Academic literature on the topic 'Archivi di architetti'

Un architetto portoghese, Damiano di Roan, fu inviato a Parma da Don Duarte alla sorella Maria che era sposata al principe Alessandro Farnese affinché potesse progredire nell'arte delle fortificazioni. Fu inviato ad Ancona presso Francesco Paciotto e successivamente a Torino presso Ferrante Vitelli che lavorava alla Cittadella. Nel 1575 in seguito ad un litigio, in cui intervenne anche il duca Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia, venne rinviato a Parma. I principi Farnese non lo vollero trattenere e decisero di mandarlo a Roma. Non si conosce la sorte dell'architetto, che è del tutto ignorato dai documenti degli archivi portoghesi.

The article brings twelve unknown designs and projects of Rijeka’s sculptor and altar maker Antonio Michelazzi (Gradisca d’Isonzo, 1707 – Rijeka, 1771). The earliest two designs, dating from 1750 and linked to the island of Krk, are today preserved at the Archivio di Stato in Venice. One is a ground plan and assessment of a public ruin in the town of Krk, and the other a panoramic view of the Omišalj bay. A newly discovered document clarifies Michelazzi’s commissioning by the Trieste administration in charge of Rijeka, Senj, and Karlobag, since Empress Maria Theresa appointed him the imperial-royal architect in 1755. In that capacity, Michelazzi worked on a dozen plans and projects for public works in Senj and Karlobag during 1757 and 1758. He drew a map of Senj with a project for modernizing the city port and its defence against stormy winds. A particularly important project was his plan to redirect the stream that ran through the town into the harbour of Senj, for which he designed a new riverbed. There were also projects for prisons in the citadel, a health office, a slaughterhouse, and butcher shops. In Karlobag, he made a project for the renovation of the citadel, butcher shops, a new cistern, and a public administrative-residential building on the main town square. His last design and project was a new slaughterhouse with butcher shops in Rijeka in 1770. Although most of Michelazzi’s designs were never put in practice because of the lack of finances, the designs published here are the first of this kind in his known oeuvre, which will certainly grow further, since he was also involved in architecture besides sculpture and altar making.

This paper presents the development of a BIM model for a stratified historic structure characterized by a complex geometry: Filarete’s Ospedale Maggiore ice house, one of the few remaining historic ice houses in Milan (Fig. 1). Filarete, a well-known Renaissance architect and theorist, planned the hospital in the 15^th century, but the ice house was built two centuries later with a double-storey irregular octagonal brick structure, half under and half above ground, that enclosed another circular structure called the ice room. The purpose of the double-walled structure was to store ice in the middle and store and preserve perishable food and medicine at the outer side of the ice room. During World War II, major portions of the hospital and the above-ground section of the ice house was bombed and heavily damaged. Later, in 1962, the hospital was restored and rehabilitated into a university, with the plan to conceal the ice house’s remaining structure in the courtyard, which ultimately was excavated and incorporated into a new library for the university.<br><br> A team of engineers, architects, and students from Politecnico di Milano and Carleton University conducted two heritage recording surveys in 2015 and 2016 to fully document the existing condition of the ice house, resulting in an inclusive laser scanner and photogrammetric point cloud dataset. The point cloud data was consolidated and imported into two leading parametric modelling software, Autodesk Revit© and Graphisoft ArchiCAD©, with the goal to develop two BIMs in parallel in order to study and compare the software BIM workflow, parametric capabilities, attributes to capture the complex geometry with high accuracy, and the duration for parametric modelling. The comparison study of the two software revealed their workflow limitations, leading to integration of the BIM generative process with other pure modelling software such as Rhinoceros©. The integrative BIM process led to the production of a comprehensive BIM model that documented related historic data and the existing physical state of the ice house, to be used as a baseline for preventive maintenance, monitoring, and future conservation projects.

Jan Reisner (ca. 1655-1713) was a painter and architect. He was sent by King Jan III together with Jerzy Siemiginowski to study art at St. Luke Academy in Rome. He traveled to the Eternal City (where he arrived on February 24, 1678) with Prince Michał Radziwiłł’s retinue. Cardinal Carlo Barberini, who later became the protector of Regni Poloniae, was the guardian and protector of the artist during his studies in 1678-1682. In the architectural competition announced by the Academy in 1681 Reisner was awarded the fi prize in the fi class, and a little later he was accepted as a member of this prestigious university. He was awarded the Order of the Golden Spur (Aureatae Militiae Eques) and the title Aulae Lateranensis Comes, which was equivalent to becoming a nobleman. The architectural award was conferred by the jury of Concorso Academico, composed of the Academy’s principe painter Giuseppe Garzi, its secretary Giuseppe Gezzi, and the architects Gregorio Tommassini and Giovanni B. Menicucci. In the Archivio storico dell’Accademia di San Luca, preserved are three design drawings of a church made by Jan Reisner in pen and watercolor, showing the front elevation, longitudinal section, and a projection. Although they were made for the 1681 competition, they were labelled with the date 1682, when the prizes were already being awarded. Reisner’s design reflected the complicated trends in the architecture of the 1660s and 1670s, especially in the architectural education of St. Luke’s Academy. There, attempts were made to reconcile the classicistic tendencies promoted by the French court with the reference to the forms of mature Roman Baroque. As a result of this attempt to combine the features of the two traditions, an eclectic work was created, as well as other competition projects created by students of the St. Luke’s Academy. The architect designed the Barberini temple-mausoleum, on a circular plan with eight lower chapels opening inwards and a rectangular chancel. The inside of the rotund is divided into three parts: the main body with opening chapels, a tambour, and a dome with sketches of the Fall of Angels. Inside, there is an altar with a pillar-and-column canopy. The architectural origin of the building was determined by ancient buildings: the Pantheon (AD 125) and the Mausoleum of Constance (4th century AD). A modern school based of this model was opened by Andrea Palladio, who designed the Tempietto Barbaro in Maser from 1580. In the near future, the Santa Maria della Assunzione in Ariccia (1662-1664) by Bernini and Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption (1670-1676) in Paris by Charles Errard could provide inspiration. In particular, the unrealized project of Carlo Fontana to adapt the Colosseum to the place of worship of the Holy Martyrs was undertaken by Clement X in connection with the celebration of the Holy Year in 1675. In the middle of the Flavius amphitheatre, he designed the elevation of a church in the form of an antique-styled rotunda, with a dome on a high tambour and a wreath of chapels encircling it. Equally important was the design of the fountain of the central church in Basque Loyola (Santuario di S. Ignazio a Loyola). In the Baroque realizations of the then Rome we find patterns for the architectural decoration of the Reisnerian church. In the layout and the artwork of the facades we notice the influence of the columnar Baroque facades, so common in different variants in the works of da Cortona, Borromini and Rainaldi. The monumental columnar facades built according to Carlo Rainaldi’s designs were newly completed: S. Andrea della Valle (1656 / 1662-1665 / 1666) and S. Maria in Campitelli (designed in 1658-1662 and executed in 1663-1667), and Borromini San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane (1667-1677). The angels supporting the garlands on the plinths of the tambour attic are modelled on the decoration of two churches of Bernini: S. Maria della Assunzione in Ariccia (1662-1664) and S. Andrea al Quirinale (1658-1670). The repertoire of mature Baroque also includes the window frames of the front facade of the floor in the form of interrupted beams and, with the header made in the form of sections capped with volutes. The design indicates that the chancel was to be laid out on a slightly elongated rectangle with rounded corners and covered with a ceiling with facets, with a cross-section similar to a heavily flattened dome. It is close to the solutions used by Borromini in the Collegio di Propaganda Fide and the Oratorio dei Filippini. The three oval windows decorated with C-shaped arches and with ribs coming out of the volute of the base of the dome, which were among the characteristic motifs of da Cortona, taken over from Michelangelo, are visible. The crowning lantern was given an original shape: a pear-shaped outline with three windows of the same shape, embraced by S-shaped elongated volutes, which belonged to the canonical motifs used behind da Cortona by the crowds of architects of late Baroque eclecticism. Along with learning architecture, which was typical at the Academy, Reisner learned painting and geodesy, thanks to which, after his return to Poland, he gained prestige and importance at the court of Jan III, then with the Płock Voivode Jan Krasiński. His promising architectural talent did gain prominence as an architect in Poland, although – like few students of St. Luke’s Academy – he received all the honors as a student and graduate.

Emilio de Fabris's completion of the west front of Santa Maria del Fiore is the best-known of the architectural interventions carried out during the nineteenth century in the Piazza del Duomo and Piazza di San Giovanni in Florence. But this initiative was preceded by an earlier one that was more radical in character, insofar as it transformed the area around the Campanile and Duomo. A proposal of November 1823 by the architect Gaetano Baccani resulted in the demolition of a large part of the late medieval cathedral canonry and the creation of an extensive new piazza on the south side of Santa Maria del Fiore. This intervention introduced two issues that were to become fundamental to the notion of urban patrimony. On the one hand, it prompted consideration of the relationship between a historic monument and its ambience; on the other, it brought into focus the tension that was likely to exist between conservation and the creation of a modern urban environment. The present study publishes Baccani's formal submission to the Deputazione Secolare sopra l'Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore and draws on other documents preserved in the Archivio dell'Opera to construct a detailed history of the project. The study also introduces other literary and visual materials to establish the nature of Baccani's "systematization" of the Piazza del Duomo. Baccani's project is linked retrospectively to a Napoleonic plan for the modernization of Florence, but it is discussed also as a harbinger of later programs of urban renewal in Florence and in other Italian cities. The paper outlines the history of the canonry compound and places Baccani's reorganization of it in the context of the development of a new relationship between church and state in Florence. The piazza likewise is considered in relation to the transformation of Florence into a modern, orderly city, well-suited to the growing tourist industry. From Baccani's proposal to the Deputazione Secolare it is apparent that he wished it to be believed that his project was in keeping with the intentions of the original architects of the Duomo. The present study considers Baccani's project in this light, while also assessing the extent to which his plans were rooted in his own time. In particular, Baccani's conception of the area around the Duomo is discussed in relation to other urbanistic projects that were planned in Florence, Milan, and Rome during the Napoleonic period. Finally, Baccani's scheme is considered in relation to recent studies of the area around the Duomo by Piero Sanpaolesi, Margaret Haines, and Marvin Trachtenberg. The paper establishes that Baccani's intervention fundamentally changed the manner in which Santa Maria del Fiore and the Campanile could be seen, revealing an "ideal" view of the two buildings in juxtaposition. Baccani's vision is discussed in relation to a widespread nineteenth-century wish to consecrate the individual monument. The study concludes by introducing a number of unfamiliar images of the Campanile and Duomo and proposes that they lent authority to Baccani's concept of a "best" general view of these monuments.

Abstract. The study presents a part of the operational framework of the “Project for Infrastructure and Strategic Strengthening of the Somali National University”, funded by the Italian Agency for Development Cooperation. The project, coordinated by Politecnico di Milano, aims to reconstruct the Gahayr campus of the Somali National University of Mogadishu, which is today almost destroyed due to the civil war. The preliminary phase for reconstruction is a detailed survey of the buildings and the area over which the Campus will be re-built. In a normal situation, the team in charge of the survey would have gone on-site in Mogadishu; nevertheless, the risky local conditions and the Covid-19 pandemic made it impossible to have foreign personnel on-site. Consequently, the choice was to train a local team remotely, giving them the theoretical and practical instruments to face a complete 3D survey of the area and the buildings. Harsh times cannot stop works and activities that usually need the presence of the survey team on the field. Careful planning of the activities, the online staff training and the continuous sharing of the information permitted to get high quality 3D metric results quickly and to have at disposal all dimensional and qualitative valuable information for the project, usable in real-time by the designers and architects without going directly on the site.

In December 2012 ENIservizi (the Italian multi-national energy agency operating in many countries), after the Earthquake that occurred in April 2009, decided to undertake the project ‘Re-start from Collemaggio’ with the aim of giving new hope to the L’Aquila community, funding around 14 million Euro to restore the Basilica di Collemaggio. The Superintendence Office carried on the restoration project with the scientific support of the Università degli Studi de L’Aquila and the Università La Sapienza di Roma, under the coordination of the Politecnico di Milano. ENIservizi, aware of the BIM potential in the complex building and infrastructure domain in the world, required an advanced HBIM from the laser scanner and photogrammetric surveying to support the diagnostic analysis, the design project, the tender and the restoration itself, today still on course. <br><br>Plans and vertical sections were delivered (2012) starting from the surveying campaigns (February and June 2013), together with the first HBIM advancement from the end of 2012 in support of the preliminary-definitive-executive steps of the restoration design project (2013-14-15). Five years later, this paper tries to make a synthesis of the different lessons learnt, in addition to the positive and critical aspects relating HBIM feasibility, sustainability and usefulness to the challenging restoration work. <br><br>In particular, the Collemaggio BIM experience anticipated the new Italian Public Procurement Legislation (D.Lgs 50/2016, Nuovo Codice degli Appalti pubblici) aligned with to the EUPPD 24/2014: the EU Directive on Public Procurement asked all the 28 EU countries to adopt building informative modelling by February 2016 in order to support the whole LCM (Life Cycle Management), starting from the project and the intervention, through rewarding scores or mandatory regulations. Many analyses foresees to save from around 5% to 15% of the overall investment by adopting mature BIM (Level 3 to 5), particularly 4D remotely controlled BIM in support of the LCM, as in the case of maintenance and management process. The tender for Basilica restoration was published in 2015: the process was not developed enough to introduce selective criteria based on BIM adoption by the Construction Industry due to the lack of legislation at that time and the lack of BIM skills among the companies. Nevertheless ENIservizi also separately funded aside the HBIM of the Basilica to tackle an advanced BIM able to address decision-making processes in the heritage domain among the different actors: to support operators, architects, structural engineers, economic computation, construction site management and restoration, the theoretical and practical approach adopted by the HBIM, overcame the current logic based on sequential LoD (from simplex to complex, from the preliminary to the executive design) that is typical of new constructions in favour of a complex LoD approach that could guarantee management of the richness, unicity and multiplicity of each component and the maximum degree of knowledge in order to derive the decisions from the starting phases of the project. On the lesson learnt from this experience, the process of updating the current codification criteria (UNI11337-2009) was started with a draft proposal stimulating a debate for the future of HBIM adoption.

Riassunto. – L’intervento vuole documentare i casi di interferenza tra Gian Galeazzo Visconti e la Fabbrica del Duomo nel primo periodo di attività di quest’ultima, fino alla morte del duca, avvenuta nel 1402. Il rapporto è stato molto studiato, perché è cruciale per capire quanto il signore di Milano possa aver influenzato la costruzione della cattedrale e quindi il suo stile, ma la lettura dei documenti permette ancora di mettere a fuoco alcuni punti non del tutto noti e di trarre alcune considerazioni. Il primo caso di sovrapposizione riguarda la realizzazione in chiesa di un monumento funebre per Galeazzo II , padre di Gian Galeazzo: la disputa in particolare riguarda la collocazione e rivela che Gian Galeazzo avrebbe voluto una posizione centrale, nel retrocoro, che avrebbe però condizionato pesantemente l’architettura della chiesa, rendendola più simile a un mausoleo gentilizio che a una chiesa cattedrale. Un caso non troppo diverso è il secondo, che oppone il duca ai deputati della Fabbrica per la costruzione di una cappella dedicata a san Gallo, il suo patrono; anche in questo caso la richiesta del duca non è neutra, perché la scelta di realizzare cappelle gentilizie nelle navate laterali imponeva un modello costruttivo diverso da quello ampio, ad aula, scelto dai deputati per la propria cattedrale. Se nei primi due casi il rapporto tra Gian Galeazzo e la Fabbrica è conflittuale, la terza tipologia di rapporto mostra invece il duca come arbitro di conflitti che maturano all’interno del cantiere: si tratta di una serie di casi che riguardano particolarmente la presenza di architetti stranieri, che faticano a trovare un punto di incontro e contatto con i maggiorenti della Fabbrica e con gli altri ingegneri. Se in questo caso è la Fabbrica a chiedere al duca di intervenire, è vero però che egli approfitta di questa situazione ancora una volta per imporre un proprio punto di vista che è in primo luogo artistico, ma insieme anche politico. La morte del duca nel 1402 segna la fine del conflitto e l’evoluzione in senso locale, cioè prettamente lombardo, delle scelte artistiche.***Abstract. – The paper is about Gian Galeazzo’s interferences on the Milan cathedral in the first period of activities, till the duke’s death (1402). The relationship between Gian Galeazzo and the cathedral Fabrica has been already deeply studied: the pivotal subject is to understand how much the lord of Milan could influence the cathedral building and its style; inside the documents of the cathedral archive it is possible to find new informations. The first case of overlap is about the building of Galeazzo II’s, Gian Galeazzo’s father, funeral monument; Gian Galeazzo and the Fabrica discussed especially about the position of the monument: Gian Galeazzo wanted a central position, in the choir, behind the main altar, but this place would affect the architecture, letting it closer to a family memorial than to a cathedral. The second case relates to the opposition of the duke against the Fabrica deputies to build a chapel dedicated to saint Gallo, Gian Galeazzo’s patron: even in this case the duke’s request would change the building: family chapels in lateral naves were typical of an architectural model different from the waste one chosen by the deputies for their cathedral. The third type of relationship shows the duke as a judge in the cathedral conflicts between foreign architects and local engineers. In this case the Fabrica asks the duke to take part, and he uses his position to impose his own artistic and both political judgement. With the duke’s death the conflict ends and the artistic choices will be for local artists and architects.

Cities have long been important sites of collective memory. In this paper, I highlight the ritual and memorial functions of cities by focusing on Gibellina, a Sicilian town destroyed by earthquake, and the subsequent struggle among its community to articulate a sense of spatial belonging with its remains. By examining the productive relationships between art, landscape and collective memory, I consider how memorial objects in Gibellina have become integral to the reimagining of place, and, in some cases, to forgetting. To address the relationship between memorial objects and the articulation of communities from this unique vantage point, a significant part of my analysis compares memorial initiatives both in and around the old site on which Gibellina once stood. More specifically, my paper compares the aesthetic similarities between the Italian artist Alberto Burri’s design for a large concrete overlay of the city’s remains, and the Berlin Holocaust Memorial by the American architect Peter Eisenman. To reveal the distinctiveness of Burri’s design in relation to Eisenman’s work and the rich commentaries that have been produced in its name, and therefore to highlight the specificity of their relationship, I extend my comparison to more recent attempts at rebuilding Gibellina in the image of a “frontier city of art” (“Museum Network Belicina”).Broadly speaking, this paper is framed by a series of observations concerning the role that landscape plays in the construction or naturalization of collective identity, and by a further attempt at mapping the bonds that tend to be shared among members of particular communities in any given circumstance. To organize my thoughts in this area, I follow W. J. T. Mitchell’s interpretation of landscape as “a medium of exchange,” in other words, as an artistic practice that galvanizes nature for the purpose of naturalizing culture and its relations of power (5). While the terms of landscape art may in turn be described as “complicated,” “mutual” and marked by “ambivalence,” as Mitchell himself suggests, I would further argue that the artist’s sought-after result will, in almost every case, be to unify the visual and the discursive fields through an ideological operation that engenders, reinforces, and, perhaps also mystifies the constituents of community in general (9). From this perspective, landscape represents a crucial if unavoidable materialization both of community and collective memory.Conflicting viewpoints about this formation are undoubtedly present in the literature. For instance, in describing the effects of this operation, Mitchell, to use one example, will suggest that landscape as a mode of creation unfolds in ways that are similar to that of a dream, or that the materialization of landscape art is in accordance with the promise of “emancipation” that dreams inscribe into imaginaries (12). During the course of investigating and overturning the premise of Mitchell’s claim through a number of writers and commentators, I conclude my paper by turning to a famous work on the inoperative community by Jean-Luc Nancy. This work is especially useful for bringing clarity for understanding what is lost in the efforts by Gibellina’s residents to reconstruct a new city adjacent to the old, and therefore to emancipate themselves from their destructive past. By emphasizing the significance of acknowledging death for the regeneration and durability of communities and their material urban life, I suggest that the wishes of Gibellina’s residents have resulted in an environment for memory and memorialization despite apparent wishes to the contrary. In my reference to Nancy’s metaphor of ‘inoperativity’, therefore, I suggest that the community to emerge from Gibellina’s disaster is, in a sense, yet to come.Figure 1. The “Cretto di Burri” by Alberto Burri (1984-1989). Creative Commons.The old city of Gibellina was a township of Arabic and Medieval origins located southwest of Palermo in the heart of Sicily’s Belice valley. In January 1968, the region experienced a series of earthquakes as it had before. This time, however, the strongest among them provoked a rupture that within moments led to the complete destruction of towns and villages, and to the death of nearly 400 inhabitants. “From a seismological point of view,” as Susan Hough and Roger Bilham write, the towns and villages of the Belice valley were at this time “disasters in the making” (87). Maligned by a particular configuration of geological fault lines, the fragile structures along the surface of the valley were almost certain to be destroyed at some point in their lifetime. In 1968, after the largest disaster in recent history, the surviving inhabitants of the dilapidated urban centres were moved to the squalor conditions of displacement camps, in which many lived without permanent housing into the 1970s. While some of the smaller communities opted to rebuild, a number of the larger townships made the decision to move altogether. In 1971, a new settlement was created in Gibellina’s name, just eighteen kilometres west of the ruin.Since that time, I claim that a pattern of memory and forgetting has developed in the space between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’. For instance, the old city of Gibellina underwent a dramatic refurbishment in the 1980s when an internationally renowned Italian sculptor, Alberto Burri, was invited by the city to build a large concrete structure directly on top of the city’s remains. As depicted in Figure One, the artist moulded the destroyed buildings into blocks of smooth concrete surfaces. Standing roughly at human scale, Burri divided these stone slabs, or stelae, in such a way as to retain the lineaments of Gibellina’s medieval streets. Although unfinished and abandoned by the artist due to lack of funds, the tomb of this destroyed city has since become both an artistic oddity and a permanent fixture on the Sicilian landscape. As Elisebha Fabienne and Platzer write,if an ancient inhabitant of Gibellina walks in the inside of the Cretto, he is able to recognise the topic position of his house, but he is also forced by the Verfremdung [alienting effect] of the topical elements to distance himself from the past, to infer new information. (75)According to this assessment, the work’s intrinsic merit appears to be in Burri’s effort to forge a link between a shared memory of the city’s past, and the potential for that memory to fortify the imagination towards a future. In spatial terms, the merit of the work lies in preserving the skeletal imprint of the urban landscape in order to retain a semblance of this once vibrant and living community. Andrea Simitch and Val Warke appear to corroborate this hypothesis. They suggest that while Burri’s structure includes a specific imprint or reference point of the city’s remains, “embedded within the masses that construct the ghosted streets is the physical detritus of imagined narratives” (61). In other words, Simitch and Warke maintain that by using the archival or preserving function to communicate a ritual practice, Burri’s Cretto is intended to infuse the forgotten urban space of old Gibellina with a promise that it will eventually be found and therefore remembered. This promise is met, in turn, by the invitation for visitors to stroll through the hallowed interior of Gibellina as they would any other city. In this sense, the Cretto invites a plurality of narratives and meanings depending on the visitor at hand. In the absence of guidance or interruption, the hope appears to be that visitors will gain an experience of the place that is both familiar and disturbing.But there is a hidden dimension to this promise that the authors above do not explore in sufficient detail. For instance, Nigel Clark analyzes the way in which Burri has insisted upon “confronting us with the stark absence of life where once there was vitality,” a confrontation by the artist that is materialized by “cavernous wounds” (83). On this basis, by interpreting the promise of memory that others have discussed in terms of a warning about the longevity or durability of the built environment, Clark writes that Burri’s Cretto represents “an assertion of the forces of earth that have not been eclipsed by other forms of endangerment” (83). The implication of this particular forewarning is that “the precariousness of human settlement” is guaranteed by a non-human world that insists upon the relentless force of erasure (83). On the other hand, I would argue that Clark’s insistence upon situating the Cretto in relation to the natural forces of destruction ultimately represents a narrowing of perspective on Burri’s work. Significantly, by citing Burri’s choice of supposedly abstracted shapes made from lifeless concrete, Clark reduces the geographical intervention of the artist to “a paradigm of modernist austerity” (82). From Clark’s perspective, the overture to Modernism is meant to highlight Burri’s attempt at pairing the scale and proportion of the work with an effort to convey a sense of purity through abstraction. However, while some interpretations of Burri’s Cretto may be dependent upon its allusion to such Modernist formalism, it should also be recognized that the specific concerns raised by Gibellina go significantly beyond these equivocations.In fact, one crucial element of Burri’s artistic process that is not recognized by Clark is his investment in the American land art movement, which at the time of Burri’s design for Gibellina was led by Michael Heizer, Robert Smithson and other prominent artists in the United States. Burri’s debt to this movement can be detected by his gradual shift towards landscape throughout his career, and by his eventual break from the enclosed and constrained space of the gallery. On this basis, the crumbling city design at Gibellina obliterates the boundaries as to what constitutes a work of art in relation to the land it occupies, and this, in turn, throws into question the specific criteria that we use to assess its value or artistic merit. In an important way, land art and landscape in general forces us to rethink the relationship between art and community in unparalleled ways. To put it another way, if Clark’s overriding concern for that which lies beneath the surface allows us to consider the importance of relationships between memory, forgetting, and erasure, I argue that Burri’s concern with the surface and the ground make it clear that projects such as the Gibellina Cretto might be better paired with memorial sites that deal in architecture.Figure 2. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe / Berlin Holocaust Memorial, by Peter Eisenman. Photograph courtesy of the author.A useful comparison in this regard is Peter Eisenman’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in downtown Berlin. For one, not only is Eisenman’s site composed of a similar exterior of concrete stelae, those concrete blocks resembling gravestones, but it has also been routinely scorned for the same reasons that Clark raised against Burri as mentioned above. To put it another way, while visitors may be struck by the memorial’s haunting and inspirational configuration of voids, some notable commentators, including the venerable James E. Young, have insinuated that the site signifies a restoration of the monument, derived as it is from a modernist architecture in which recuperation and amnesia are at play with each other (184-224). A more sympathetic reading of Eisenman’s memorial might point to the uniquely architectural vision he held for cultural memory. With Adrian Parr for instance, we find that the traumatic memory of the Holocaust can be effectively transposed through the virtual content of the imagination as personified by visitors to Eisenman’s memorial. That is, by attending to the atrocities of the past, Parr claims that we need not be exhausted by the overwhelming sense of destruction that the memorial site brings to the literal surface. Rather, we might benefit more from considering the event of destruction as but one aspect of the spatial experience of the place to which it is dedicated—an experience that must be open-ended by design. By using the topographical lens that Parr, taking several pages from Gilles Deleuze, describes as “intensive,” I argue that Eisenman’s design is unique for its explicit encouragement to be both creative and present simultaneously (158).On this account, Parr makes the compelling assertion that memorial culture facilitates an epistemic rupture or “break,” that that it reveals an opportunity to restore the potential for using the place occupied by memory as a starting point for effecting social change (3). Parr writes that “memorial culture is utopian memory thinking”—a defining slogan, to be sure, but one with which the author hopes will re-establish the link between memory and the force of life, and, in the process, to recognize the energetic resources that remain concealed by the traditional narratives of memorialization (3). Stefano Corbo corroborates Parr’s assertion by pointing to Eisenman’s efforts in the 1980s to supplement formal concerns with archaeological perspectives, and therefore to develop a theory whereby architecture presages a “deep structure,” in which the artistry or attempt at formal innovation ultimately rests on “a process of invention” itself (41). To accomplish this aim, a specific reference should be made to an early period in Eisenman’s career, in which the architect turned to conceptual issues as opposed to the demands of materiality, and more significantly, to a critical rethinking of site-specific engagement (Bedard). Included in this turn was a willingness on Eisenman’s part to explore the layered and textured history of cities, as well as the linguistic or deconstructive relationships that exist between the ground and the trace.The interdisciplinary complexity of Eisenman’s approach is one that responds to the dominance of architectural form, and it therefore mirrors, as Corbo writes, a delicate interplay between “presence and absence, permanence and loss” (44). The city of Berlin with its cultural memory thus evinces a sort of tectonic rupture and collision upon its surfaces, but a rupture that both runs parallel and opposite to the natural disaster that engulfed Gibellina in 1968. Returning to Parr’s demand that we begin to (re)assert the power of virtual and imaginative space, I argue that Eisenman’s memorial design may be better appreciated for its ability to situate the city itself in relation to competing terms of artistic practice. That is, if Eisenman’s efforts indicate a softening “of the boundary between architecture and the landscape,” to quote Tomà Berlanda, the Holocaust Memorial might in turn be a productive counterpoint in the task of working through the specificity of Burri’s design and the meaning with which it has since been attached (2).Burri’s Cretto raises a number of questions for this hypothesis, as with the Cretto we find a displacement of the constitutive process that writers such as W.J.T. Mitchell describe above in relation to the generative potential of community. Undoubtedly, the imperative to unify is present in the Cretto’s aesthetic presentation, as the concrete surfaces maintain the capacity to reflect the light of the sun against a wide green earth that stretches beyond the visitor’s horizon. On the other hand, while Mitchell, along with Parr and other commentators might opt to insist upon a deeper correlation between the unifying function of the landscape and the forces of life, intensity, or desire, I would only reiterate that Burri’s design is ultimately based on establishing a meaningful relationship with death, not life, and he is consequently focused on the much less spectacular mission of providing solutions as to what the remains should become in the aftermath of total destruction. If there is an intensity to speak of here, it is a maligned intensity, and an intensity that can only be established through relation.Figure 3. The “Porta del Belice” by Pietro Consagra (2014). Wiki Commons.If Burri’s Cretto were measured by the criteria that are variously described by Mitchell and others, the effects that the landscape produces would have necessarily to account for an expression of desire for emancipation from death. However, in a significant departure from Eisenman’s Holocaust Memorial, Burri’s design by itself is marked by a throughout absence of any expression of desire for emancipation as such. Indeed, finding such a promised emancipatory narrative would require one to cast their gaze away from the Cretto altogether, and towards a nearby urban center that has supposedly triumphed over the very need for a memory culture at all. This urban center is none other than Gibellina Nuova. As a point in fact, the settlers of Gibellina Nuova did insist upon emancipating themselves from their destructive past. In 1971, the city planners and governors of Gibellina Nuova made efforts to attract contemporary Italian artists and architects, to design and build a series of commemorative structures, and ultimately to make the settlement into a “città di frontiera dell’arte”—a frontier city of art (“Museum Network Belicina”). With the potential for rejuvenation just a stone’s throw away from the original city, the former inhabitants appear to have become immediately invested in the sort of utopian potential that would make its architectural wonders capable of transgressing the line that perennially divides art from community and from the living world. Rivalled only by the refurbishment of Marfa, Texas, which in the last twenty years has become a shrine to minimalist sculpture, the edifices at Gibellina Nuova have been authored by some of Italy’s better-known mid-century artists and architects, including Ludovico Quaroni, Vitorrio Gregotti, and, most notably, Pietro Consagra, whose ‘Porta del Belice’ (Figure Two) has become the most iconic urban fixture of the new urban designs. With the hopes of becoming a sort of “open-air museum” in which to attract international visitors, the city is now in possession of an exceedingly large number of public memorials and avant-garde buildings in various states of decay and disrepair (Bileddo). Predictably, this museological distinction has become a curse in many ways. Some commentators have argued that the obsession among city planners to create a “laboratory of art and architecture” has led in fact to an urban center of monstrous proportions: a city space that can only be described as “elliptical and spinning” (Bileddo). Whereas Gibellina Nuova was supposed to represent a rebalancing of the forces of life in relation to the funereal themes of the Cretto, the robust initiatives of the 1980s have instead produced an egregious lack of cohesiveness, a severed link to Sicilian culture, and a stark erasure of the distinctive traditions of the Belice valley.On the other hand, this experiment in urban design has been reduced to a venerable time capsule of 1970s Italian sculpture, an archive that persists but in constant disrepair. More significantly, however, the city’s failure to deliver on its many promises raises important questions about the ritual and memorial functions of urban space in general, of what specific relationships need to be forged between the history of a place and its architectural presentation, and the ways in which memorials come to reflect, privilege or convoke particular values over those of others. As Elisebha Fabienne Platzer writes, “Gibellina portrays its future in order to forget,” as “its faith in contemporary art is precisely a reaction to death,” or, more specifically, to its effacement (73). If the various pastiche designs of the city’s buildings and ritual edifices fail to stand the measure of time, I claim that it is not simply because they are gaudy reminders of a time best forgotten, but rather because they signify the restless hunt for resolution among inhabitants of this still-unsettled community.Whereas Burri’s Cretto activates a process of mourning and working-through that proves to be unresolvable and yet necessary, the city of Gibellina Nuova operates instead by neutralizing and dividing this process. Taken as a whole, the irreparable relationship between the two sites offers competing images of the relation between place and community. From the time of its division by earthquake if not sooner, the inhabitants of Gibellina became an “inoperative” community in the same way that the philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy has famously described. In the specific hopes of uncovering the motives of Burri and those of the designers and architects of Gibellina Nuova, I argue that Nancy uses the terms of inoperability as a makeshift solution for the persistent rootedness of communities in an atomized metaphysics for which the relationality between subjects is an abiding problem. Nancy defines community on the basis of its relational content alone, and for this reason he is able to make the claim that death itself should be a necessary moment of its articulation. Nancy writes that “community has not taken place,” as beyond “what society has crushed or lost, it is something that happens to us in the form of a question, waiting, event or imperative” (11).Though Nancy is attempting to provide his own interpretation of the impervious dialectic between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft, between “community” and “society,” the substance of his assertion can be brought into a critical reading of Gibellina’s abiding problem of its formations of collective memory in the aftermath of destruction. For instance, it might be argued that if we leave the experience of loss aside, we can perhaps begin to acknowledge that communities are transformed through complex interactions for which their inert physicality provides but one important indication. While “old” Gibellina was not lost in a day, Gibellina Nuova was not created in an instant. For Nancy, it would rather be the case that “death is indissociable from community, and that it is through death that the community reveals itself” (14). Given this claim, while Gibellina Nuova has undoubtedly been shaped and reconstituted by the architecture of the future and the desire to forget, it could equally be argued that this very architecture shares in a reciprocal exchange with the Cretto, a circuit of memory that inadvertently houses an archive of the city’s destructive past. As the community comes into being through resistance, entropy, possibility and reparation, the city landscape provides some clues regarding the trace of this activity as left upon its ground.ReferencesBedard, Jean-Francois, ed. Cities of Artificial Excavation: The Work of Peter Eisenman, 1978-1988. New York: Rizzoli Publishing, 1994.Berlanda, Tomà. Architectural Topographies: A Graphic Lexicon of How Buildings Touch the Ground. New York: Routledge, 2014.Bileddo, Marco. “Back in Sicily / The Three Dogs Gibellina.” Eodoto108 Magazine. 30 July 2014. Bilham, Roger G., and Susan Elizabeth Hough. After the Earth Quakes: Elastic Rebound on an Urban Planet. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.Clark, Nigel. Inhuman Nature: Sociable Life on a Dynamic Planet. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, 2010.Corbo, Stefano. From Formalism to Weak Form: The Architecture and Philosophy of Peter Eisenman. Farnham: Ashgate, 2014.Mitchell, W.J. Thomas. Landscape and Power. University of Chicago Press, 2002.Museum Network Belicina. Nancy, Jean-Luc. Inoperative Community. Trans. Christopher Fynsk. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991.Parr, Adrian. Deleuze and Memorial Culture: Desire, Singular Memory and the Politics of Trauma. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2008.Platzer, Elisbha Fabienne. “Semiotics of Spaces: City and Landart.” Seni/able Spaces: Space, Art and the Environment. Edward Huijbens and Ólafur Jónsson, eds. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007.Simitch, Andrea, and Val Warke. The Language of Architecture: 26 Principles Every Architect Should Know. Rockport Publishers Incorporated, 2014.Young, James E. At Memory’s Edge: After-Images of the Holocaust in Contemporary Art and Architecture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.

Re-Framing Participation in the Architecture Studio Recently, within design literature, significant attention has been given to collaboration across different disciplines (see for instance, Nicolini et al.; Carlile), as well as consideration of the breakdown of traditional disciplinarity and the corresponding involvement of users in co-generation (Sanders and Stappers, “Co-Creation” 11–12) through the development and deployment of structured methods and toolkits (Sanders et al., “Framework”; Sanders and Stappers, “Probes”). Relatively less attention has been paid to the workings of the “communities of practice” (Wenger) operating within the disciplinary domain of architecture. The discourse around concept design in architecture has tended to emphasise individualist approaches driven by personal philosophies, inspirations, imitation of a more experienced designer, and emphasis on latent talent or genius (for instance, Moneo). This can be problematic because without a shared language and methods there are limited opportunities for making meaning to facilitate participation between collaborators in architectural studio settings. It is worth asking then: are there things that “Architecture” might learn from “Design” about the deployment of structured methods, and might this interdisciplinary exchange promote participatory practices in studio-based cultures? We address this question by connecting and building on two important concepts relevant to design methods, meta-design as described in the open design literature (De Mul 36–37), and design frames as described by Schön and formalised by Dorst (‘Core’; Frame; see also Weedon). Through this combination, we propose a theory of participation by making shared meaning in architectural design. We animate our theoretical contribution through a design toolkit we have developed, refined, and applied over several years in typologically focused architectural design studios in Australian university contexts. One important contribution, we argue, is to the area of design theory-building, by taking two previously unrelated concepts from the design methods literature. We draw them together using an example from our own design practices to articulate a new term and concept for making shared meaning in design. The other contribution made is to the translation of this concept into the context of studio-based architectural practice, a setting that has traditionally struggled to accept structured methods. The existence of other form-metaphor design tools available for architecture and the theoretical basis of their development and connection to design literature more broadly has not always been clearly articulated (see for example Di Mari and Yoo; Lewis et al.). The rationale for giving an account of the construction and deployment of our own toolkit is to illustrate its theoretical contribution while providing the basis for future field testing and translation (including by other researchers), noting the established trajectory of this kind of work in the design literature (see, for example, Hoolohan and Browne; Visser et al.; Vaajakallio and Mattelmäki; Sanders and Stappers, “Co-Creation” and ”Probes”). In line with this issue’s thematic and epistemological agenda, we adopt what Cross identifies as “designerly ways of knowing” (223), and is at least partly a reflection on a practice in which we engage with our own disciplines and research interests to propose and deploy design thinking as a kind of critical “reflection-in-action” (Robertson and Simonsen 2). Meta-Framing: Combining Meta-Design and Framing Meta-design is a term used in open design literature to describe approaches aimed toward orchestration of a project in such a way that people are afforded the agency to become effective co-designers, regardless of their pre-existing skills or design-specific knowledge (De Mul 36). According to a meta-design approach, design is conceived of as a shared project of mutual learning instead of an individualistic expression of singular genius. Through the establishment of shared protocols and formats, what Ehn (1) calls “infrastructuring”, individuals with even very limited design experience are provided scaffolds that enable them to participate in a design project. One important way in which meta-design helps “create a pathway through a design space” is through the careful selection and adoption of shared guiding metaphors that provide common meanings between co-designers (De Mul 36). The usefulness of metaphors is also recognised in the context of design frames, the second concept on which we build our theory. Conceptualised as “cognitive shortcuts” for making “sense of complex situations” (Haase and Laursen 21), design frames were first conceived of by Schön (132) as a rational approach to design, one guided by “epistemological norms”. Frames have subsequently been further developed within the design methods literature and are defined as a system of counterfactual design decision-making that uses metaphors to provide a rationale for negotiating ill-structured problems. According to Dorst, frames involve: the creation of a (novel) standpoint from which a problematic situation can be tackled … . Although frames are often paraphrased by a simple metaphor, they are in fact very complex sets of statements that include the specific perception of a problem situation, the (implicit) adoption of certain concepts to describe the situation, a ‘working principle’ that underpins a solution and the key thesis: IF we look at the problem situation from this viewpoint, and adopt the working principle associated with that position, THEN we will create the value we are striving for. (525) Despite Schön choosing to illustrate his original conception of framing through the example of a student’s architectural design project, there has been limited subsequent consideration of framing in architectural studio contexts—an exception being Eissa in 2019. This may be because formalised design methods have tended to be treated with suspicion within architectural culture. For instance, Christopher Alexander’s Pattern Language is one such “highly systemised design process” (Dawes and Ostwald 10) that despite its potential to guide participatory design has had an “uneven reception” (Bhatt 716) within architecture itself. One way architecture as a disciplinary domain and as a profession has attempted to engage with design method is through typology, which is one of the few persistent and recurring notions in architectural discourse (Bandini; Grover et al.). As a system of classification, typology categorises “forms and functions as simply and unequivocally as possible” (Oechslin 37). In addition to being used as a classification system, typology has also been positioned as “a process as much as an object”, one with the potential for an “active role in the process of design” (Lathouri 25). Type and typology have been conceptualised as a particular way of projecting architecture’s “disciplinary agency” (Jacoby 936), and this goes some way to explaining their enduring value. A potentially valid criticism of framing is that it can tend toward “design fixation”, when a pre-existing assumption “inadvertently restricts the designers’ imagination” (Crilly). Similarly, typology-as-method—as opposed to a classification tool—has been criticised for being relatively “inflexible” or “reductive” (Shane 2011) and responsible for perpetuating “conservative, static norms” (Jacoby 932) if applied in a rote and non-reflexive way. We deal with these concerns in the discussion of the deployment of our Typekit below. We are drawing here on our experience teaching in the first two years of undergraduate architecture degrees in Australian university settings. As well as being equipped with a diversity of educational, social, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds, students typically have divergent competencies in the domain-specific skills of their discipline and a limited vocabulary for making shared meaning in relation to an architectural proposal. The challenge for studio-based collaborative work in such a context is developing shared understandings and a common language for working on a design project to enable a variety of different design solutions. The brief for a typical studio project will specify a common site, context, and program. Examples we have used include a bathhouse, fire station, archive, civic centre, and lifesaving club. There will then be multiple design solutions proposed by each studio participant. Significantly we are talking about relatively well-structured problems here, typically a specific building program for a specified site and user group. These are quite unlike the open-ended aims of “problem frames” described in the design thinking literature “to handle ill-defined, open-ended, and ambiguous problems that other problem-solving methodologies fail to handle” (Haase and Laursen 21). However, even for well-structured problems, there is still a multitude of possible solutions possible, generated by students working on a particular project brief. This openness reduces the possibility of making shared meaning and thus hinders participation in architectural design. Designing the Typekit The Typekit was developed heuristically out of our experiences teaching together over several years. As part of our own reflective practice, we realised that we had begun to develop a shared language for describing projects including that of students, our own, precedents and canonical works. Often these took the form of a simple formal or functional metaphor such as “the building is a wall”; “the building is an upturned coracle”; or “the building is a cloud”. While these cognitive shortcuts proved useful for our communication there remained the possibility for this language to become esoteric and exclusionary. On the other hand, we recognised the potential for this approach to be shared beyond our immediate “interpretive community” (Fish 485) of two, and we therefore began to develop a meta-design toolkit. Fig. 1: Hybrid page from the Typekit We began by developing a visual catalogue of formal and functional metaphors already present within the panoply of constructed contemporary architectural projects assembled by surveying the popular design media for relevant source material. Fig. 2: Classification of contemporary architectural built work using Typekit metaphors We then used simple line drawings to generate abstract representations of the observed building metaphors adopting isometry to maintain a level of objectivity and a neutral viewing position (Scolari). The drawings themselves were both revelatory and didactic and by applying what Cross calls “designerly ways of knowing” (Cross 223) the toolkit emerged as both design artefact and output of design research. We recognised two fundamentally different kinds of framing metaphors in the set of architectural projects we surveyed, rule-derived and model-derived—terms we are adapting from Choay’s description of “instaurational texts” (8). Rule-derived types describe building forms that navigate the development of a design from a generic to a specific form (Baker 70–71) through a series of discrete “logical operators” (Choay 134). They tend to follow a logic of “begin with x … perform some operation A … perform some operation B … end up with y”. Examples of such operations include add, subtract, scale-translate-rotate, distort and array. Model-derived framing metaphors are different in the way they aim toward an outcome that is an adapted version of an ideal initial form. This involves selecting an existing type and refining it until it suits the required program, site, and context. Examples of the model-derived metaphors we have used include the hedgehog, caterpillar, mountain, cloud, island, and snake as well as architectural Ur-types like the barn, courtyard, tent, treehouse, jetty, and ziggurat. The framing types we included in the Typekit are a combination of rule-derived and model-derived as well as useful hybrids that combined examples from different categories. This classification provides a construct for framing a studio experience while acknowledging that there are other ways of classifying formal types. Fig. 3: Development of isometric drawings of metaphor-frames After we developed a variety of these line drawings, we carried out a synthesis and classification exercise using a version of the KJ method. Like framing, KJ is a technique of abduction developed for dealing objectively with qualitative data without a priori categorisation (Scupin; Kawakita). It has also become an established and widely practiced method within design research (see, for instance, Hanington and Martin 104–5). Themes were developed from the images, and we aimed at balancing a parsimony of typological categories with a saturation of types, that is to capture all observed types/metaphors and to put them in as few buckets as possible. Fig. 4: Synthesis exercise of Typekit metaphors using the KJ method (top); classification detail (bottom) Deploying the Typekit We have successfully deployed the Typekit in architectural design studios at two universities since we started developing it in 2018. As a general process participants adopt a certain metaphor as the starting point of their design. Doing so provides a frame that prefigures other decisions as they move through a concept design process. Once a guiding metaphor is selected, it structures other decision-making by providing a counterfactual logic (Byrne 30). For instance, if a building-as-ramp is chosen as the typology to be deployed this guides a rationale as to where and how it is placed on the site. People should be able to walk on it; it should sit resolutely on the ground and not be floating above it; it should be made of a massive material with windows and doors appearing to be carved out of it; it can have a green occupiable roof; quiet and private spaces should be located at the top away from street noise; active spaces such as a community hall and entry foyer should be located at the bottom of the ramp … and so on. The adoption of the frame of “building-as-ramp” by its very nature is a crucial and critical move in the design process. It is a decision made early in the process that prefigures both “what” and “how” types of questions as the project develops. In the end, the result seems logical even inevitable but there are many other types that could have potentially been explored and these would have posed different kinds of questions and resulted in different kinds of answers during the process. The selection of a guiding metaphor also allows students to engage with historical and contemporary precedents to offer further insights into the development—as well as refinement—of their own projects within that classification. Even given the well-structured nature of the architectural project, precedents provide useful reference points from which to build domain-specific knowledge and benchmarks to measure the differences in approaches still afforded within each typological classification. We believe that our particular meta-framing approach addresses concerns about design fixation and balances mutual learning with opportunities for individual investigation. We position framing less about finding innovative solutions to wicked problems to become more about finding ways for a group of people to reason together through a design problem process by developing and using shared metaphors. Thus our invocation of framing is aligned to what Haase and Laursen term “solution frames” meaning they have an “operational” meaning-making agenda and provide opportunities for developing shared understanding between individuals engaged in a given problem domain (Haase and Laursen 20). By providing a variety of opportunities within an overarching “frame of frames” there are opportunities for parallel design investigation to be undertaken by individual designers. Meta-framing affords opportunities for shared meaning-making and a constructive discourse between different project outcomes. This occurs whether adopting the same type to enable questions including “How is my building-as-snake different from your building-as-snake?”, “Which is the most snake-like?”, or different types (“In what ways is my building-as-ramp different to your building-as-stair?”) By employing everyday visual metaphors, opportunities for “mutual learning between mutual participants” (Robertson and Simonsen 2) are enhanced without the need for substantial domain-specific architectural knowledge at a project’s outset. We argue that the promise of the toolkit and our meta-framing approach more generally is that it actually multiples rather than forecloses opportunities while retaining a shared understanding and language for reasoning through a project domain. This effectively responds to concerns that typology-as-method is a conservative or reductive approach to architectural design. It is important to clarify the role of our toolkit and its relationship to our theory-building agenda. On the basis of the findings accounted for here we do claim to draw specific conclusions about the efficacy of our toolkit. We simply did not collect experimental data relevant to that task. We can, however, use the example of our toolkit to animate, flesh out, and operationalise a model for collaboration in architectural design that may be useful for teaching and practicing architecture in collaborative, team-based contexts. The contribution of this account, therefore, is theoretical. That is, the adaptation of concepts from design literature modified and translated into a new domain to serve new purposes. The Promise of Meta-Framing through Typology Through our work, we have outlined the benefits of adopting formalised design methods in architecture as a way of supporting participation, including using toolkits for scaffolding architectural concept design. Meta-framing has shown itself to be a useful approach to enable participation in architectural design in a number of ways. It provides coherence of an idea and architectural concept. It assists decision-making in any given scenario because a designer can decide which out of a set of choices makes more sense within the “frame” adopted for the project. The question becomes then not “what do I like?” or “what do I want?” but “what makes sense within the project frame?” Finally and perhaps most importantly it brings a common understanding of a project that allows for communication across a team working on the same problem, supporting a variety of different approaches and problem-solving logics a voice. By combining methodologies and toolkits from the design methods literature with architecture’s domain-specific typological classifications we believe we have developed an effective and adaptive model for scaffolding participation and making shared meaning in architecture studio contexts. References Baker, Geoffrey H. Design Strategies in Architecture: An Approach to the Analysis of Form. Taylor and Francis, 2003. Bandini, Micha. “Typology as a Form of Convention.” AA Files 6 (1984): 73–82. Bhatt, Ritu. “Christopher Alexander’s Pattern Language: An Alternative Exploration of Space-Making Practices.” Journal of Architecture 15.6 (2010): 711–29. Byrne, Ruth M.J. The Rational Imagination: How People Create Alternatives to Reality. MIT P, 2005. Carlile, Paul R. “Transferring, Translating, and Transforming: An Integrative Framework for Managing Knowledge across Boundaries”. Organization Science 15.5 (2004): 555–68. Choay, Françoise. The Rule and the Model: On the Theory of Architecture and Urbanism. MIT P, 1997 [1980]. Crilly, Nathan. “Methodological Diversity and Theoretical Integration: Research in Design Fixation as an Example of Fixation in Research Design?” Design Studies 65 (2019): 78–106. Cross, Nigel. “Designerly Ways of Knowing”. Design Studies 3.4 (1982): 221–27. Dawes, Michael J., and Michael J. Ostwald. “Christopher Alexander’s A Pattern Language: Analysing, Mapping and Classifying the Critical Response.” City, Territory and Architecture 4.1 (2017): 1–14. De Mul, Jos. “Redesigning Design”. In Open Design Now: Why Design Cannot Remain Exclusive, eds. Bas Van Abel, Lucas Evers, Roel Klaassen, and Peter Troxler. BIS Publishers, 2011. 34–39. Di Mari, Anthony, and Nora Yoo. Operative Design. BIS Publishers, 2012. Dorst, Kees. “The Core of ‘Design Thinking’ and Its Application”. Design Studies 32.6 (2011): 521–32. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.destud.2011.07.006>. ———. Frame Innovation: Create New Thinking by Design. Design Thinking, Design Theory. MIT P, 2015. Ehn, Pelle. “Participation in Design Things.” In Proceedings of the Participatory Design Conference 2008. Bloomington, Indiana, 2008. 92–101 Eissa, Doha. “Concept Generation in the Architectural Design Process: A Suggested Hybrid Model of Vertical and Lateral Thinking Approaches.” Thinking Skills and Creativity 33 (2019). Fish, Stanley E. “Interpreting the ‘Variorum’.” Critical Inquiry 2.3 (1976): 465–85. Grover, Robert, Stephen Emmitt, and Alex Copping. “The Language of Typology.” Arq 23.2 (2019): 149–56. <https://doi.org/10.1017/S1359135519000198>. Haase, Louise Møller, and Linda Nhu Laursen. “Meaning Frames: The Structure of Problem Frames and Solution Frames”. Design Issues 35.3 (2019): 20–34. <https://doi.org/10.1162/desi_a_00547>. Hanington, Bruce, and Bella Martin. Universal Methods of Design: 100 Ways to Research Complex Problems, Develop Innovative Ideas, and Design Effective Solutions. Rockport Publishers, 2012. Hoolohan, Claire, and Alison L Browne. “Design Thinking for Practice-Based Intervention: Co-Producing the Change Points Toolkit to Unlock (Un)Sustainable Practices.” Design Studies 67 (2020): 102–32. Jacoby, Sam. “Typal and Typological Reasoning: A Diagrammatic Practice of Architecture.” Journal of Architecture 20.6 (2015): 938–61. <https://doi.org/10.1080/13602365.2015.1116104>. Kawakita, Jiro. “The KJ Method and My Dream towards the ‘Heuristic’ Regional Geography.” Japanese Journal of Human Geography 25.5 (1973): 493–522. Lathouri, Marina. “The City as a Project: Types, Typical Objects and Typologies.” Architectural Design 81.1 (2011): 24–31. Lewis, Paul, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J Lewis. Manual of Section. Princeton Architectural P, 2016. Moneo, José Rafael. Theoretical Anxiety and Design Strategies in the Work of Eight Contemporary Architects. MIT P, 2004. Nicolini, Davide, Jeanne Mengis, and Jacky Swan. “Understanding the Role of Objects in Cross-Disciplinary Collaboration”. Organization Science (Providence, R.I.) 23.3 (2012): 612–29. Oechslin, Werner. “Premises for the Resumption of the Discussion of Typology.” Assemblage 1 (1986): 37–53. Panzano, Megan. “Foreword.” In Operative Design: A Catalogue of Spatial Verbs, by Anthony Di Mari and Nora Yoo. Amsterdam: BIS Publishers, 2012. 6–7. Robertson, Toni, and Jesper Simonsen. “Participatory Design: An Introduction”. In Routledge International Handbook of Participatory Design, eds. Toni Robertson and Jesper Simonsen. Taylor and Francis, 2012. 1–18. Sanders, Elizabeth B.-N., Eva Brandt, and Thomas Binder. “A Framework for Organizing the Tools and Techniques of Participatory Design.” Proceedings of the 11th Biennial Participatory Design Conference. ACM, 2010. 195–98. DOI: 10.1145/1900441.1900476. Sanders, Elizabeth B.-N., and Pieter Jan Stappers. “Co-Creation and the New Landscapes of Design.” Co-Design 4.1 (2008,): 5–18. ———. “Probes, Toolkits and Prototypes: Three Approaches to Making in Codesigning.” CoDesign 10.1 (2014): 5–14. Schön, Donald A. “Problems, Frames and Perspectives on Designing.” Design Studies 5.3 (1984): 132–36. <https://doi.org/10.1016/0142-694X(84)90002-4>. Scolari, Massimo. Oblique Drawing: A History of Anti-Perspective. MIT P, 2012. Scupin, Raymond. “The KJ Method: A Technique for Analyzing Data Derived from Japanese Ethnology.” Human Organization, 1997. 233–37. Shane, David Grahame. "Transcending Type: Designing for Urban Complexity." Architectural Design 81.1 (2011): 128-34. Vaajakallio, Kirsikka, and Tuuli Mattelmäki. “Design Games in Codesign: As a Tool, a Mindset and a Structure.” CoDesign 10.1 (2014): 63–77. <https://doi.org/10.1080/15710882.2014.881886>. Visser, Froukje Sleeswijk, Pieter Jan Stappers, Remko van der Lugt, and Elizabeth B.N. Sanders. “Contextmapping: Experiences from Practice.” CoDesign 1.2 (2005): 119–49. Weedon, Scott. “The Core of Kees Dorst’s Design Thinking: A Literature Review.” Journal of Business and Technical Communication 33.4 (2019): 425–30. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1050651919854077>. Wenger, Etienne. Communities of Practice : Learning, Meaning, and Identity. Learning in Doing. Cambridge UP, 1988. Yaneva, Albena. The Making of a Building: A Pragmatist Approach to Architecture. Peter Lang, 2009.

La tesi di dottorato di Martina Marolda, dal titolo "Le immagini al potere, le immagini del potere. La rappresentazione fotografica dell'architettura contemporanea nelle riviste italiane di settore (1928-1943)", pone alla base di tutto il lavoro di ricerca un riscontro diretto tra le fonti primarie - ovvero le otto testate oggetto di studio: “Architettura”, “L'Architettura italiana”, “Casabella”, “Domus”, “Emporium”, “Quadrante”, “Rassegna di architettura”, “lo Stile” e le due riviste estere di “Moderne Bauformen” e “L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui” - e le fonti archivistiche. Dal recupero di documenti quali lettere, atti notarili, fotografe e testi originali l'autrice ripercorre la vita e l'evoluzione di ogni testata, i rapporti tra le stesse così come quelli con il regime. Attraverso il materiale fotografico di prima mano, la tesi ricostruisce la politica editoriale iconografica e l'orientamento visivo di ogni singola rivista grazie ai segni tipografici e alle annotazioni riportate sul verso delle immagini ma anche all'analisi dei materiali scelti e inclusi nelle pubblicazioni posti a confronto con quelli scartati. La verifica delle immagini fotografiche pubblicate nelle riviste attraverso gli originali presenti nei fondi archivistici consultati, ha permesso anche l'attribuzione certa delle stesse a determinati fotografi e dunque di ricostruirne l'autorialità. Tra gli archivi studiati dall'autrice si ricordano: l'Archivio Anna Maria Mazzucchelli, il Fondo Marcello Piacentini e il Fondo Roberto Papini, l'Archivio Pietro Maria Bardi, il Centro Studi Giuseppe Terragni, il Fondo Angiolo Mazzoni. Per i fotografi e gli architetti-fotografi sono stati determinanti: il Fondo Ico Parisi, l'Archivio Fotografico Pagano, il Fondo Anderson, l'Archivio Fotografico La Triennale di Milano. Lo stesso approccio metodologico è stato mantenuto anche per la rivista francese de “L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui”. Dall'indagine dei fondi di coloro che hanno animato più direttamente la vita del periodico tra le due guerre, l'autrice ha prestato particolare attenzione a quelli di Pierre Vago, redattore capo, di Auguste Perret, di André Lurçat e di Le Corbusier, dai quali sono emersi carteggi e materiali fotografici originali di notevole importanza. La tesi di dottorato di Martina Marolda si muove su cinque nodi tematici principali, esplicitati in cinque diversi capitoli. Il primo capitolo pone in evidenza e ripercorre la vita e l'evoluzione delle nove riviste italiane studiate, dalla loro nascita alla loro dissoluzione. Si tratta di una vera introduzione metodologica che, attraverso il recupero e la ricostruzione delle fonti archivistiche, evidenzia connessioni, retroscena e aspetti inediti di una fervida stagione, ponendo in relazione l'attività dei periodici di settore con gli eventi socio-politici negli anni tra il 1928 e il 1943. Sono inoltre indagati tutti i tentativi, a volte portati a termine, di tentate fusioni e di accorpamenti tra un periodico e l'alto, dai quali emergono alcune figure di spicco, primo fra tutti l'architetto Marcello Piacentini. Infine sono ricostruite le tirature di alcune riviste principali per determinati anni tra il 1930 e il 1936, che sono utili a indicare la diffusione effettiva di “Casabella”, “Domus” e “Quadrante”. Il secondo capitolo indaga invece in dettaglio le riviste come oggetto fisico e dunque la loro materialità. Partendo dalla copertina, passando per gli interni e arrivando alla quarta di copertina, i periodici sono dunque analizzati da un punto di vista soprattutto grafico e tipografico attraverso un'ampia indagine storiografica e in continuo dialogo con i loro modelli visivi di riferimento, in particolar modo europei. L'impaginato e la griglia grafica, così come la tipografa, risultano infatti elementi imprescindibili e fondamentali per la lettura delle stesse: sono oltretutto il contesto in cui l'immagine fotografica trova la sua collocazione, rappresentando in definitiva il legante di questa con il testo. Un ultimo paragrafo è infine dedicato alle riviste come “oggetto da esposizione”, ovvero alla profusione di mostre di arte grafica negli anni Trenta, in Europa come in Italia, che portano in scena i periodici in qualità di vera opera d'arte, appendendoli a parete e allestendoli con modalità non canoniche e con artifici dedotti dalla grafica stessa. Il terzo capitolo entra invece nel vivo dell'immagine fotomeccanica, ovvero della fotografia pubblicata nei principali periodici italiani di settore indagati nel periodo compreso tra il 1928 e il 1943. Dopo aver preso in considerazione la tipografa e l'impaginato, si pone in relazione l'utilizzo delle immagini sia con gli artifici grafici che con i testi, trovando analogie e divergenze tra i diversi linguaggi e prendendo come esempio il caso rappresentativo della Mostra della Rivoluzione Fascista del 1932 per la risonanza mediatica che questa riscuote tra le pagine dei periodici nazionali. Inoltre si indagano anche i nessi e le diversità tra le varie immagini pubblicate: si riscontrano allora ricorrenze formali e semantiche o scelte iconografiche completamente diverse; la prevalenza dell'uso della fotografa rispetto al disegno o viceversa; la predilezione degli esterni o degli interni dei manufatti architettonici, così come la presentazione dei particolari o degli interi. Un paragrafo importante si ferma ad analizzare il “tempo” della fotografa, prendendo in considerazione particolari montaggi e soprattutto fotomontaggi, assai diffusi e dunque elemento narrativo fondamentale ad esempio in “Quadrante”. Infine, grafici e tabelle restituiscono scientificamente nomi di autori e di soggetti architettonici maggiormente rappresentati, a livello di immagine, e dunque più diffusi nelle riviste analizzate, in un'analisi di ricorrenze numeriche che delineano una vera e propria fortuna visiva di determinati architetti e manufatti negli anni tra le due guerre in Italia. Un ultimo paragrafo indaga in dettaglio i modelli iconografici stranieri presenti all'interno degli stessi periodici italiani, anche in questo caso con rigore scientifico e con ricorrenze numeriche: il risultato è un vero e proprio orientamento visivo di alcune riviste nazionali nei confronti di architetti esteri. Il quarto capitolo rappresenta il cuore della tesi: in questo contesto si analizzano dettagliatamente le immagini fotografiche pubblicate all'interno delle riviste per capire il peso da esse assunto per la definizione delle politiche editoriali iconografiche dei diversi periodici e soprattutto come elementi visivi discriminanti per la comunicazione e divulgazione dell'architettura negli anni Trenta. Dopo aver analizzato un primo e fervido dibattito storiografico, sorto in Italia negli Ottanta e che vede Italo Zannier tra i suoi principali fautori, l'autrice ne evidenzia i limiti, procedendo poi a una vera e propria definizione delle diverse politiche iconografiche espresse dalle testate italiane degli anni e che si esplicano attraverso un'analisi formale e contenutistica delle immagini più ricorrenti, soprattutto in riferimento ai programmi espressi dai direttori. In definitiva, si è voluto indagare come le parole si sono tradotte visivamente, se c'è stata una coerenza o meno negli intenti iniziali e soprattutto come ciascuna rivista abbia interpretato e comunicato l'architettura negli anni tra le due guerre, in un periodo che ha visto l'affermazione del fascismo e la sua svolta totalitaria. Infine viene messa in luce l'immagine divulgata di quattro tra gli autori più rappresentati all'interno delle riviste: Marcello Piacentini, Gio Ponti, Giuseppe Terragni e Giuseppe Pagano. Si analizzano allora le modalità di autorappresentazione, il loro rapporto con la fotografa pubblicata e commissionata e infine le analogie o le differenze con l'immagine che di essi viene data negli altri periodici. Il quinto e ultimo capitolo analizza invece due esempi di riviste straniere europee, geograficamente prossime e in stretto rapporto con quelle italiane per più motivi: “L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui” per la Francia e “Moderne Bauformen” per la Germania. Due riviste significative in quanto espressione, la prima, di un paese in cui non si instaura un regime totalitario, mentre, è il caso della seconda, di una nazione dove invece irrompe il Nazionalsocialismo, dittatura ad ogni modo diversa dal fascismo in Italia. Due riviste inoltre importanti poiché si definiscono l'una tribuna della modernità, l'altra invece come portavoce del tradizionalismo o comunque del centrismo. Dopo aver dedicato un primo paragrafo alla rappresentazione fotografica dell'architettura francese e tedesca nelle riviste italiane, l'autrice affronta e delinea il progetto grafico così come la ricezione e divulgazione dell'architettura italiana all'interno di entrambi i periodici d'oltralpe, trovando differenze sia nell'impaginato che nella fotografa utilizzata. L'attenzione rivolta all'aspetto iconografico delle riviste, ha reso necessaria un'operazione di digitalizzazione (per pagina tipografica) e di catalogazione delle stesse, che ha portato alla raccolta di oltre 40000 immagini di architetture coeve (realizzate dal 1920 al 1943) e alla costituzione di un database a corredo della stessa tesi di dottorato. Tale banca di dati è risultata uno strumento fondamentale e indispensabile a tutto il lavoro per la sua estrema utilità e per la rapidità di consultazione. Tale database è interrogabile su più fronti, dal momento che ogni immagine è stata catalogata per nome dell'autore (architetto singolo o gruppo), soggetto, occasione/evento (concorso, esposizione), luogo, numero e tipo di rappresentazioni (disegno o fotografa), fotografo (autore dell'immagine), fascicolo della rivista e anno.

In 1948 Rodolfo Pallucchini requested the collaboration of Umbro Apollonio to organize the 24th Venice Biennale. In 1949 the critic became the permanent curator of the Historical Archive of Contemporary Art (The Biennale Archive). First of all Apollonio organized the archival documentation of the Biennale and for this reason he thought of a new project for the library and the archive: to realize it he previously entrusted with the architect Carlo Scarpa and then with BBPR Group. After the great disorders of the 1968 edition, in 1970 Apollonio became Bienniale director. He curated with Dietrich Mahlow the special exhibition «Proposal for an experimental exhibition». On this occasion, a strong dialogue with the public was sought, focusing on issues such as art and society, art and production, analysis of seeing. The result was an exhibition holding arts from historical avant-garde to the most recent researches.

The main focus of this chapter is the highly valued work done by the architect Francesco Pieroni at the Ministero delle Finanze in Rome. This contribution can to attribute to Pieroni various drawings and numerous modine, i.e. real scale cardboard templates of various shapes used in the realization phases of the mouldings. Pieroni's activity represents, in the Roman context, one of the first applications of typical 16th century mouldings, to modern and prefabricated metal bar structures, spreading in the 70's of the 19th century. The construction companies were resilient to agree for changes in building techniques due to a lack of expertise. The realization of the Ministero is a case study of this phenomenon. The archival research developed casts new light on the numerous modifications carried out by Peroni during construction phases, which demonstrate the accuracy employed by the architect in designing the stuccos. The chapter analyses two different types of archive documents: the report Spoglio modificazioni lavori di stucco, and the examples of modine authored by Pieroni.

On 27th October 1968 the architect Adriano Alpago Novello opened the photography exhibition Armenian Architecture. 4th-18th Century, organised in collaboration with the Department of Humanistic Studies of the Milan Polytechnic University. In light of the documentation of CSDCA’s (Study and Documentation Centre of Armenian Culture) Archive, it is possible to assume the curatorial choices that made this exhibition, which passed by thirty cities of three different continents, a large international success. The paper aims to examine this particular case of study that covers an important step in the overview of the Italian historiography on Armenian art studies.