Tag Archives: organismo architettonico


SUBSTRATAMorphology of the ancient city, beyond its ruins

by Giuseppe Strappa

in U+D Urbanform+Design n. 9/10 – 2019














  1. The issue

As part of the efforts we have been making for years now to renew the research methods used in the field of Urban Morphology, I believe that we shouldn’t limit ourselves to considering new topics; rather, we should take a fresh look at the matters with which the process-based school has always traditionally dealt (STRAPPA 2018). For example, we should review the ancient origins of many modern-day developments: the foundations, the material sediment and deposits of memory upon which we have built and that we use to build.

The morphology of the built environment is not a soulless discipline. We must have imagination, we must take the powerful and mysterious ancient deposit that underlie our architectural work and give them a synthetic form. This ancient layer is not dead: its living nature manifests itself through the changes that it causes, above the archaeological level, in the materials and shapes that are reused in construction or in our consciousness. It is because of this, of its generating power, that we cannot allow ourselves to merely examine it using the tools of mere perception that often lead us to create a myth around the Ancient based on its distant splendour.

Instead, we should reconstruct its developmental process in order to understand its living substance, using reason, because experience – our direct, concrete relationship with things – cannot but be partial and therefore misleading in this case. We need to make renewed efforts to distil the information at our disposal.

Despite the repeated affirmation of the principle of continuity between modern cities and their historic fabric and the definition of the Middle Ages as a time that was not at all a step backwards compared to ancient times, in actual fact the archaeological part of cities is still interpreted as a legacy of traces and foundations imparted to newer buildings in an episodic way, without the use of a general method that can condense multiple aspects into one single unified interpretation. ‘Unified interpretation’ does not mean recognising ancient remains in the appearance of modern cities, a field of study that, as we all know, has produced a quantity of researches, often with significant results. Instead, the term wishes to highlight how some tools used in morphological investigations of the built environment mostly limit themselves to considering the late medieval period, when going over the phases that lead back to its matrices, without systematically tracing them back to what generated the forms of its buildings and cities using the concepts of organism, process and type. Equally, the process through which ancient matter becomes material and turns into parts of new organisms, or the way in which spolia have been recognised as new elements to be reused, have not led to a truly systematic investigation in the field of urban morphology. This is true, at the same, when it comes to development processes considering the primary dwelling types, where, at least in Italy, we have gone no further than the housing type with external profferlo staircase. Where do these types come from? What did the ‘second nature’ of ancient ruins create? How was it used to expose the cryptae that could be inhabited, how did it generate the basic domus terrinea, and as a result the domus solarata, essential steps in growing complexity that led to new forms of dwellings (HUBERT 1990), not to mention the medieval palatium, domus maior and turris as the dawn of a new form of public building that developed in the late14th century (STRAPPA 2015)


































  1. Imperial age fabric in the Trastevere area (MURATORI 1963).
  2. Overlapping of the medieval fabric (V-XII century) to the imperial age substratum in the Trastevere quarter after the phases of urban contraction (V-VII century), evident in the abandonment of the southern part of the pre-existing fabric, up to the late medieval reorganization processes and recasting of the previous structures during the growth phase of the XI-XIII centuries (MURATORI 1963)
  3. Imperial fabric of insulae along the Via Recta, with indication (B) of the area of Palazzo Lancellotti, formed recasting row houses generated by the consumption of insulae (MURATORI 1963)
  4. Formation of block B of the previous plan in the reconstruction of Gianfranco Caniggia. From above. Current state, where the substrate cell of the ancient fabric is recognizable. Block substratum formed by elementary cells arranged around the open court space. First consumption phase of the ancient substratum with the reuse and superelevation of the substrate cells (CANIGGIA 1963)

It is a process in which it is often impossible to detect the intangible aspects imparted by the substratum (forms and their types) and the  physical and tangible aspects (matter and materials). Perhaps the perfect example of this are the objects produced during the long artistic life of the Cosmati family, who not only used marble and stone from ancient monuments from the 12th to the 14th centuries, but also ‘created’ forms and patterns from them for mosaics, ambones and floorings. The same consumption of the ancient city’s form also began with its self-destruction: ‘…in a certain sense we may say that the history of the destruction of Rome begins with the reign of Augustus, who undertook to transform the capital of the Empire from a city of bricks into a city of marble’ says Lanciani (LANCIANI 1901),quoting Suetonius (‘Marmoream se relinquere, quam latericiam accepisse’). Therefore the oldest substratum that has disappeared can only be understood through the form it created: it is a morphological problem and it can be tackled by turning to the notions of organism and process.

Gianfranco Caniggia raised the issue with his seminal study on the city of Como, which he used to build up a method of interpreting the change from a domus to a modern residential organism using type-based phases: ‘tabernisation’, infilling, development from single-family to multiple-family house (CANIGGIA 1963). In the same years that Saverio Muratori listed the criteria to be used when examining the cultural characters that make up the built environment (rational-cultural, economic-technical, ethical-political, aesthetic-historic), identifying four different ages of change, of which no less than two (Royal – Republican and Imperial) concern the development of the ancient city. Muratori was particularly referring to Rome(MURATORI 1963), though it is well known that he believed that the method he proposed was generally valid (and it is in keeping with that spirit that the comments we will make on Rome should be understood, in the wake of his guidelines). Studies concerning existing city layouts outside Europe, for that matter, have shown how an analysis of the historic layers  proves to be an important resource even in areas that are culturally very different (WHITEHAND 2016).

I believe that we should keep these precedents in mind so as to rebuild a scientific understanding of the way in which the layered forms of history have been transmitted to modern cities. Or rather, of the way in which modern cities have interpreted ancient forms: not the city of Alberti, Palladio and the other treatisers who reverentially approached the legacy of the past to create a learned architectural language, rather, the city where a distant basis of matter allowed the concrete reinvention (the rediscovery) of everyday architectural ‘speech’.

I think we should start by attempting to talk less of ruins. The term is as romantic as it is overused, from the picturesque explorations of the Grand Tour to contemporary revisitations, to the point where it has exhausted the possibility of proposing definitions useful to morphological studies. I think the most appropriate term we should assume (STRAPPA 2015) is substratum.

5. The Pompeus Theater in the reconstruction of Rodolfo Lanciani, s.d. (Gatteschi coll.)

6. Fabric formed by the consumption of the Pompeus Theater (surveys by Centro Studi di Storia Urbanistica, 1962)







2. Definitions

Unlike a ruin (from the Latin ruere, to collapse), a substratum (from sub sternere, to spread beneath) is recognised as a beginning, the living basis from which new organisms can spring. It is the part underneath the current built environment that no longer has any purpose but can nevertheless contribute to the life of new fabric, creating up to date building types: the distant and fertile foundation that gives rise to a new organism.  We cannot, anyway, reduce the complexity and richness of our ancient heritage to universal interpretational patterns that classify types and processes in a kind of taxonomy of the Ancient. That is true for any built environment. Instead, the identification of a few common criteria that allow us to interpret these phenomena through an architect’s eyes, tracing the many outcomes back to the general rationales that produce them, can prove useful to morphological studies.

From this point of view, we can define a ‘substratum’ as the combination of elements that once belonged to a building organism which, despite having lost both their the relationship of necessity that bound them together (their purpose and original organicity), and the continuity between the different phases of change and development, still nevertheless tranfer specific characters to the buildings springing from them . The set of these characters, transmitted in a typical and recurring form, can be defined as a ‘substratum type’.

When ancient organisms are practically reused with a new function (such as the churches of Santa Maria ad Martires, Santa Maria degli Angeli or the Pantheon),we cannot properly talk of a substratum type. Instead, the domus becomes a substratum type when it breaks up into ‘pseudo-row houses’, single-family single-facade houses aggregated around the space of the atrium that becomes a public area. Similarly, the orrea and portici structures become the substratum type of nodal public buildings when the central courtyard becomes the node, the main inner room (served, supported, central) of the new layout through a ‘knotting’ process.

The analogies with linguistics are evident, a discipline where ‘substratum’ is understood as the layer that precedes and influences the overlapping of a new language, as occurred, for example, with Etruscan and Latin or the Celtic and English. However, we should note how the term, when used in architecture, indicate the basis of an action. It implies the presence of critical consciousness, the ability to interpret and choose and, therefore, an identification of what has already been given, of what ‘lies beneath’: i.e. the sub-stantia, the substance, the essence of a thing.

This term therefore not only contains the notion of rootedness and transmission; it also refers to the means, the tool we can use to reach the essence of form, of its universal being. This universality, a quality that the actual building did not possess due to the very fact that it was constructed, constitutes a fertile abstraction: an identification as well as a design, the way in which we give a new unity to the multiple and scattered forms of the remains we have inherited. It was, furthermore, an idea rediscovered thanks to the medieval revival of the metaphysical Aristotelian concept of substratum. In other words, it is a design action, as demonstrated by the possible allotropic forms derived from the interpretation of a single substratum. Proof of this is the built environment, the way in which the material legacy of an ancient, multifarious and composite city was interpreted in a unified way by the new buildings erected in the late Middle Ages, in accordance with a particular design idea of the Ancient that surmised the existence of an original, primary substratum we can trace. It is a kind of matrix of the forms the past imparts to us, the πρτον of the Stoics you might say, or even the common original substratum of the universe, the primary layer that binds all things, a common idea in the early Middle Ages that Solomon Ibn Gabirol attempted to translate into a theory. It is then that we grasp the new, general meaning that this definition involves: every construction, at any scale, is an invenire, a finding and an invention; all fabric is a reconstruction, every building a rediscovery.

A new city’s formation, therefore, occurs with the recognition of older building organisms, what can be described as pre-formed matter that already possesses a form of its own, placed at the end of an entire life cycle and the beginning of another. I believe we can usefully distinguish two different processes in the tangibly continuous formative phases.

  • The first, the consumption process, consists in the use of buildings that make up the urban organism until the original features (constructive, distributive, spatial) belonging to their type are lost. In this sense, the substratum is an advent that marks a phase of crisis, the start that establishes the initial structure of things; or rather, can establish it, because it is obvious that the concluding phase of consumption introduces a pair of opposite, yet complementary concepts: the essential concepts of cancellation and duration that we cannot go into here. Nevertheless, the consumption of the Ancient is never in itself a dissipation, it is not due to the mere economic necessity of avoiding the importation of materials from outside of the city. The heritage is always considered to be too precious to be squandered, even in periods of great poverty and distress. Just take Abbot Suger’s plan to transport the gigantic columns found lying in the Baths of Diocletian to Paris, considering the economic and technical conditions of the early 12th century, so as to use them in the reconstruction of the Basilica of St. Denis. Apart from that, even as far back as the time of Theoderic, the symbolic importance of Roman antiquities was so great that the enormous effort of moving columns from the Domus Pinciana to Ravenna was considered justifiable (GNOLI 1971).
  • The second, the layering process, involves the diachronic development that lays down consecutive strata, each of which inherits features from the previous one and transmits others to the next. This phase continues until a new building is constructed which, over time, is also destined to contribute to the layering process. In this sense, the architect’s work contain an its own hermeneutic centre, which consists in searching for the general latent design, using the particular traces left behind by the consumption process (STRAPPA 2018). A latent design that is valid even in its contemporary condition.

It is worth stressing, by the way, how it is not easy today to propose a working method that starts from the particular and works towards the general, towards the abstraction. It is no coincidence that this work, which lies at the heart of every architectural theory, has been generally abandoned by Italian faculties of Architecture.

7. Umbertino-age consumption of the Terme di Diocleziano exedra. The new urban pole orients the fabric based on the Via Nazionale restructuring route, which is superimposed on the ancient one oriented by the Vicus Portae Quirinalis











3. Principles

it is worth highlighting that we can detect two essential principles at work in both phases.

  • A principle of belonging whereby each substratum has its own predisposition towards a form and every form contains its own substratum. This principle, whereby the new form and substratum belong to each other in a reciprocal relationship, can be applied in general, and to design in particular, as the concept of substratum can also be applied to the combination of intangible contributions (which are intrinsic to a civic community, to a particular historical phase or a cultural area) and are realized (becoming reality) thanks to the concept of type. In the case of cities founded on ancient remains, the substratum physically transmits its layout (its way of providing a single, shared form) to the new buildings. Take, for example, the many redevelopments that took place in Rome after the unification of Italy, such as Piazza della Repubblica, which completed the transformation process of the ancient structures that began with Michelangelo’s conversion of the the basilica hall in the Baths of Diocletian, then redefined at an urban scale by the conversion completed in 1898 by Gaetano Koch, including the remains of the Baths exedra and preceding the axis of Via Nazionale.
  • A principle of organicity, whereby the substratum generates a modular series network that sometimes reflects the original hierarchy, but at times overturns it, as has often happened to grand complexes, particularly those dating from the imperial age (take, for example, the Theatre of Pompeus or the Balbus Crypt), giving rise to new basic buildings (houses), creating typical proportions that elsewhere are linked to the land partition, which here are linked to proportions identified in ancient structures. As far as the urban fabric formed by base buildings is concerned, we can clearly perceive their organic modularity (when we are not dealing with the consumption of public complexes), mostly derived from buildings such as insulae, apartment houses for rent, consisting of groups of rooms, usually square of around 4/6 metres per side, distributed by balconies, sometimes over six storeys high and partially built in wood when it comes to the upper floors. The characters of this type of housing demonstrate the organicity of the transformation process. Indeed, they accounted for most of the ancient fabric and had even greater influence than courtyard houses in forming the medieval fabric. In Constantine’s era, the Curiosum Urbis Romae Regionum XIIII only lists 1,790 domus, which were probably still single-family dwellings, compared to the 44,300 densely inhabited insulae that occupied the large swathes of land set aside for multi-family house for the poorer classes(LUGLI, 1941). The insula, as a physical manifestation of a building type, was to disappear during the Middle Ages in Rome, leaving an urban network that was potentially open to an infinite number of interpretations. Nevertheless, it is worth noting how the almost total desertion of the city did not actually constitute a clear historical break as regards subsequent phases. The skills that were to be rediscovered inherited most of the ancient knowledge, albeit in new terms. For example, some features of the insula were transmitted to subsequent buildings, particularly construction features (such as the vaulted roof of the ground floor ceiling and the wooden ceilings of other storeys) or the connection between houses and shops (taberna), often consisting of a sales area with a mezzanine living space, as in late medieval shops that inherited the size of the elementary cell from the insula. These ancient base buildings were built in modules along routes that were to be inherited by the later medieval city and transmitted to modern one, starting from the urban penetration of territorial roads, such as the Via Flaminia which led to the Via Lata. We can see the same modularity in the buildings appearing along other roads derived by the permanence of planned axes that continue to connect large urban polar areas, such as the Via dei Coronari, which continues to orient the structure of Rome’s urban fabric from Via Recta to the east up until the Pons Neronianus to the west, from the Tiber to the north until the Circus Flaminius and the Porticus Pompeianae to the south, with slight twists and turns, beyond which the fabric is oriented by the roads (particularly the Via Triumphalis) that connected the Forum Holitorium, emerging from the ancient river ford of Tiberina Island to the great porticoed buildings (Minucia, Octavia, Gallatorum) and the Theatrum Marcelli in Pons Neronianus (CATALDI 2016). Or such as the roads of the Trastevere district, which are not only based on the territorial route of Via Portuensis, but also on the axes of the Aurelia Vetus, determined by the Pons Aemilius to the east and the AurelianGate to the west, and by Via Septimiana, which linked the focal point occupied bythe Meta Romuli and the Circus Neronis (which was to create the Vatican complex) to the area where the complex of Santa Maria in Trastevere, a new pole of the city beyond the river, was to develop.

When it comes to ancient building types, moreover, their particular characters in themselves allow for a myriad of different outcomes from medieval renovations. Muratori wrote: ‘[Imperial] building types are easy to adapt to a number of functions thanks to the serial layout of porticoes and tabernae and the courtyard layouts arranged on the constant structural lines of later insulae’ (MURATORI1963). A perfect example is the evolution of the Basilica of San Clemente, which reached a stage in morphological maturity during the XII century, in which the geometric importance and proportions of the serial rooms of the buildings dating from the Flavian era were unified within the hierarchy of its aisles. The intermediate Paleochristian church, which was in direct contact with the ancient substratum and upon which today’s church was built, identifies a building type that was to be developed throughout the V century, updating the proportions of the aisles (narrower, longer, higher), whilst maintaining the essential characters of the original basilica (KRAUTHEIMER 1986), proof of the long morphological life of the remains buried under the new buildings. Another good example is the Church of Saints Cosma and Damiano, built using the remains of the southern part of the Basilica of Maxentius as early as the first half of the V century.

Sometimes the ancient matrices are influenced by the changed alignment of the new layout, as in Santa Maria in Cosmedin. Other times, it is the past of previously existing colonnades that almost directly transmits the old modularity to the new organisms above it, as noted in a large number of Roman churches, such as San Nicola in Carcere at the Forum Holitorium, built on top of the peripteral temple of Juno Sospita. We can also surmise that the modularity of the substratum was transmitted to new buildings even in less obvious cases, such as the III century colonnaded organism (perhaps a civic basilica) that imparted its proportions to the church of San Martino ai Monti, which was partly built reusing ancient materials, or as in the remains that were definitely still in existence in the V century on the Mons Superagius in the Esquilino area, left behind by a large courtyard building (perhaps the Macellum Liviae) when Sixtus III built a basilica that reused 42 old columns, imparted to subsequent renovations that later gave rise to Santa Maria Maggiore, completed by Ferdinando Fuga’s facade. It is a modularity that the substratum sometimes imparts in complex forms, such as in the Savelli buildings on the Marcellus Theatre or Palazzo Massimo on the Odeon, or the various buildings of the Insula Mattei that were built on the area of the Balbus Theatre, which were forced to deal with the difficult geometric influence of the radial substratum below them.

8. Basilica of San Clemente. I-III century AD substrate consisting of a special serial building, perhaps belonging to the ancient mint and then to a Christian community center (KRAUTHEIMER 1986), formed by serial rooms organized around an open courtyard.
9. San Clemente. Early Christian IV-XI century basilica, obtained by "knotting" (STRAPPA 2015) the serial structures by re-using the substrate rooms around the court space

















The  phases

The process that leads to the construction of new organisms built on a previously existing substratum, varying in the different historical phases, has very different features from that which originate from the transformation of nature: here, matter is, in some way, pre-formed, it already has a shape, placed as it is at the end of an entire life cycle and at the beginning of another. The recognition of this form, linked to the historical and civic environment that created it, is the origin of a new design and constitutes its critical substance. That is why the phases we can identify in this transformation are dialectic: they should be interpreted as far as the interaction between the intentions of the ‘subject’ and the potential of the ‘object’ : they are not strictly chronological.

We can suppose an initial phase of invention, of the invenio involving the random, unplanned relationship with the object being renovated or rediscovered. This occurs when the last phase of a substratum organism’s consumption has ended, sometimes in the distant past, becoming the matter whose characters and attitude to receiving a new form are recognised by the new architect/builder. This first, logical phase therefore concerns the transformation of ‘encountered’ matter. Even before this matter is actually used, it has, at least in part, to do with the builder’s awareness in recognising the substance of which the old spoil is made and therefore to being transformed from matter into material (STRAPPA 1995).  Therefore the medieval builder who constructed on ancient ruins and from ancient ruins viewed it as materia signata: the substance of which the substratum city is built and that, despite having lost its significance, is transformed into meaningful heritage. This action is not only a cancellation, but a continuation too, an acknowledgement marked by an identification, followed or not by the passage from the simple use of “found” materials to their transformation. While the term ‘material’ still indicates matter’s suitability to be used in a new building, either in its original form or in a new form, this definition also fits the work of the calcarari (lime kilns workers) that recognised the suitability for construction in the second nature of imperial deposits, cancelling a significant part of our built heritage for centuries. In keeping with the masonry-plastic characters of Roman and Romanised cultural areas, the elements that were produced, apart from linear ones of Greek origin, typically featured two dimensions that prevailed over a third (flat or curved elements) and easily remained continuous, omogeneus and organic with the other elements of a structure.  As well as, on the fabric scale, the serial persistence of the base fabric and the singularity of the special organisms continues in other forms. The acknowledgment of the characters and of the building susceptibility of what the ancients have physically left to the new city, therefore, takes place at all scales. It is a metabolization process through which the city consumes the Ancient, regenerating itself, proof of the resilience of the plastic city of which Rome was the greatest expression.

The second phase involves the selection/specialisation, the decision of what role the substrate material (no longer merely matter) will play in a new structure. The selection phase, mainly based on economic and technical considerations, therefore coincides with a acknowledgment of the element ‘encountered’ in the ancient fabric, as an ‘eloquent legacy’, used with a new meaning in a new context. It is a phase that already had significant precedents in Roman times. From a constructive point of view, the choice of elements that could be obtained at different levels mainly involved:

  • the size (from the large blocks taken from the remnants of special public buildings to the decorative features reused with a new tectonic purpose);
  • the mechanical qualities, particularly their hardness: soft rock like sandstone, chalk, volcanic tuff, or hard rock like marble and granite; next their duration, their ability to stand over time, a feature that gained new symbolic importance in Christian Rome;
  • the workability, a feature often opposite but complementary to that of hardness and duration.

However, it also concerns the new typological effort spent in reusing ancient substrate layouts, with the widespread dequantification of special structures and their return to base types functions.Take, as example, the return to base fabric of the Pompeus Theatre (in this issue we are presenting the important study that one of our PhD students, Cristian Sammarco, is conducting on this subject, with the reconstruction of the base building organism originated by the ancient layout’s consumption, through the drawing of the cadastral maps mosaic).

The third, ethical phase, election/designation, concerns the action, the behaviour (θος) contributed by a critical consciousness of the act of reassembilg with which the builder completely considers the problem of the construction element’s meaning within developing urban and architectural structures. As well as through re-employment, the recognition of the ancient structures of elements is evident through the recovery of typical building systems.

There is no doubt that the reassembly of fragments of spolia involves an element of organicity (features such as proportion and congruence) borrowed through the custom with pre-existences. This consideration is even more obvious at the scale of the aggregative organism, of fabric where the continued existence of ancient buildings and urban structures indicates organic and typical proportions (take insulae for example). As mentioned earlier, this way of transforming existing urban lanscape has significant precedents as far back as Ancient Roman times. The reconstruction of the Porticus Octaviae commissioned by Emperor Severus Alexander in 203 A.D. involved the reuse of elements from the earlier Augustan construction. When chosen and rearranged within a new structures, however, they established a new relationship of necessity between elements.  This is an early, real ‘nomination’ and ‘designation’ operation, as was to occur extensively after the fall of the Roman Empire. This act of renaming things– which was widely practiced during the fifth century by Theoderic as a political act of reconciliation with the Roman civilitas and saw its first conclusion during the early XIII century– imbued each element with a role in new organisms that was equally structural, symbolic and political. Proof of this is, for example, Pope Honorius’s reconstruction of the Basilica of San Lorenzo Fuori le Mura, where architraves and columns taken from ancient buildings were rearranged in a new structure where, specifically and tellingly, the winged victories of two typical capitals dating from the Antonine era, used to celebrate the victory of Christian martyrs over their persecutors (DE LACHENAL 1995).

The fourth phase involves the symbolic and spatial reorganisation/repositioning of ancient objects, done with a total awareness of the phenomena of building and urban transformation. This corresponds to those great moments of aesthetic distillation, where the substratum also becomes a depository of memory generated by the familiarity with its reuse, clearly demonstrated not only by Baroque revisitations but also by the more pragmatic urban reconstructions of Rome during Umbertino  time and even more recently. An obvious example is the construction of Via Nazionale, which took its cue from the city square designed around the great exedra of the Roman baths. But, in general, it is testified by the whole approach to the renovation of the historic city even in restructuring routes that, by their very nature traumatic, were traced with a sensitivity towards substratum constructions that, except for Viale Trastevere, is unequalled in Europe. Take, for example, the case of Corso Rinascimento and the entire renovation programme carried out on the Stadium of Domitian.  These interventions, carried out in a climate of widespread fascist rhetoric,  would today be considered unacceptable, but nevertheless often capable of reinterpreting types and layouts in a modern way and, at the same time, in keeping with (‘in concordanza di fase’ as Muratori would say) the weight of their history.

10. Ghetto fabric overlapping the remains of the Octavia Portico























In conclusion, I believe that we can surmise a morphological, process-based method of interpreting the substratum that gave rise to modern cities based on cyclical phases of change, analysed, using the tools that architects possess, as meaningful heritage. The effort made to synthetically grasp the processes by turning to morphological methods, which we are by no means suggesting should substitute the essential work of archaeologists and historians, could have a fundamental value for the architectural design by indicating the ways in which not only history has generated new forms, but also how the present, so to speak, flows in the past. This powerful legacy of guidelines – absolutely not oriented towards imitating the past–could support, if we are able to recognise them, the work of contemporary architects: a substratum of multiple, shared meanings, in contrast to the individualistic trend of architectural design. A legacy stratified over time, to be deciphered and interpreted with new eyes identifying within it a new and fertile organicity, as in every phase of the great civil crisis.


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Giuseppe Strappa


In: Paola Gregory (a cura di) , Nuovo Realismo/Postmodernismo. Dibattito aperto fra architettura e filosofia, Officina, Roma 2016
Intervengo in questo dibattito come architetto e docente di progettazione. Mi guardo bene, quindi, dall’entrare nel merito di considerazioni che riguardano una disciplina, come quella filosofica, complessa e molto diversa dalla mia. Vorrei però fare alcune considerazioni che possono esporre il punto di vista, certamente di parte, di un progettista.
Dirò subito che ho sempre un po’ diffidato dal recente entusiasmo, spesso dimostrato dagli architetti, per le discipline filosofiche. Non che la filosofia non abbia a che fare con l’architettura, ci mancherebbe. Una vasta letteratura lo dimostra, dalle riflessioni di Ludwig Wittgenstein a quelle di Martin Heidegger e di Jaques Derrida, al lavoro di alcuni colleghi, come Paola Gregory, che si sono dedicati con grande competenza all’argomento.  Certamente anche la filosofia entra di diritto nel grande crogiolo dei materiali che gli architetti impiegano, più o meno disinvoltamente, per costruire il proprio corpus disciplinare. Il quale sembra oggi, tuttavia, un bizzarro collage di disparati saperi.
Nel mondo in cui viviamo, a ben vedere, nulla è estraneo all’architettura, la quale possiede una propria natura appassionata ed empatica, indagatrice, formatasi attraverso una consuetudine con la sintesi delle cose e delle idee che forse è il carattere specifico del nostro mestiere (mestiere!). Per questa ragione lavera questione epistemologica in architettura oggi, ritengo, non è
tanto la ricerca ansiosa dello scambio tra discipline, da sempre per noi necessario e inevitabile, quanto una perimetrazione, il riconoscimento logico e metodologico del centro scientifico della ricerca e della pratica progettuale.
Per questo credo che il tema affrontato in questo incontro, il rapporto con la realtà della quale l’architettura non può essere un semplice rispecchiamento, si collochi in una zona storicamente certa e investa direttamente il nostro lavoro. Esso riguarda, a mio avviso, le condizioni in cui operiamo quotidianamente e sulle quali occorre fare una seria riflessione.
Qualche giorno fa Salvatore Settis, in occasione dell’apertura dell’anno accademico alla Normale di Pisa (1), poneva il problema delle forme di comunicazione, reali o virtuali, a proposito degli oggetti esposti nei musei.
Citando il libro dello storico Steven Conn intitolato, addirittura, “Do museums still need objects?” (2) Settis annotava, laicamente, la crescente sfiducia nella capacità dell’oggetto di trasmettere conoscenza: le tecnologie informatiche possiedono una verità che non vuole essere equivalente a quella della cosa reale; pretendono di porsi come realtà di grado superiore (l’oggetto diviene monotono, nel senso letterale del termine, di fronte al turbine di informazioni che un semplice computer può fornire). Probabilmente é vero e, come è noto, considerazioni come queste sembrano aver aperto, per estensione, nuovi orizzonti alle ricerche degli architetti.
Ricerche che si concludono, invariabilmente, in esiti analogici, non investendo l’essenza del problema.
Se questa strada sia opportuna o meno, dipende dalla definizione che diamo di architettura. Renato Capozzi ha affermato, nel suo intervento, che dobbiamo avere il coraggio di esprimere la nostra definizione di architettura, altrimenti non ci capiamo. Cercherò di farlo.
So che la mia opinione in proposito non è condivisa da alcuni colleghi, ma credo che la difficoltà di questo dibattito sia contenuta proprio nella spiegazione del ruolo disciplinare dell’architettura la quale, per statuto, non può che essere strettamente legata anche alla materialità (nozione complementare a quella di processualità) del nostro mestiere, al valore dell’atto giudicato in quanto compiuto, indipendentemente da propositi e congiunture che lo determinano.
Possiamo discutere di come questo legame si possa o meno chiamare realismo, e come si collochi tra i tanti “realismi”. Però credo che il processo di evidente astrazione del nostro operare dai dati concreti non costituisca una nuova strada, ma uno dei problemi, ancora urgenti, dell’architettura contemporanea.
L’architettura è certamente anche comunicazione, arte, mercato, ma, per definizione non rappresenta, comunica o rispecchia la realtà: è la realtà. Architetture sono gli spazi e i paesaggi dentro i quali noi viviamo, sono le costruzioni, le strade, le piazze che noi abitiamo. Anche il disegno più astratto ha senso architettonico se si rapporta a un progetto di trasformazione, a un’idea di futuro. Il valore che possiede in sé è un’altra cosa.
Credo che, per quanto fluido possa essere oggi il centro delle discipline, per quanto incerti i loro confini, l’architettura, più di altri saperi, deve ridefinire il proprio statuto e le proprie specificità.
Noi dobbiamo, per poter coltivare nuove forme di sovrapposizione fra saperi diversi, riflettere sulle specificità, sui caratteri distintivi del nostro lavoro. Proprio perché la sua natura sincretica rischia di disperdersi sotto l’aggressione dei tanti specialismi con i quali tende a identificarsi. Il fascino che questi esercitano sugli architetti è un altro dei nostri problemi.
Dentro questa concreta specificità dell’architettura, naturalmente, sta anche il progetto. Il progetto fa parte della realtà dell’architettura.
Vorrei tentare a questo proposito, me lo consentano per una volta i filosofi, di interpretare il ruolo del progetto alla luce di quanto è stato qui detto da Maurizio Ferraris sulla nozione di documentalità (3). Il progetto è, sotto questo punto di vista, un oggetto sociale, ma è tale in quanto prodotto, come osservava Franco Purini, non solo del lavoro dell’architetto. Come pratica di negoziazione e mediazione intervengono nella sua definizione diversi attori: la finanza, la committenza, la normativa, secondo un procedimento che ha le proprie consuetudini, regole, rituali (l’architettura non è solo processo, ma anche procedura che s’iscrive in una sequenza di norme e formalità).  A volte intervengono gli utenti e, alla fine, anche l’architetto. La conclusione è un contratto. Questa è, se vogliamo, la parte immateriale, e non per questo meno concreta, della realtà dell’architettura, che è infine tradotta e criticamente registrata dal progetto nella sua redazione grafica.
Tale graficizzazione è una registrazione che ha diverse forme di circolazione. Quella amministrativo/burocratica è una delle possibili forme di comunicazione e scambio. Si danno poi altre forme di circolazione, come quella tecnico/amministrativa, ad esempio, o quella estetico/artistica che possiede un proprio circuito (quello della critica, delle pubblicazioni, ecc). Sono tutte, certo, forme di registrazione. Ma per l’architetto l’artefatto è un’altra cosa: è il modo attraverso il quale l’immaterialità del contratto diventa concretamente materia alla quale dare forma.
E siamo arrivati al centro del problema.
Noi ci occupiamo di forma. Sotto due aspetti apparentemente divergenti.
Quello della percezione, della αἴσθησις, è oggi il più coltivato dagli architetti nelle sue mode legate, di volta in volta all’arte o alla scienza (si veda la recente deriva verso le neuroscienze). Quello, ben più complesso e meno accattivante, della morfologia, del λόγος, dello studio della forma come aspetto visibile di una struttura e delle scelte che ne derivano: la forma come formazione che presuppone un processo formativo conoscibile e razionalmente, indagabile (4).
A dimostrazione di come questa suddivisione sia riduttiva ed esprima, in realtà, i poli di una diade di termini opposti e complementari, una delle definizioni di forma più pertinente agli studi di morfologia è stata proposta proprio uno studioso d’estetica, Luigi Pareyson.
La forma è un organismo, ci insegna Pareyson, e in quanto tale è formata e formante, con proprie leggi interne che legano le parti in unità. Per noi questa definizione è di grande interesse e tutt’altro che neutrale.
Significa leggere il territorio come organismo territoriale, come architettura in cui ogni elemento si annoda all’altro in un rapporto di necessità, legato all’orografia e all’uso del suolo. Anche se le sue condizioni sono apparentemente frammentate e disperse, significa riconoscere nel territorio proprie capacità formative, l’attitudine a ricostruire una nuova, pur instabile, organicità.
Considerando il paesaggio non solo nei suoi aspetti legati alla percezione, ma come aspetto visibile di strutture territoriali in trasformazione.
E lo stesso vale, a scale diverse, per l’organismo urbano, per i tessuti, per gli edifici: la forma della città come processo in atto e in continuo divenire.
Gli stessi edifici possono essere riguardati come organismi edilizi, dove la forma è l’esito di un permanente processo di trasformazione dalla materia al materiale, agli elementi, alle strutture, ai sistemi collaboranti tra loro a formare, dare forma alla realtà costruita.
L’aspetto dell’architettura che percepiamo può essere, dunque, considerato uno stato di provvisorio equilibrio all’interno di uno svolgimento continuo, di un inarrestabile processo di trasformazioni. E l’opera architettonica è il processo stesso della sua formazione, che non s’interrompe ma trova una sua temporanea unità e compiutezza, il momento di equilibrio in cui «la forma si placa e insieme si raccoglie» (5).
Questa nozione di forma-formazione ha conseguenze dirette sul progetto e sulla didattica di progettazione. Cercherò di esporre il problema proprio dal punto di vista didattico, aspetto particolare che spiega bene, a mio avviso, le condizioni generali in cui operiamo.
I nostri libri di architettura moderna e contemporanea, che dovrebbero esporre agli studenti come si siano formati gli attuali modi di produzione e quali siano i loro problemi, costituiscono, in realtà, interpretazioni di interpretazioni staccate dai dati concreti. Al centro di questi libri raramente incontriamo la fisicità delle architetture, costruzioni inserite nel grande flusso delle trasformazioni in atto, ma figure esemplari di architetti, il loro modo personale ed eroico di produrre idee e intuizioni, il concept che altri tradurranno in costruzione. È ancora la storia consolatrice, la “storia monumentale” di cui parlava Nietzsche, del passato esemplare, anche se recente, e dei modelli da imitare. Sarebbe utile, invece, la conoscenza della realtà costruita nel suo divenire concreto che serve all’operare, riflettendo sulla quale è possibile, come cercherò di spiegare, la costruzione della teoria. In questo la nostra Facoltà ha una grande tradizione ormai, nei fatti, abbandonata.
La “critica operativa” di Bruno Zevi, la “storia operante” di Saverio Muratori sono aspetti diversi del comune problema di leggere la storia, che è anche storia dello spirito ma rivolta al mondo materiale delle azioni umane: accumuli di esperienze, esplorazioni, esperimenti sul modo di edificare e abitare lo spazio.
In realtà da qualche tempo anche l’architettura, come gli oggetti dei musei discussi da Settis, è sede di un processo di progressiva separazione: noi ci stacchiamo gradualmente dalle cose che dovrebbero essere la materia stessa dell’interpretazione.
Questo fenomeno non accade da oggi. È scomparsa l’esegesi del testo.
Mai che compaia, con poche eccezioni, lo studio del costruito reale, dell’edificio, l’analisi del formarsi del suo significato che contiene, spesso, anche la spiegazione della sua poesia. Operazione, in teoria, delegata ad altre discipline “complementari” al progetto. Eppure, anche se l’architettura è per sua natura sincretica, la sua scienza non è la somma di altre scienze. Per questo l’architetto dovrebbe ricavare dall’esegesi del testo (che per noi è il mondo costruito nel suo divenire, le città, il territorio visti nel loro contesto storico e sociale) un proprio sistema di conoscenza. Servirebbe a tornare all’origine delle cose, ai problemi concreti e veri della nostra attività, perché la teoria per gli architetti – forse i nostri amici filosofi inorridiranno – non è una serie di principi generali, razionali e rigidamente coerenti tra loro dai quali derivare, per via logica, indicazioni per operare. È una cosa molto meno cristallina, è stratificazione di esperienze, generalizzazione di quello che si fa, che serve in un certo momento dell’attività positiva del progettare: è utile a riflettere sul proprio agire, a dare coerenza e anche a spiegare quello che si sta producendo. Per un architetto la teoria è ancora, in definitiva, il tentativo di sistematizzazione dell’esperienza che tenta faticosamente di riportare l’aspetto frammentato e particolare di ogni gesto alla totalità della conoscenza, per quanto questa possa essere, nella condizione contemporanea, mutevole e contraddittoria.
Non a caso nel passato ogni teoria conteneva sempre la riflessione pratica, ogni trattato una parte di manualistica.
Certo, lo sforzo di trasformare in cosmos ordinato il caos indomabile delle cose, che non si lasciano ingabbiare in alcuna tassonomia o legge, è destinato al fallimento (lo é sempre stato, non solo nella condizione contemporanea).
Ma il desiderio di quell’ordine, che comunque finisce per incidere sulla realtà e dal quale ci si aspetta una qualche forma di felicità, è l’essenza struggente e irrinunciabile del progetto, senza la quale ogni sforzo è destinato a disperdersi, ogni scrittura a non lasciare tracce.
I molti modi di vedere le cose che la teoria raccoglie ed esprime, quindi, con tutte le incoerenze che può comportare, sono, in qualche modo, tutti veri, sono una constatazione. E l’attuale rinuncia alla generalità capace di produrre generi e generare il particolare, in nome dell’impossibilità, nel mondo contemporaneo, di ogni sistema unificante, è, ritengo, una dolorosa perdita per la nostra disciplina.
A sostegno di quest’affermazione porterò, in termini concreti, un esempio che riguarda i materiali e le tecniche di architettura.
Proprio il processo di crescente astrazione del modo con cui è comunicata l’architettura, insieme alla progressiva specializzazione delle discipline che concorrono al progetto, ha indotto a considerare i materiali, gli elementi, le strutture che danno forma all’architettura come mera traduzione di un processo ideativo: esecuzione, realizzazione. La conseguenza è che gli studenti, in mancanza di una visione generale del problema, “subiscono” oggi la tecnica come un pesante compromesso, una sofferta dicotomia tra la soggettività dell’ideazione e l’oggettività della realtà materiale.
Il riconoscimento di un’ineliminabile materialità dell’architettura dovrebbe riportarci, invece, alla realtà concreta del nostro mestiere dalla quale occorre, oggi, ripartire. Perché credo che noi siamo di fronte a una potenziale rigenerazione dell’architettura di cui non sempre abbiamo piena coscienza. Oggi l’industria produce una sorta di seconda natura: non materiali, ma materia in parte sconosciuta nella quale la nostra coscienza dovrebbe riconoscere l’attitudine a far parte del ciclo dell’architettura. Siamo di fronte alle condizioni dell’uomo primitivo al cospetto dell’ambiente ignoto che lo circonda: può riconoscere nell’argilla l’attitudine a divenire mattone, alla pietra la disposizione a farsi parete, origine di una cultura plastico-muraria, distinguere nell’albero possibili piedritti e travi che propiziano il formarsi di un mondo elastico-ligneo. È la coscienza dell’uomo che dovrebbe decidere L’architettura come organismo e processo oggi, ancora una volta, che quella materia diventerà “materia segnata”, materiale finalizzato dall’ uso, designato da un progetto. Che non è semplicemente di trasformazione fisica! I materiali moderni lasceranno tracce se sapremo inserirli criticamente nel grande, vitale, continuo processo delle trasformazioni artificiali della natura, riconoscendone il profondo valore culturale.
Anche nella storia dell’architettura moderna, è il caso del calcestruzzo, i grandi mutamenti sono avvenuti attraverso un processo culturale, non semplicemente attraverso scoperte e invenzioni.
Non è un caso che la ricerca di François Hennebique, padre riconosciuto del cemento armato, sia iniziata dal lavoro di restauratore di cattedrali medievali, nel cuore stesso di un contesto pertinente al mondo gotico e mall’area culturale elastico lignea. Hennebique impiegava i primi elementi in calcestruzzo prefabbricati per sostituire travi di legno all’interno di sistemi discreti e seriali. Attraverso il rapporto diretto con i materiali, ha quindi progressivamente preso coscienza di come la nuova materia, una pietra artificiale, potesse dare origine, nell’unione col ferro, a un materiale differente e nuovo: di come tra i diversi elementi si potesse stabilire un rapporto di collaborazione e solidarietà. E di come la nuova solidarietà tra le parti desse origine alla trasmissione di nuove, più complesse sollecitazioni chiedendo che ogni elemento fosse maggiormente congruente e proporzionato al proprio ruolo, osservazione che ha permesso la soluzione dei nuovi sistemi iperstatici.
Congruenza e proporzione: gli stessi termini e criteri che l’architetto artista dell’epoca, meno interessato ai problemi strutturali, impiegava nella composizione di facciate e piante, stavano per essere usati anche dagli ingegneri per il dimensionamento delle membrature, a dimostrazione della sostanziale unità dell’operazione progettuale. Le stesse definizioni potevano essere impiegate per leggere il graduale predisporsi alla collaborazione degli elementi dell’architettura e la loro progressione di organicità.
Io credo che la cultura architettonica abbia perso, allora, un’occasione di riconciliazione tra le sue due anime, tra la materialità della costruzione e l’astrazione del disegno artistico.
Alla fine dell’Ottocento, quando si sviluppavano gli studi sull’elasticità dei materiali sulla scia dell’interpretazione “architettonica” del problema proposta da Claude-Louis Navier, architetti e ingegneri non hanno saputo (o potuto) comprendere come il loro lavoro non potesse essere solo complementare, ma sostanzialmente identico.
Il termine fisico di “congruenza”, che gli ingegneri cominciavano a impiegare nella soluzione di problemi scientifici, legava insieme analisi del comportamento dei materiali e forma architettonica, sollecitazioni e deformazioni al disegno dell’opera. E altri aspetti della conoscenza scientifica sembravano propiziare una nuova unità di saperi che, sotto la spinta della specializzazione, percorrevano in realtà strade parallele e rigorosamente autonome.
Come, ad esempio, la nozione di vincolo, che contribuiva a spiegare in termini razionali uno degli aspetti dell’idea di nodo che gli architetti avevano sempre percepito e definito in termini di linguaggio e codici.
Molte delle considerazioni sulla conformità e misura tra le parti di una costruzione elaborate per secoli dai trattatisti, trovavano, peraltro, un primo legame, seppure parziale, con la fisica e la matematica, dimostrando come intuizione e scienza potevano divenire due aspetti di uno stesso processo di conoscenza: espressione, appunto, dell’“arte della costruzione”. L’inadeguatezza a comprendere questo momento di potenziale sintesi era, in realtà, conseguenza di una trasmissione dei saperi fondata su una scissione funzionale ai nuovi equilibri sociali ed economici, come Schopenhauer rilevava con profetica chiarezza (6).
Se volessimo davvero rinnovare le scuole di architettura, il loro studio dovrebbe indicare il ritorno alla realtà, dimostrare come la materia sia parte costituente dell’invenzione stessa. Il progetto come espressione artistica: non solo manifestazione romantica dell’io individuale, ma arte della sintesi, della capacità operante, insieme, di conoscere e interpretare.
Eppure, oggi, perfino negli studi specialistici sulla costruzione i termini fisici del problema direttamente legati alla forma sono sempre più mediati e nascosti dall’aspetto matematico.
Vorrei concludere ricordando una conferenza al Politecnico di Milano di Edoardo Benvenuto, teologo e studioso di strutture, autore di singolari opere di filosofia della scienza7 nelle quali affermava che «[…] l’integrazione tra architettura e razionalità scientifica supera il momento strumentale e mira al significato stesso dell’opera architettonica».
Sosteneva, Benvenuto, che l’architetto deve ritornare, richiamandosi a una sorta di nuova fisica aristotelica, al contatto diretto con le cose più elementari; che c’è un mondo vasto e nuovo da scoprire negli elementi semplici dell’architettura, nella trave e nel pilastro, nel loro senso costruttivo e simbolico, anche se sulla trave e sul pilastro da parte di fisici e ingegneri è stato ormai scritto tutto.

1  S. Settis, Reale o virtuale?, https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=LpBXuyJXYWY.
2  S. Conn, Do Museums Still Need Objects? The Arts and Intellectual Life in Modern America, University of Pennsylvania 2010.
3  Cfr. M. Ferraris, Documentalità. Perché è necessario lasciar tracce, Roma–Bari 2009.
4  Cfr. G. Strappa, L’architettura come processo. Il mondo plastico murario in divenire,
Milano 2014.
5  L. Pareyson, Estetica. Teoria della formatività, Firenze 1974.

6  A. Schopenhauer, Ueber die Universitäts-Philosophie, Berlin 1851 (trad. it. La filosofia delle università, Milano 1992).
7  E. Benvenuto, Materialismo e pensiero scientifico, Milano 1974; Id., La scienza delle costruzioni e il suo sviluppo storico, Firenze 1981.











LECT. 7 B SPECIAL nodal and knotting – pres. person.

The nodal special building is the part of the urban fabric characterized by a central structure  organically hierarchized in relation to the others

This central structures are, from the point of view:

STATIC              brought, compared to other load bearing (collaborating)

DISTRIBUTIVE   served, compared to other serving

SPATIAL               nodal, compared to other serial

Contemporary architectural publishing


Contemporary architectural publishing

U + D  Editorial N.1

In order to understand the state of contemporary architectural publishing, I believe we should re-read the articles that launched new phases in the great journals of the past. Take, for example, the courageous editorial published in 1941 in «Costruzioni-Casabella», issue n. 157, where Giuseppe Pagano attacked mannerist traditionalism and monumental obsessions, initiating a discussion on the formalism of Fascist architecture which was to influence the architectural debate right up to the present day. Or take that of Ernesto Nathan Rogers, published in 1954 in «Casabella-Continuità», issue n. 199, where the famous quote by Marcus Aurelius “He who sees present things sees all that has been since the dawn of time and what will come about for all eternity because they are all of the same nature and species”, posed dynamic and highly topical questions concerning the relationship with history, the design merits of existing buildings and conservation as a creative act. Or take George Howe’s academic discourse, published as an editorial in the first issue of «Perspecta» in 1952, on training architects to be creators of a synthesis that draws together different disciplines, on architecture as the art of feeling, doing and thinking which influenced the future characteristics of Yale School of Architecture and had enormous influence on the Italian field as well.

It was a time when the choice of what topic and text should be published was made by editors who were often architects, just as the authors of the articles were often active draughtsmen who, as well as being interested in maintaining the high quality of the journal and taking pride in it, all had a common concept of architecture that was generally shared, though expressed in a multitude of different results. What is worth noting is that in re-reading these texts and comparing them with the rest of the pages in those magazines, we cannot detect any similarity, even fleeting, with the state of contemporary architectural publishing; compared to the selfless commitment that those editorials expressed, today’s situation stands out in all its distressing, novel triviality. Of course, the entertainment architecture churned out by top professional practices and designers riding on the crest of a wave cannot help but spill over onto the glossy pages of the most popular magazines, thronging articles and reviews. It is the market itself that dictates this, the strong link between a product that suits sales conditions and suitable advertising, in line with the needs of distribution. In contrast, what leaves us aghast is this form of publishing’s total, meek adherence to its role as a large or small hub serving a sector that specialises in communication, the Internet’s addiction to neutrality, with the result that it goes from being a potential instrument of freedom to one of approval and, at the same time, escapism.

We no longer even feel the need for a critique of the articles published nor for suggestions when we read these journals; instead, the reader comes across a series of perfect photographs taken by famous photographers, accompanied by a text that is purely meant to be decorative or, if you like, graphic: filling empty spaces, mimicking alignments. For some time now, articles that could cause irritation, stir up debate and controversy capable of generating real knowledge have not been published. What’s more, no one misses them either. After all, it is this very democracy of consumption, the choices induced by those who buy and leaf through these magazines, that is the naive pretext used to justify such a situation. Furthermore, it is a situation that corresponds to an architectural market where an immediately satisfying novelty, no matter how unrealistic or useless, is more important than corroborating a truth manifested by others or contributing to forming a shared heritage. It is a commercial circuit that generates legends and heroes, inexplicable masterpieces and truths that do not require any proof and are based only on the might of media approval. In such circumstances, it is clear that we are offered no real choice or alternative, the basic condition for all freedoms: every single new issue of such magazines, with the odd exception, reveals a world of opportunism, repudiation and manneristic revolutions that only help sustain a spectacle that is actually increasingly unpalatable, as proven by the unprecedented crisis the industry is currently experiencing. And yet it seems that some of these magazines have now been entrusted with the quasi-institutional role of establishing what is culture in architecture and what isn’t, who the authors with new messages worth heeding are and who are not.

It is a dumbing down in favour of the most common clichés and the trendiest research that, even in universities, recent evaluation organisations seem intent on encouraging, as recently occurred in an obtusely authoritarian way. Given such a state of affairs, «U+D urbanform and design» – loosely created with the patronage of the International Seminar on Urban Form’s Italian branch and the Lpa Laboratory, with support from the DiAP Department of Architecture and Design of “Sapienza” University, Rome – aims to put itself forward as an alternative space designed for the entire scientific community, open to discussing the research that is being carried out on Urban Morphology, understood in its widest sense as an instrument for interpreting and designing architecture at all its different levels: buildings, cities and regions. The field of Urban Morphology is the innovative continuation of a strong heritage of study that developed in many European research centres, particularly after the Second World War. However, in the sense of the term as we understand it, it is not a neutral discipline. We believe that it contains in its very DNA a realistic and clear proposal for interpreting and designing architecture that defies the current drift of architecture understood as the art of producing the original and ending up with the superfluous.

The basic theory implicit in this project, as well as the reason for putting forward a new magazine, is indeed the firm belief that what we as architects need to produce in a tangible way today is the continuation of an ongoing process, a process that we need to understand and study, that we need to be aware of in order to legitimately tackle changed design conditions and unprecedented forms of private and collective life that generate previously unknown spaces and brand new symbolic references. This clearly involves a decision that also defies what is, to all intents and purposes, a kind of ‘fragment art’ that has evolved over the past decade in Italian culture and that seems to interpret the urban landscape as a combination of separate phenomena and makes no attempt to grasp the shared and universal elements that render each particular phenomenon meaningful. This is why, rather than focusing on Urban Morphology in the strict sense of the term, this magazine will concentrate on issues and knowledge concerning the constructed world as it develops, the needs of a sustainable environment, the product of an intelligent and balanced use of resources, the prospect of resilient, flexible cities that can transform change into a resource. These are all issues that, if we are capable of looking beyond the cultural fashions that have stifled them, still possess an inherent aspiration to consider architecture as a tangible place where life is lived and pulsates, rather than simply considering its aesthetic merits. There are also notions such as “organismo urbano”, “tessuto” and “processo formativo” that permeate forms and cultures of contemporary life, present in an infinite number of different versions due to vastly different geographic, historical and political conditions, studied and employed with optimism, with a look to the future. If we briefly review the great processes of transformation underway, the current one appears to be, in actual fact, the crisis period that comes with every change at the end of a historical era, the extreme consequence of a sequence of events that regularly crosses the entire history of culture, though in ever-changing forms and terms.

This magazine will support such a stance with the conviction that is characteristic of its editorial team, as well as the openness and willingness to discuss that is the spice of every scientific initiative. Articles will be chosen on the basis of a peer review system and though there will be a printed version of the journal, it will mostly be available in online form. Indeed, the Internet is a new, free territory that has only been partly explored: it features peaks that anyone can climb, communication hubs that can be accessed from several different quarters, centres attracting common interests. It is a territory that is open to the future and that is pensioning off an architectural publishing industry that has become stagnant and has jealously barricaded itself behind monopolies and financial rewards derived from advantageous positions. In line with its editorial strategy, the expectation is that the magazine will change and improve over time in response to readers’ suggestions and criticism, elements that the editorial team, the management and the scientific committee declare themselves to be entirely open to as of now, in the hope that their efforts could prove to be a small contribution towards paving the way for better times.