähi, criticism of the Viru Center began even before construction started. Meeri finds the building's form confusing, with excessive use of sheet metal, pipes and glass in an unremarkable tone.

The second building Meeri mentioned as commonly considered unattractive is the Tallinn Methodist Church on Narva maantee. While the church was designed by two respected architects, Vilen Künnapu and Ain Padrik, she said the shapes ended up incomprehensible. "You can be a luminary, a great and important person, and you shouldn't take offense — but the average person finds those design choices exceptionally ugly," she noted. During the Soviet era, she considered the city's ugliest building to be the service center that now houses the Tallink Hotel. "It had vertical blinds, and since the entire façade was a mass of windows, the blinds were all broken in different ways," she recalled.

In Meeri's view, the proper materials for a building are wood and stone — not sheet metal. Given today's options, even stone-imitation panels are better than metal. "Sheet-metal buildings should be hangars, port facilities, sports centers or something where its use is at least somewhat justified. You simply can't make metal look noble," she said.

Meeri's most recent disappointing experience with metal cladding was tied to Urmas Sõõrumaa's Golden Gate development, whose golden hue she first saw in a newspaper photo. "When I eventually saw it in person, I realized that golden thing was sheet metal. At that moment, the entire illusion — the willingness I had to admire and praise it — collapsed," she recalled.

According to Vähi, using sheet metal cheapens a building's appearance. "To me, a building looks ugly if it looks cheap. It's especially bad when it's in a place where it shouldn't look cheap," he explained. An industrial building, for instance, can be built quickly and cheaply away from the bustle of the city. "But if I see something cheap right on the main street, I can't help but wonder: why on earth?" he said.

Ink bottle and sock drawer left open

What kinds of buildings do Estonians appreciate? "I believe the Estonian public values high-quality architecture," said Risto Vähi. Even a so-called boxy building, he noted, can be well-liked if it's built with quality and has human-scale proportions.

Among buildings widely considered beautiful in Estonia, Tiina Meeri first highlighted the Riigikogu building, designed in the early 1920s by Eugen Habermann and Herbert Johanson. "It features influences of German Expressionism and traditionalism. You rarely hear anyone speak negatively about it," she noted. Meeri also said the Estonia Theater, completed in 1913 and designed by Finnish architects Armas Lindgren and Wivi Lönn, is held in similarly high regard.

When it comes to residential buildings, Meeri said opinions often depend on whether a person is drawn to the modern or the historical. "Most people want to live in houses from the era of the first Estonian Republic — homes with terracotta plaster — because they have a sense of solidity," she said.

In general, she added, the average person values decorative elements in architecture. This is evident when she introduces her students to the Vaarika-Maasika settlement near Hipodroomi, considered an early example of Estonian functionalism. "I always apologize in advance and emphasize that while what you see on the slide might look very modest, remember that these are among the most important elements of Estonian architecture, because they marked the beginning of a new era," she explained.

The public perception of some buildings has changed over time. According to Vähi, buildings tend to go from being disliked to being appreciated — but rarely the other way around. "From what I've seen, it takes about 50 years before people start to appreciate what they once didn't," he said.

On his photography page, he has noticed that certain Soviet-era panel buildings now evoke nostalgia, although some standardized designs remain unpopular. "Does this mean all the people admiring these buildings would want to live in them? Not necessarily. Many would still prefer to live elsewhere, but they enjoy seeing the panel buildings from the outside," he remarked.

According to Meeri, public opinion has also shifted over time about buildings like the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, the so-called Urla building on Pärnu maantee — once home to the Laste Maailm department store — and the Tallinn Art Hall. The Nevsky Cathedral was once slated to be demolished to make way for a War of Independence monument before World War II. The Urla building got its nickname from its protruding second floor, which people said looked like a dresser with the sock drawer left open. And though the now-admired Art Hall stands tall, it originally rose alone in the middle of what was then a hay market on Freedom Square. "Because it was so boxy and built so early in the 1920s, it was nicknamed the 'inkpot' and even called a major misunderstanding," Meeri pointed out.

Tallinn is chaotic

Today, new developments are springing up across Tallinn, often squeezed between older buildings. According to Risto Vähi, this is making the urban space increasingly chaotic. "Tallinn is often described as a city of interruptions. Every idea here feels unfinished," he said. The photographer regrets that the chaos caused by historical disruptions is now being recreated in the present. In some cases, a building is torn down from a once-cohesive environment, only to be replaced with something new that doesn't fit the surroundings. "Elsewhere, the city has already evolved into something modern, but then there's one old 'tooth' left standing," Vähi said by comparison.

Tiina Meeri noted that supporters of preserving historical character and avant-garde modernists have always clashed over the shape of urban space. In her view, there are three possible approaches to increasing urban density.

First, one can maintain the historical character of a neighborhood. Second, one can build something entirely new. The third option, widely used in German cities, is to fill in gaps with what she calls "doghouses." "That means buildings with very minimal forms — simple and unobtrusive — so they don't draw attention to themselves," she explained.

According to Meeri, all contrasts in the urban environment take time to get used to, but she personally does not support excessive infill development. "Take Pirita tee and the Sailing Center, for example — there's now a triangle of land on the city side that has been filled with new buildings. There was no real reason to build there, but obviously, the land has value," she reflected.

Vähi believes the real issue is when buildings no longer match their surroundings. "It's fine to build densely, as long as what's built fits the location. But then it should be done with style or in a way that connects to what's around it," he said.

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