Topophilia—Space for Human Creation and Interpretation

Abstract

Topophilia, understood as a form of relationship between humans and their environment, can manifest in diverse ways—not only across various domains of art and life but also within the realm of music. This article seeks to expand the thesis of topophilia as a category defining the musical space of creation, performance, and perception of a musical work. Topophilia is seen here in the context of human activity in the artistic dimensions—philosophical, creative, architectural, and environmental. The methodological background is derived from the philosophy of place, phenomenology of perception, and musical analysis. This provides the opportunity to apply hermeneutic–philosophical analysis with elements of the theory of place. The thesis of this study is probably one of the first approaches to the category of topophilia in musical analysis, examining the style of composers, such as J.S. Bach, F. Chopin, K. Szymanowski, W. Lutosławski, A. Webern, and I. Xenakis, enriched with elements of musical performance.

1. Methodological Introduction

Topophilia is a notion that refers to the affective bond between a person and a place, a connection that shapes one’s actions. One definition describes it as ‘a connection, dependence and relationship between humans and a place, demonstrating the subjective and axiological relationship between humans and their environment (…). Topophilia imbues a place with spirit, reflecting a person’s relationship with it and conferring emotional significance upon it. Without topophilia, fragments of space that bear traces of tangible culture become mere still lifes’ (Rykiel and Pirveli 2009). Music, as a human creation and art form, is invariably rooted in a particular place. This article explores how this specific—personal and creative—space emerges upon the creation and perception of music. My reflections oscillate around the philosophical approach to place and the impact it has on the emergence of a musical work. To reveal the relationship between human-made art and place, it is essential to consider the nature of place—how it is understood in philosophy and science, and how it is subjectively experienced. The concept of topophilia can be described with several areas of meaning, which are reflected in the musical sphere. They are connected with the most significant aspects of the phenomenon such as affectivity, perception, and culturality. They give us the key to design the musical topophilia in the three types (affective, perceived, cultured) and their components are presented in Figure 1.

The types of musical topophilia influence each other, as illustrated by the arrows on the graph. These will be considered in Section 2, in relation to the philosophy of place and humans’ creative activity.

2. Space—Place—Humans

Space extends around us. As a field of human activity, it serves both as the setting where phenomena unfold and as the medium for their presence and existence. To Isaac Newton, ‘absolute space and absolute time set the stage on which processes could take place’ (Heller 2009, p. 16). He described them as ‘the sensoria (organs) of the divine omnipresence’, recognising the fusion of time and space into a unified structure, known as space–time, acting as the ‘the arena in which the laws of nature operated’ (Heller 2009, pp. 147–48). Following this line of thought, we must acknowledge the significant role people play in shaping and engaging with place and space, also as part of artistic creation. As humans, we experience, perceive, and organise both space and place, drawing upon their resources and potentials. Contemporary definitions of space characterise it as the totality of relations among coexisting tangible objects—that is their spatial distribution (distances) with respect to each other, dimensions, and shapes as determined by the arrangement of matter in motion (Heller 2009). Within this framework also lies the relationship between humans and space as defined by topophilia.

2.1. Space as a Place of Human Activities and Potentials

Let us examine the properties of space through the lens of Władysław Stróżewski’s philosophical considerations in his essay Płaszczyzny sensu (‘Planes of Meaning’) (Stróżewski 2005). From the perspective of human existence, space reveals itself in two primary forms as two poles of its natural manifestation. One of them is the ‘existing space’, a concept rooted in the inherent nature of the universe. It is within this space that all potentials and deposits of matter necessary for human endeavours—including artistic expression—reside, serving as a foundational source from which artists draw inspiration. In this view, space emerges as an ontic reality, inscribed in existence, independent of human consciousness and merely recognised, rather than co-constituted, by human perception.

Linguistic representations of space highlight its varied and complex dimensions. In Latin-derived languages, for example, the term ‘space’ denotes something measurable and static. The Latin word spatium encompasses a range of meanings, including the following: (a) expanse, distance, extent, width; (b) intervening space, gap, interval; (c) racecourse, period, lap, circuit; (d) closed way, walk; (e) interval, time, extent, period, term, longue durée; (f) size, measure, quantity (Kumaniecki 1986). The noun spatium is related to the verb spatior, meaning ‘to stroll, take a walk’ or ‘to spread’, which describes a process of exploring the existing space and creating a new one. This semantic group is further enriched by the adjective spatiosus, signifying something extensive, wide, large, long, and long-lasting, and thus implying the containment of space within itself. In English, the concept of ‘space’ emphasises measurability in terms of length, width, and depth, referring to space as ‘distance’ and ‘area’ or ‘volume’, all of which serve as domains for human activity or ‘areas’ occupied by physical objects. This framing underscores the idea of space as a field of potentials. Additionally, in English, the term ‘room’ is used to refer to smaller, practical and everyday spaces designated for specific purposes, closely associating space with place (Fox 2000). Consequently, one might argue that English, more so than Polish, accentuates the notion of place in the broader meaning of space.

This discussion focuses on a specific meaning of the term ‘space’, namely that of place and location (involving concepts such as positioning, placement, boundary, closure, and opening). It is a category that aligns with the idea of space as a foundational source—a natural element conditioning the occurrence of things. Aristotle defines this concept as topos, describing place as ‘that which surrounds’ the object it is a place for, without being the part of the object itself. He observes the following:

So that is what place is: the first unchangeable limit of that which surrounds. And it is for this reason that the centre of the world and the extreme limit (with respect to us) of the circular motion [of the heavens] are thought (…) to be ‘above’ and ‘below’ in the primary way (…), because one of them is always at rest, and the limit of the circular motion remains in the same state

(Aristotle 1993, chap. 212a20–24, pp. 28–29).

From this notion another can be derived—‘topophilia’, where the idea of place was extended to include humanistic relationships and attachments.

The relational dynamics of location and its potential for interaction can be further understood through several key properties:

• Locus, situs—referring to location, positioning, and seating; this term denotes the space occupied by a body, both physically and symbolically, at a given time; it reflects the association between an object and its place, granting it a presence in space;
• Chora—represents a reflection or echo of an idea, a mirror-like element that enables an abstract idea to become an object of rational understanding (Plato 1999);
• Spatium—signifies distance, relation, and the spanning of space, defining a shared (common) or ‘in-between’ space; it refers to the dynamic placement of objects in space, delineation and framing of space, with considerations of its finiteness and infiniteness, closedness and openness, boundaries and horizons, as well as spatial hierarchies (centre vs. periphery);
• Vacuum—refers to the concepts of fullness and emptiness, thickening and thinning, as well as saturation and void; it concerns the infusion of space with content, highlighting the density and condensation of elements in a given area.

The concept of location is related to the notions of spanning and boundaries (horizon), closing and opening, including both the defined and the undefined, as well as the surrounding environment. In music, place determines a specific ‘field’ where a composition is realised. It establishes the ‘boundary conditions’ (Heller 2008) for phenomena, enabling the modelling of a creative process. Through the act of defining—or ‘assigning’ the compositional field, the composer delineates the parameters of their work (including sound, harmony, rhythm, tonality, and instrumentation). While this compositional field may represent an individualised internal world, it remains influenced by the external environment, particularly the time and place of the creation. Similarly to a physical field, a musical work does not merely occupy but also constitutes a unique field within space. This spatial field assigns a specific physical value (such as pitch) or multiple attributes (volume, timbre, and articulation) to each of its points—sounds. A musical composition can be understood as a representation of an external spatial force field.

2.2. Place in Philosophical Terms: Constitutive Features

In Plato’s philosophy, the concept of place is distinguished into chora (space as extension, ‘the space where something is’) and topos (‘place’) referring to a localised space. Chora is understood as absolute space: it is unchanging and serves as the origin of change, though it itself remains unaffected by it. On the other hand, topos is dynamic and participates in transformation, as places engage in mutual interactions and movements, thus giving rise to the flow of time. According to Plato, space is the entity that contains tangible objects.

Aristotle, in contrast, conceives space as the capacity of tangible objects to occupy specific positions. He considers place a foundational concept in natural philosophy, asserting that ‘things that are, are somewhere’ and that while the existence of place is evident, as indicated by the possibility of change in respect of place (‘locomotion’), defining place itself presents considerable challenges (Aristotle 1993, 208a29–35, p. 20). Aristotle suggests that bodies have an innate tendency towards particular places—some moving upwards, others downwards—highlighting the relevance of direction and the observer’s position. An object’s position can be relative, appearing to be to the left or right, above or below, in front or behind, depending on the observer’s perspective (Aristotle 1993, 208b11–18, p. 20). Aristotle further posits that place has three dimensions, length, breadth, and depth, by which everybody is defined. But it is impossible that place should be a body, for then there would be two bodies in the same thing. (…) since a body has a place and a space, it is clear that a surface does too, and the other limits, for the same argument will apply. (…) Yet we have no distinction between a point and a place of a point (Aristotle 1993, 209a5–11, p. 21).

From my point of view, this observation holds particular significance for art, representing the edge of artistic activity: on one side lies the realm of matter and on the other, that of ideas. Artistic creation bridges both realms, as the idea takes on a physical form, enabling audiences to engage with the artwork through their senses. This dynamic applies both to tangible aspects of the work and the underlying idea that is realised through its material form. Therefore, the auditory sphere of music, which serves as an intermediary between the idea and the listener by presenting the idea ‘in matter’ (idea materialisation), can be recognised as chora. Through the artist’s performance and the listener’s perception, this sonic sphere reflects ideas in the tangible world.

It is obvious that Aristotle’s exploration of place in space can find resonance within the realm of art as well. The concept of topos—understood as a common place—has long held a place in literary tradition. Let us mention Ernst R. Curtius, who identified its origins based on an analysis of ancient rhetorical systems and the continuation of toposin mediaeval culture (Curtius 1997). In my opinion, resulting from my own previous research, the concept of topos can also be applied to music, particularly in the context of its repeatability (locus communis) and Jungian archetypes associated with traditional themes and fundamental life situations that formed the common foundation of European culture (Szymańska-Stułka 2006). Aristotle also perceives topos as an ‘empty syntagma’—a space awaiting content.

3. Topophilia of a Musical Work

Aristotle proposes that place must satisfy one of four possibilities: it is either ‘form, or matter, or some extension (that which is between the extremes), or the extremes, if there is no extension apart from the magnitude of the body which comes to be in (the place)’ (Aristotle 1993, 211b5–9, p. 27). Ultimately, he settles on the fourth option, defining place as ‘the limit of the surrounding body, at which it is in contact with that which is surrounded’ (Aristotle 1993, 212a5–6, p. 28). As already mentioned, he further specifies that place is ‘the first unchangeable limit of that which surrounds’ (Aristotle 1993, 212a20–21). This statement gives us a significance perspective for musical topophilia. It suggests that space can be approached as a boundary and, correspondingly, topophilia is what emerges at specific points of contact and limits within this spatial framework. Let us imagine musical space as a boundary in the Aristotelian sense—a type of horizon defined by the sonic contours (‘shape’) of the work. This boundary is set by the ‘sound’ dynamically realised through performance and perceptible through the listener’s sensory engagement. It gives the work a specific shape, situating it in a spatial context and allowing it to occupy a distinct place. In this way, the form a musical work takes during its performance emerges from sound, much like a sphere’s shape is determined by the continuity of its outer surface at every point along its boundary.

Sound, as a musical magnitude, is a phenomenon that requires a multifaceted definition, encompassing various perceptual and spatial dimensions. Józef Michał Chomiński addresses this issue in his concept of musical sonology (Chomiński 1983), highlighting the centrality of sound in contemporary music. Iwona Lindstedt further emphasises the emancipation of sound observed in the music of the second half of the 20th century. She traces this development back to Arnold Schönberg’s idea of Klangfarbenmelodie, in which a coherent melody could be constructed from a single note or chord, with continuity achieved through changes in timbre. Schönberg’s concept inspired later composers—such as Elliott Carter, Giacinto Scelsi and Gérard Grisey—and contributed to the emergence of spectralism. These composers discovered that ‘through meticulous attention to articulation and dynamics, as well as constant variation in expressive devices (by assigning individual motifs or even single sounds to different instruments), music could achieve the liberation of “purely sonorous” values’ (Lindstedt 2010). These ideas echo Eduard Hanslick’s theory of beauty, which holds that a musical work is a sonoric form whose value arises intrinsically from its sound structure. He suggests that musical beauty resides in tones, rhythms, and sounds (Hanslick 1903, p. 73), adding that ‘in music (the sound) is (…) an end in itself’ (Hanslick 1903, p. 112). While forms bear essential musical beauty, spiritual content is closely intertwined with sound forms (Hanslick 1903, p. 78). In other words, music has its own meaning and logic, which are inherently musical in nature (Hanslick 1903, p. 79).

3.1. Topophilia of a Musical Work: The Inner Perspective

The subsequent stage in determining the areas of musical topophilia requires delving into the structure of the work. The two main perspectives of topophilia can be used here to distinguish the two main areas of perception of a musical work:

• The inner perspective—focused on the structure and frame of a musical work (including musical pitch and form);
• The outer perspective—focused on the environment of a musical work (including connections between sound and place).

The inner perspective at the micro level, let us call it the internal space, is the first proposed approach. Drawing on Aristotle’s concept, it becomes necessary to shift our perspective and consider smaller, localised areas of a composition as its primary places, or formal centres. Charles Seeger argues that the internal order and form of music are frequently interpreted as design. It is a term borrowed from art history, and it highlights the structural and spatial aspects of musical order, offering a valuable framework for scholars and researchers in their studies of musical works (Seeger 2001).

Witold Lutosławski introduced the technique of ‘bundles’ in his music, as exemplified by his Preludes and Fugues for 13 string instruments. In this approach, bundles of melodic lines are realised within spatial parameters, with individual voices not limited to a single melodic line but instead comprising multiple bundles of melodic material. This term, coined by the composer, highlights the spatial nature of musical structure, whose creation requires placing it in a specific contextual or locational framework (Lutosławski 1997).

From the perspective of music, the structure of place as an area extended in space, with defined ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ boundaries (limits), becomes particularly significant. This conceptualisation can lead to the definition of two primary dimensions within the broader framework of musical pitch. These dimensions are constructed by high and low sounds, as well as those of intermediate range. Together, they form either a continuous or pointillistic structure. This refers specifically to the organisation of sounds in terms of pitch. When sounds oscillate densely around extreme pitches, their plane can be described as continuous. Conversely, if they are more widely spaced in terms of pitch, resembling distinct ‘pitch points’, the plane of the composition becomes pointillistic, as for example in Anton Webern’s Five Pieces for Orchestra op. 10, sometimes achieving a level of abstract constructivism (as in Webern’s music) (Gołąb 1987). Pierre Boulez observes that Webern, in each voice in his canons, introduces moments or events designed to disrupt the musical continuum (rompre sa continuité) through multiple register shifts, voice crossings and layered interruptions (Boulez 1963).

Extreme cases of a continuous pitch plane can traditionally be found in melodies based on the smallest intervals (major seconds, minor seconds, and quarter tones), as seen in chorales, folk songs, selected examples of minimal music (such as Philip Glass’s Violin Phase) and nowadays, also smaller, electronically minimised variations. A contemporary example of pitch space densification with the simultaneous thickening of the sound space can be found in Clarence Barlow’s diptych Otodeblu and Septima de facto. In this piece, composed for retuned player piano, individual notes and chords played by the performer are electronically multiplied and retuned by a computer, including the temperament of the twelve notes of the scale by various cent measurements.

3.2. Topophilia of a Musical Work: The Outer Perspective

The outer perspective is the second approach. It highlights the bounds of sound and space. Federico Macedo identifies four senses of space in music: (1) ‘musical space as metaphor’; (2) ‘musical space as performance place’; (3) ‘musical space as sound spatialisation’; and (4) ‘musical space as soundscape’ (Macedo 2011). These interpretations correspond to the natural ways in which space is perceived and experienced by humans (Gibson 1966). This brings us back to the previously highlighted role of musical sound. The sound sphere undeniably acts as a horizon or edge through which the work takes on a tangible form and enters the physical realm. As a boundary, sound is surrounded by various external bodies and elements—silence, air, other sounds, and matter—that make up the ‘external’ space of the composition and interact in a unique way with the work itself. They include elements that sounds penetrate, reflect off and are absorbed by, forming acoustic space.

This horizon has a tangible, physical dimension—realised as sounds that emerge in specific configurations and can be arranged into unique, intricate structures. The horizon line thus acquires a distinct shape dynamically varied in height, intensity, density, breadth and depth, as illustrated, for example, by Iannis Xenakis’ pitch and timeline diagrams for Herma, Mists, and Evryali, depicting the stochastic texture (Squibbs 1998). This line can also manifest a spectrum of colours and tonal shades that surface on the soundscape or remain embedded in underlying layers, forming the core space of the work defined by its ‘boundaries’—the ‘place’ it occupies in the auditory field. The composition can be envisioned as an interwoven web of planetary orbits, converging into galaxies that interact with one another through specific lines, shapes, and spaces. These are articulated by a system of fields, depths, widths, boundaries, and locations that collectively form a multilayered and multidimensional spatial structure, an entity whose existence in music was proposed by Xenakis (1970).

3.3. Musical Topophilia in the Relationship Between People and Places

The phenomenology of space also addresses the issue of direction. It can be explored in relation to the concept of place as conveyed through the work’s impression and expression. In her commentary on the descriptions of walks and wanderings by characters—such as the protagonist in Marcel Proust’s, In Search of Lost Time—Hanna Buczyńska-Garewicz observes that (their) villeggiatura walks occurred along two distinct directions. These directions, originally associated with formal geographical bearings (e.g., east, north or map coordinates), gradually evolve into subjective ‘sides’, enriched with personal experience and meaning. Over time, the directions lose their objective function, becoming sides where qualitative aspects predominate and subjective relativisation surpasses objective determination (Buczyńska-Garewicz 2006, p. 263).

In this context, direction becomes a ‘side’ imbued with the qualities of ‘subjective space’, while ‘sides’ evolve into ‘space categories of places’. This is how, Buczyńska-Garewicz suggests, ‘unique topographies of places emerge, shaped by individual experiences’ (Buczyńska-Garewicz 2006, p. 263).

The creation of a musical work—and particularly its subsequent reception—also alters the perception of its ‘directions’. The latter may effectively transform into ‘sides’, accumulating new layers of experience derived from both the hermeneutic engagement with the work and the aesthetic meanings embedded in it as the work establishes its place in musical culture. Musical ‘sides’, whether found within the work itself (e.g., chords, motifs and themes) or between the work, its composer, and the place where it was created (e.g., musical styles and forms), become enriched with content and evolve in terms of meaning. Subjectively perceived by their individual or collective recipients (who act as their interpreters), they assume a qualitative significance, fostering distinctive topographies of ‘musical’ places, each marked by a unique character. Notable examples include schools of composition, instrumental performance traditions, as well as theoretical frameworks and concepts in music theory.

The embedding of meanings in topographical directions is closely connected to the place of dwelling—a person living in a particular location for a longer time inscribes new meanings into that space, which opens up an inner world and extends its boundaries. Here, intimate, personal spaces—closed and familiar—intersect with vast, alluringly dissimilar spaces that invite exploration. This intersection enables the internalisation of what is external, which is a unique human skill. We, humans, are capable of introducing external space into our inner spirituality, thereby transforming physical environments into places imbued with specific spiritual significance (Buczyńska-Garewicz 2006, p. 270).

In the process of inhabiting a place, one internalises it, achieving a form of spiritual harmony or attunement with the place. It is not achieved in a single moment but through a continuous process of interactions that reveal the inexhaustibility of the place. Proust’s protagonist experiences this in relation to Venice, where the spirit of the place converges harmoniously with his own. Similarly, music listeners seem to seek such unity with musical compositions. By ‘inhabiting’ the work—engaging with it and enriching it with new thoughts, discoveries, and impressions—one aligns with the composition, pursuing complete harmony and internalising it. Exemplary performances arise from this complete interiorisation, a spatial process in which sound and conceptual content are assimilated and integrated into one’s inner self.

Much like Proust, who outlines his philosophical concepts of human living space in a literary narrative, certain composers also approach this theme in their music. In theoretical discourse, this aspect is addressed by Mieczysław Tomaszewski and his concept of autobiographical moments in artist’s life (Tomaszewski 2003). Through individual acts of perception, a sensory and emotional experience of a work occurs upon its concretisation in the sound form (Ingarden 1966). Focus on the living environment can, for example, be found in Karol Szymanowski’s compositions inspired by Mediterranean culture (Métopes). In these works, Szymanowski presents themes that evoke particular ‘impressions’ associated with the atmosphere and experience of a place, which he then transforms into musical concepts of the composition. These themes create a unique mood that reflects a meditative state—a remembrance of a place linked to an extraordinary experience. In this way, Szymanowski interweaves the significance of place and travel into his artistic vision, realising the relationship between a person and the surrounding world, as described by Małgorzata Janicka-Słysz in terms of the ‘language of culture’ (Janicka-Słysz 2013).

3.4. Topophilia and the Sound of the Work Performed

The relationship between music and place becomes most evident when one examines the influence of performance space on the sound form and quality of the work. Here, it is useful to draw a comparison with architecture. As the most explicitly ‘spatial’ of the arts, architecture provides intriguing parallels to music. This connection was famously summarised in the dictum ‘architecture is frozen music’, usually attributed to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (Cymer 2024), which suggests a structural kinship between architectural forms and musical compositions. Architectural space can manifest in music in two primary ways: (1) internally, by influencing the structure and organisation within the composition itself; and (2) externally, as an environment outside the musical structure that impacts its acoustic realisation. This external environment pertains to the acoustics of performance space, a crucial element in the presentation of a musical work. Not only does it shape the performance, but it also acts as a constitutive element of the work, given that the latter is always composed with a specific architectural or acoustic awareness in mind. Thus, architecture connects people to a work not only through its direct role in structurally framing the sound (the act of composing) but also as a ‘creator’ of the space that inspires and accompanies the performance (realisation of what is composed).

It can be argued that the acoustics of an interior space are inherently inscribed into and integrated with the internal space of a musical work. Across all historical periods, including today—despite the fact that classical music no longer serves many of its traditional functions that once influenced the architectural spaces in which it was performed—an implicit assumption concerning the role of acoustic space in composition still persists, although it is now interpreted flexibly by performers, who may choose to disregard it in favour of performing music in currently available concert halls or alternative venues. While there is a certain freedom to interpret and perform music as circumstances allow, the composer’s original intent and acoustic considerations remain significant and should, ideally, be acknowledged and understood by the performer. Performing music in spaces for which it was not originally composed can alter its sound considerably, sometimes obscuring its essential qualities. Although this may reveal new aspects of the music (such as the performance of Frederic Chopin’s piano works in a church), they may diverge from the composer’s original intentions and intended sound effects.

4. The Architectural Environment’s Role for Music

The architectural environment surrounding a composition leads to significant reflections on topophilia in music. Architecture, as previously mentioned, is an integral aspect of a musical work, influencing its sound characteristics and giving it a distinctive auditory form. When these spatial relationships are disregarded during performance, the topophilic bond—defined as the potential relationship between the place and the work as influenced by human creation—can be disrupted. For example, performing a 16th-century a cappella six-voice motet in a modern concert hall may not evoke the authentic sound space originally intended for the work. This spatial consideration emphasises that a musical piece is not merely suitable for a given space but is, in a sense, defined by it. The venue ‘gives birth’ to the work, shaping and determining its sound.

The selection of an acoustic space, in which or with which in mind the work is composed, is as crucial to the composition as the choice of instruments or musical form, involving external, acoustic space considerations. History provides ample evidence of the close connection between space and music across eras. Gregorian chant, for example, resonates uniquely in the low, stone-vaulted interiors of Romanesque churches, while the rise of soaring Gothic architecture inspired the search for polyphony. Just as Gothic vaults ascend and expand, so does the music of the period, supported on the cantus firmus—it rises and fills the space with echoes reminiscent of cathedral arches and illuminated by stained glass.

The Renaissance polyphony of a cappella music flourished under new domes and acoustics, achieving a euphonious sound in church interiors. Similarly, the nuanced and dynamic Baroque melodic lines, filled with tensions, sharp dissonances, and unexpected harmonic deviations, were tailored to intimate interiors of Florentine palaces and Venetian theatres, which provided short sound reflection, silence, and intimacy, allowing performers and audiences to engage directly with the unfolding musical themes. Another compelling example is the architecture of the Basilica of San Marco in Venice, which inspired the development of polychoral and concertante styles. The first attempts at dynamic contrasts, such as spatial forte and piano effects, based on manipulations of sound perception, are evidenced in Claudio Monteverdi’s groundbreaking techniques. This Italian composer arranged performers at various locations within the church interior, its ‘nooks and crannies’, thus creating the impression of sound coming from near or distant sources (as recently demonstrated by John Eliot Gardiner).

In Chopin’s music, salon unquestionably played a significant role as an intimate and refined space that fostered a personal connection between the artist and the audience, allowing Chopin to communicate expressively though his works. The salon, filled with elegance and atmosphere of discretion, provided closeness of relations and warmth of the fireplace. Illuminated by candlelight and softened by the textures of curtains, carpets, and upholstered furniture, it created an environment of comfort and relaxation, conducive to attentive listening, where every harmonic nuance, melodic tension, and subtle dynamic shift could be perceived—qualities that are not as readily experienced in the larger, more resonant setting of a concert hall.

Recent studies on Chopin’s style highlight the importance of the intimate space his music seems naturally suited to—particularly the interiors of private 19th-century salons. The ‘salon character’ of Chopin’s works can be found not only in the elegance, ambience, and refined artistic quality of his music but also in its spatial, architectural and phenomenologically experienced resonance. In this context, Chopin’s music embodies the delicate, subtle qualities of the salon, evoking its sense of comfort and intimacy. This intimate setting fosters a poetic element in Chopin’s music—a form of poetry that is personal, direct, and evocative, metaphorically conveying a view of the world. Heinrich Heine related the poetic quality in Chopin’s compositions to the unique intimacy allowing listeners to immerse themselves in music moving at a natural pace and focus deeply on the artist’s expressive nuances. This setting cultivates a close connection, allowing listeners to experience what Edith Stein describes as ‘empathy’ (in German: Einfühlung, in Polish: wczucie)—a profound engagement with the artist’s state of mind during live interaction.

4.1. Architectural Function in Shaping Music

Nicolaus Harnoncourt highlighted the importance of architectural acoustics in shaping Baroque music in his book Baroque Music Today: Music as Speech (Harnoncourt 1995). However, this topic extends beyond the Baroque period. Numerous recent performances have aimed to capture the authentic sound of music, particularly early music, including ancient, mediaeval, Renaissance, and Baroque compositions, and have even inspired historically informed performances of the Classical and Romantic periods. Notable examples include Frans Brüggen and his Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, Beethoven and Mendelssohn interpretations by Philippe Herreweghe, the Real Chopin series and performances by Andreas Staier, Janusz Olejniczak, Dang Thai Son, Tatiana Shebanova, and Wojciech Świtała. As classical instrumental music evolved and orchestras expanded, the development of large concert halls paralleled this growth, with venues such as Vienna’s Musikverein, royal palaces, London’s Royal Albert Hall, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Warsaw Philharmonic, and many others emerging as iconic settings.

The development of opera alongside the construction of dedicated theatres has been instrumental in establishing the relationship between architecture and music. Key milestones in this evolution include the creation of opera theatres across different social and cultural contexts. Notable examples range from Venice’s La Fenice, an opera house serving both bourgeois and aristocratic audiences, to the French royal theatre and the Paris Opera built during Haussmann’s transformative renovations in the mid-19th century. In modern times, significant architectural advancements include the Opéra Bastille in Paris, the Sydney Opera House, and the Metropolitan Opera in New York, each embodying unique architectural and acoustic considerations.

The reimagining of spaces, such as Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, with its central stage and immersive audience arrangement, continues to influence contemporary opera houses. This design, which allows audience members to observe performers from multiple angles and promotes a level of engagement akin to 3D technology, maintains the intimate atmosphere of early opera settings. London’s Covent Garden Theatre and Milan’s renowned La Scala have likewise contributed to this architectural legacy of continuous transgression. Richard Wagner’s Bayreuth, Festspielhaus, purpose-built to realise the composer’s vision of a total artwork (in German: Gesamtkunstwerk) that synthetises all art forms, represents a significant turning point. This theatre, designed specifically for Wagner’s operas, exemplifies how architecture can align with the artistic philosophy behind a musical drama. In fact, the history of the opera house reflects the genre’s expansion from intimate, local settings, such as 17th-century venues for dramma per musica, to grand spaces engaging broader audiences, from aristocracy to bourgeoisie. This ‘democratisation’ of opera, as seen in George Frideric Handel’s and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s works, transformed the theatre into a vital cultural institution.

These issues are more frequently studied by architecture researchers than music specialists. The former often emphasise that the physical space in which music is performed plays a crucial and unchanging role in shaping the acoustic characteristics of a musical work. Steen Eiler Rasmussen, referencing Hope Bagenal’s analyses, examines how architectural design interacts with the acoustic environment to optimise the conditions for the performance of specific music forms (Rasmussen 1964). He highlights the intricate relationship between composers, performers, and the physical spaces in which their music is conceived and performed. These considerations may provide additional arguments in the study of the importance of perceived and experienced space in the formation of a musical work.

Rasmussen discusses the role of a ‘sympathetic note’, particularly in the context of vocal music in early Christian churches, where sounds are amplified by the architectural design of the temple. It is ‘a region of pitch in which tone is apparently reinforced’, allowing spoken or sung words to resonate effectively:

If the reciting note of the priest was close to the “sympathetic note” of the church—and Hope Bagenal tells us that probably both of them were, then as now, somewhere near A or A flat—the sonorous Latin vowels would be carried full-toned to the entire congregation. A Latin prayer or one of the psalms from the Old Testament could be intoned in a slow and solemn rhythm, carefully adjusted to the time of reverberation

(Rasmussen 1964, p. 228).

4.2. Evolution of Polyphonic Music According to Architecture

Rasmussen further explores the evolution of polyphonic music, noting its emergence as composers discovered how the acoustic qualities of ecclesiastical architecture could support the simultaneous performance of multiple tones.

When it was discovered that the unifying tonal effect of the church as an instrument was so great that more than one tone could be heard at the same time with pleasing results, the harmonies produced by the coinciding of notes began to be regulated and used. From this part-singing developed. ‘Polyphonic music, as heard today in Westminister Cathedral,’ says Hope Bagenal, ‘was directly produced by a building form and by the open vowels of the Latin language’ (Rasmussen 1964, p. 230).

Rasmussen also observes that vaults, particularly domed vaults, ‘are acoustically very effective. A dome may be a strong reverberator and create special sound centres’ (Rasmussen 1964, p. 230). The Byzantine Basilica of St. Mark in Venice serves as a compelling example of architecture’s influence on music. The basilica’s unique layout—based on a Greek cross with five domes—created extraordinary acoustic conditions. The scholars have documented how these features were utilised by composers of the Venetian school around 1600: S. Mark’s had two music galleries, one to the right and one to the left, as far from each other as possible and each with its dome as a mighty resonator. The music was heard from both sides, one answering the other in a Sonata Pian e Forte. The congregation not only heard two orchestras, it heard two domed rooms, one speaking with silver tones, the other responding in resounding brass (Rasmussen 1964, pp. 230–31).

Similarly, the architectural features of sacred spaces are closely linked to Johann Sebastian Bach’s music. Rasmussen notes that while the Venetian school constitutes a unique example, every large church interior possesses its own distinct acoustic characteristics and opportunities. Hope Bagenal compellingly demonstrates how historical church designs influenced musical schools and styles. According to him, a key moment in this interplay was the Reformation, which introduced architectural modifications to adapt churches to the demand of the new Protestant liturgy, emphasising preaching in the native language. Bagenal’s analysis of St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, where Bach composed much of his music, offers particular insight. This three-nave Gothic structure, with its equal-height vaults, underwent significant changes:

After the Reformation large areas of resonant wood were added to the naked stone. The wood absorbed a great deal of sound and greatly reduced the period of reverberation. The side walls were lined with tiers of wooden galleries and numerous private boxes, or ‘swallow’s nests’, as they were called. The encroachment of so many boxes and galleries was due to the Lutheran system of church government which placed the church under the town council. Each member had his own family loge or box, just as one might at the opera. The new additions were in the Baroque style, with richly carved mouldings and panels, and there were curtains at the openings. (…) All this wood helped to create the acoustics that made possible the 17th century development of Cantata and Passion. Hope Bagenal figures the present reverberation at 2.5 s as compared to from 6 to 8 s in the mediaeval church. The absence of a ‘note’ or region of response in the church made it possible for Bach to write his works in a variety of keys. These new conditions made possible a much more complicated music than could ever have been enjoyed in the early church

(Rasmussen 1964, p. 231).

Bach’s fugues, resonated brilliantly in this setting:

St. Thomas Church, acoustically speaking, stands between the Early Christian church and the 18th century theatre. In the latter, where tiers of loges or boxes covered the walls from floor to ceiling, there was even more sound absorption. The facades of the boxes were richly carved and the boxes themselves draped and upholstered. At each performance the floor was closely packed with a gala-clad audience. The ceiling was flat and relatively low so that it acted as a sounding-board, deflecting the tones in towards the boxes where they were absorbed by all the woodwork and upholstery. As a result, the reverberation was very short and every note—even in such florid musical ornaments as coloratura and pizzicato—could be distinctly heard

(Rasmussen 1964, p. 232).

4.3. Construction in the Service of Beauty and Functionality

Further analyses of the interplay between architecture and music suggest that compositions created before the 19th century were deeply influenced by the acoustic environments for which they were conceived. However, the 20th century marked a shift, as music increasingly emerged from the composers’ imagination rather than being dictated by the acoustic realities of their physical surroundings.

Architecture shapes people’s understanding of space, providing us with a means to introduce order and organisation in places that surround us. By creating architecture, we simultaneously interpret spatial relationships and address our own needs. The evolution of architectural forms reflects people’s changing attitudes towards space, and the study of architectural history can also shed light on analogous developments in music. Innovations in architectural construction reveal shifts in human consciousness. For example, the advent of new building materials and techniques at the end of the 19th and in the 20th century—such as steel, cast iron, high-rise structural frameworks, and the modern use of glass and aluminium for large-scale structures—demonstrates these transformations. These architectural advancements coincided with developments in urban planning and the emergence of cities reflecting the specific characteristics of each epoch and culture.

Examples of urban evolution include ancient cities like Babylon and Persepolis, Greek and Roman urban centres characterised by the open spaces of hills, agoras, squares, and streets. In contrast, mediaeval cities frequently concentrated around a castle or fortress, as exemplified by Toledo, Assisi, Carcassonne, and Aigues-Mortes, with their compact, often circular layouts and fortifications, or Mont Saint-Michel, situated on a hill and dramatically isolated by tidal waters. The predominant building material was stone valued primarily for its defensive and structural properties rather than aesthetic appeal. Gothic architecture, however, introduced stained glass, which imbued buildings with a distinctive sense of beauty, sensuality, and the symbolic power of light (Eco 1994).

The 17th century marked a transition from fortress-like castles to elegant places, reflecting the increasing focus of builders and patrons on aesthetic refinement. Palaces in Venice, Paris, and Warsaw highlighted construction and decorative details, with noble materials, such as marble and sandstone, intricately crafted wooden finishes, softly drawn lines, stucco, murals, gilded and coloured accents, and precious stones becoming central to their design. These structures paired traditional building materials with modern architectural techniques, resulting in innovative forms. The unique case of Venice, a city built on a lagoon, exemplifies a genuine cultural and architectural marvel. It harmoniously combined security and defence with the aesthetic and practical advantages of the city’s remarkable location. This bold approach to construction can serve as a foundation for exploring certain parallels in the interplay between architectural and musical creation.

Stone, and later stone combined with glass, served as fundamental building materials in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, paralleling moments of structural clarity and illumination in music. Light in music resonates with the interplay of light and stained glass in architecture, symbolising sensuality (as in sequence texts) and the poetic liberation of space. Architectural innovations in the building materials correspond to transformations in music’s foundational elements—such as the expansion of instrumental capabilities at the end of the 16th century and the beginning of the 17th century, which marked the end of the dominance of a cappella vocal music. The introduction of steel in architectural design in early 20th century mirrors the search for novel soundscapes in music. Futurists embraced mechanically activated instruments like the intonarumori (’noise instruments’), while the invention of the ondes Martenot (‘Martenot waves’), alongside the advent of musique concrète and electronic music in studios in Paris and Cologne, offered entirely new ‘material’ for musical creation.

This parallelism highlights the fundamental principles shared by architecture and music: reliability, transparency, and balance in structure. These qualities have consistently been central to compositional art across eras and remain evident in the teachings of Józef Elsner’s school of composition, the structural mastery of Bach’s fugues, and the mathematical precision emphasised by the Dutch schools. Musical forms often reflect architectural logic, encompassing proportionality in temporal and spatial dimensions, the rhythmicity and balance of motifs, and the structural coherence of the ‘empty’ and ‘filled’ spaces in formal design. Whether through the supporting bass line, the foundation provided by the basso continuo and basso fundamentale, or the dynamic interplay of registers, these elements provide for the anchoring of a composition in what constitutes a synthesis of form, structure, and expression.

Music, like architecture, exists at the intersection of utility and artistry. Antoni Gaudí exemplifies this balance; his tenement houses in Barcelona, while pushing the boundaries of conventional forms with their imaginative designs, remain functional living spaces. Similarly, the music of past eras, despite its artistic and sophisticated nature, was often created to accompany daily or ceremonial activities, fulfilling its role as music ‘to be heard’ and serving a social function.

Both music and architecture are deeply embedded in numerical principles. Music, frequently described as ‘the architecture of sounds’, shares with architecture the reliance on proportion, balance, and structure. Furthermore, both disciplines draw inspiration from nature. This connection is evident in sound mimesis and onomatopoeia—the sound art (‘the art of painting with sounds’) across various eras, notably among French harpsichordists—and in architectural features that emulate natural forms. The architecture of musical instruments also reflects this interplay between construction and nature, incorporating elements like pipes, ocarinas, shells, and horns, which harness the ‘gifts’ of the natural world to produce sound. Composition, like architecture, also follows a programme—the composer’s concept or intention that shapes its existence. This does not refer merely to programmatic music but the broader structural and functional design akin to an architectural blueprint. This programme encompasses functional purposes, such as sacred, secular, theatrical, or chamber music styles as defined by Marc Scacchi, while simultaneously achieving artistic value. Both architecture and music are guided by overarching ideas reflective of the aesthetic tendencies of their respective eras. Often, these ideas intersect or even merge. For example, the Renaissance emphasised harmony, proportion, and unified construction, evident in the works of composers, such as Josquin des Prez and Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina. In the early 20th century, the dominant aesthetic shifted towards stratification and fragmentation of space, as seen in Cubism. This was mirrored in music through innovations like dodecaphony, pointillism, and the serialisation of musical elements championed by composers such as Pierre Boulez. During the Gothic period, architectural designs sought to elevate space through soaring verticality, creating a sense of boldness and uniqueness. Music paralleled this ambition by developing polyphonic structures in higher registers.

5. Conclusions

Topophilia, understood as a form of relationship between humans and their environment, can manifest in diverse ways—not only across various domains of art and life but also within the realm of music. Musical topophilia, as it is stated in this paper, can be described as the phenomenon of affectivity, structurality, acoustics, and culturality. The following types of topophlilia in music were distinguished: affective, perceived, cultured with their components, emotional, behavioural, felt, acoustic and sound, structural, formal, symbolic, cultural, stylistic, and historical. This article does not delve deeply into the specific connections between composers and the places where their works were created, a subject that represents a promising area for other studies. Instead, my focus has been on examining the concept of place from both philosophical and experiential perspectives, highlighting its potential influence on artistic creation in the perspective of topophlilia as the creative space in which music manifests itself. This influence is particularly apparent in the interaction between musical works and architectural spaces, which can also serve as an indirect reflection on composers’ approaches to space. The reflections presented in this discussion aim to establish a foundation for future research into the ways in which compositional practices and conceptualisations are shaped by the environments in which music is created and experienced. It is my intention to explore these aspects further in the subsequent phases of my research1.