The Beauty (n.) of a technical object belongs less to the object than to the singular point of the world that it concretizes.
Beauty (n.) is the accomplishment of what you did not set out to accomplish: it can arrive only at the end of an effort that followed its own road.
Beauty (n.) in machines cannot be left to the eye alone: you must understand what the thing does before you can feel it.
Beauty (n.) is truly felt in life, not in the artwork; the Romantics found it without any work of art beside them.
Beauty (n.) that comes prematurely is a false completion: technics or religion that decorates itself too early settles for a cheap version of the lost unity.
Beauty (n.) in a technical object never arrives in transit: pylons on a truck and cables on a reel are neutral, and only the strung line is beautiful.
Beauty (n.) in a machine is a reconciliation of technics with the world it once left, a surpassing in which it becomes concrete again.