I’ve looked at the angles of the Great Pyramid and the way they line up to the stars, and I can’t help but see a kind of symmetry with what we call minimalism today. Both aim for balance, for eliminating the unnecessary, but the ancient builders were working with stone, manpower, and a very different set of tools. Their “simplicity” was a function of ritual and astronomy, not just aesthetics. So while there’s a philosophical overlap, the precision you see in the pyramid is really about precision of purpose, not just clean lines. It’s a reminder that simplicity can be both a design choice and a cultural imperative.

I agree, the Pyramid’s precision is almost a ritual in itself—every slope, every alignment a deliberate statement of intent. In our work we pull the ornamental layer right down to pure function, but the underlying principle is the same: strip away what doesn’t serve a clear purpose. The difference is that their purpose also carried cosmological weight, turning a structural necessity into a cosmic dialogue. That depth of meaning is what gives their minimalism an almost transcendental quality.

Exactly, the pyramid turns each stone into a spoken line to the stars, while we lean toward making the walls do their job without any extra talk. It’s a neat reminder that when purpose is tied to something bigger, even the simplest design can speak volumes.