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António Alberto Lopes Fernandes Duarte Correia
FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE
From Modern to Global Space
VOLUME I (THESIS)
Tese de Doutoramento em Arquitectura, orientada pelos
Professor Doutor Luís Simões da Silva e Professor Doutor Vítor Murtinho e apresentada ao
Departamento de Arquitectura da Faculdade de Ciências e Tecnologia da Universidade de Coimbra
Dezembro de 2017
FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE From Modern to Global Space VOLUME I (THESIS) António Alberto Lopes Fernandes Duarte Correia
Bolsa SFRH/BD/65732/2009:
António Lopes Correia
FABRICATING
ARCHITECTURE
From Modern
to Global Space
VOLUME I (THESIS)
PhD thesis in Architecture, advised by
Prof. Dr. Luís Simões da Silva and Prof. Dr. Vítor Murtinho
and presented to the Department of Architecture of the
Faculty of Sciences and Technology of the University of Coimbra
December 2017
à Sofia e ao Jorge
Table of Contents
AGRADECIMENTOS —11
RESUMO —13
ABSTRACT —15
INTRODUCTION —17
IA MECHANISTIC INHERITANCE —25
1 Industrialization and the housing problem:Architecture’s foundations through modernism —27
1.1 Echoes of a Cartesian space and time —27
1.2 The establishment of a modernist architecture through CIAM —31
1.3 The housing problem in the modernist formulation —33
1.4 Convolutions of a modernist science —36
1.5 CIAM dismissal towards a new modernity —40
2 Engaged structures in a (post)modern world: Concepts, trends, forms and alterities —45
2.1 Structuralism, semiotics and significance —45
2.1.1 Language and semiotics —45
2.1.2 Building meaning —51
2.2 Research trends of a structuralist affinity[vernacular, natural, normative, numerical] —59
2.3 Structuralist related forms —66
2.4 Alterity in architectural production —72
3 Taxonomic landscapes:(Re)mapping architecture’s structures —81
3.1 A general notion of systems —82
3.2 Type and architecture —87
3.2.1 A kin order of type —87
3.2.2 An enlightened type —88
3.2.3 Characteristics and limitations —90
3.2.4 A rationale of type —92
3.2.5 Using and understanding types —95
3.3 A discrete view of architectural production —98
3.3.1 Matter, craft and reason —99
3.3.2 Space, time and network —101
3.3.3 Systems and shearing layers —104
II(PRE)FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE —109
1 A prefabrication terminology —111
1.1 (Post)industrial architectural production —111
1.2 An evolutionary view of lightweight dry construction practices —116
1.3 Towards a prefabrication definition —120
2 From the modernist industrial paradigmsto a networked reality —127
2.1 A business reality —127
2.2 Notes from the automotive industry —130
2.3 Notes from the aerospace industry —133
2.4 Notes from the shipbuilding industry —135
2.5 Comparison and challenges towards housing production —137
3 Prefabrication and variability —141
3.1 Logistics and output vectors —141
3.2 Mass-production and mass-customization —144
3.3 Notes towards variability in prefabrication of houses —148
4 Modularity —153
4.1 A modularity context —153
4.2 Defining modules and modularity —154
4.2.1 A system’s perspective —154
4.2.2 Types of modularity —155
4.2.3 Functional mapping —156
4.2.4 Interfaces —157
4.2.5 Coupling and decoupling —159
4.2.6 Measures of modularity —160
4.2.7 An example —163
4.3 Notes on modularity and architectural production —166
4.3.1 Modular knowledgeability —166
4.3.2 Modularity and variability —166
4.3.3 Change and obsolescence —167
4.3.4 Implementing a modular architecture —170
4.3.5 Modularity and architectural form —172
5 A practical case:The Affordable Houses Project —175
5.1 Background —175
5.2 Preliminary remarks on the affordability concept —178
5.3 The AHP design system —180
5.3.1 Main conceptual lines —180
5.3.2 Setting initial modular constraints —181
5.3.3 The original AHP design system —183
5.3.4 An illustrative design case —186
5.4 Optimizing the design system —189
5.4.1 Expanding the grid —189
5.4.2 Definitions and formalisms of modular shapes —191
5.4.3 Tackling dependencies —195
5.4.4 Outlining a minimum combinable unit —198
5.4.5 Improving symmetry and beyond —201
5.4.6 Light and ventilation constraints —204
5.4.7 Theoretical grid constraints —207
5.4.8 Establishing a minimum circulation —207
5.4.9 Functional mapping strategies —210
5.4.10 The multistory building —215
5.5 The prototype —219
5.5.1 Modularity, construction and sustainability —219
5.5.2 Building the prototype —220
5.6 Revisiting the prototype —226
5.6.1 The company —226
5.6.2 The prototype —227
IIIPRACTICAL CONCLUSIONS ON A (PRE)FABRICATED ARCHITECTURE —231
1 On an idea of prefabrication —231
2 Territorial considerations —232
3 Economy and value —232
4 Commercial considerations —233
5 Clients’ bias, resistances and preconceptions —234
6 Clients’ attractiveness factors —235
7 People and the construction industry —236
8 The public and the architect —237
9 Technical considerations —238
10 Lightweight prefab issues —239
11 Architectural productionand industrial paradigms —241
12 Modularity, change and variability —242
13 Impacting design performance —245
14 Future work —246
IVEPISTEMOLOGICAL NOTES [A GLOBAL EPILOGUE] —247
1 Globalization’s semiotic paradox —249
2 Space-time shifts —251
3 A global architecture factory —255
4 Architecture, media and the masses —261
5 Shifts in the profession —267
6 Crisis, conflict and empowerment —271
7 Closure —277
BIBLIOGRAPHY —281
TABLE OF ACRONYMS —303
TABLE OF FIGURES —305
TABLE OF TABLES —307
REFERENCES —309
11
Agradecimentos
Quero começar por agradecer aos meus orientadores, Professor Luís Simões da Silva e Professor
Vítor Murtinho, pelo apoio dado na investigação que conduziu a esta tese.
Quero também agradecer aos amigos e companheiros desta ou de outras aventuras à volta da
arquitetura (e não só), como o Filipe Costa, o Rui Santos, o César Cerqueira e o Hélder Ferreira.
Quero também agradecer à Cláudia Pinto pelas boas conversas.
Por fim, que é o princípio, quero agradecer à minha família. Aos meus pais, por quem sou, irmã
e tia Prazeres. Aos meus amores, a minha casa, Sofia e Jorge.
12
13
Resumo
Esta tese estabelece uma visão modular da pré-fabricação sob uma perspetiva da produção arquite-
tónica. É fundamentada tanto de um ponto de vista taxonómico, delineado de uma herança modernista,
com o problema da habitação como veículo principal, e de um ponto de vista estruturalista, delineado
a partir de elementos linguístico/semióticos, constituintes essenciais de processos socioculturais. Pretende
esclarecer vínculos entre a produção arquitetónica e uma esfera industrial na abordagem dos requisitos
contemporâneos da habitação, favorecendo modelos de alteridade (e.g., implementando flexibilidade ou
abordagens de adaptabilidade) em detrimento de modelos de controlo mais rígidos (e.g., propostas fun-
cionalistas) e endossando uma égide modular. A partir daí, propõe-se um contributo mais geral para o
debate sobre o papel da arquitetura num mundo globalizado, na sua inevitável evolução epistemológica
para um lugar diferente, (re)fabricando-se. Assim, num nível mais abrangente, esta tese é sobre a obser-
vação da pré-fabricação de habitação como um caso particular do que poderá ser o diálogo epistemológico
da arquitetura com o estado tecnológico e o paradigma informacional de um mundo globalizado.
Na origem desta tese está um desenvolvimento prático de um caso de estudo de prefabricação de
habitação para fins residenciais de baixa ou média densidade habitacional, com recurso a uma filosofia
estrutural ligeira. De forma direta e indireta, esse caso contribuiu para resultados concretos, como a
criação de uma empresa de construção pré-fabricada, um protótipo de habitação em escala real e uma
patente registada sobre construção modular. Todavia, o trabalho inicial suscitou várias perplexidades,
nomeadamente na relação histórica entre a prática arquitetónica com métodos pré-fabricados e no que
parece ser uma sujeição a um preconceito social, ou na validade de alguns discursos arquitetónicos em
face às idiossincrasias de algumas práticas construtivas [aparentemente] inovadoras. Esse questiona-
mento manifesta-se numa revisão crítica do caso de estudo inicial, que coloca um foco em aspetos de
sistematização de processos de produção arquitetónica, mas também em todo o seu enquadramento e
contextualização histórica, teórica e crítica. Parte desta tese tem, pois, intuitos metodológicos no que
concerne uma clarificação da lógica que levou aos desenvolvimentos tangíveis iniciais (construção do
protótipo, etc.). Além disso, constitui um esforço para relacionar um discurso arquitetónico com uma
prática onde uma semântica de pré-fabricação desejavelmente possa ocorrer com desassombro.
14
15
Abstract
This thesis lays a modular insight on prefabrication from an architectural production perspective.
It is grounded both from a taxonomic standpoint, outlined from the modernist architecture inher-
itance, with the housing problem as main vehicle, and from a semiotic, structuralist standpoint, out-
lined from the linguistic/semiotic socio-cultural building blocks. It aims to clarify bonds between
architectural production and an industrial sphere in the addressing of contemporary house require-
ments, favoring alterity models (e.g. enacting flexibility or adaptability approaches) in detriment of
more rigid control models (e.g. functionalist proposals), and endorsing a modular aegis. From there,
a more general contribution is proposed to the debate about the role of architecture in a globalized
world, in its inevitable epistemological evolution to a different place, re-fabricating itself. Thus, on a
broader level, this thesis is about observing house prefabrication as a particular case of what can be
architecture’s epistemological dialogue with the technological state and informational paradigm of a
globalized world.
On the origin of this thesis is a practical development of a case-study of house prefabrication for
residential purposes with low or medium density, making use of a lightweight structural philosophy.
Directly and indirectly, the case has contributed to real-world outputs such as the creation of a prefab
construction company, building a real-scale house prototype, and a registered patent on modular
construction. The initial work has nonetheless ignited several perplexities, namely in the historical
relation of architectural practice with prefab methods and what it seems a subjection to social bias,
or in the validity of some architectural discourses facing the idiosyncrasies of some seemingly inno-
vative constructive practices. This questioning is manifested in a critical revision of the original case-
study, particularly focusing on systematization aspects of the architectural production, but also in its
historical, theoretical and critical framing. Thus, part of this thesis constitutes a clarification of the
rationale that has led to the tangible developments (prototype construction and so forth), which is
set with methodological purposes. Additionally, it constitutes an effort to bind architectural discourse
with a practice where a prefab semantics can have a dauntless, unbiased existence.
16
17
Introduction
1 An ongoing epistemological debate
Born out of the growing pains of industrialization, the modernist period and its CIAM (Congrès
Internationaux d'Architecture Moderne) counterpart would signal a remarkable epistemological change in
architecture. With it, in brief, favorable conditions were set to bring architecture to the masses, and
not so much as a privilege of some elites. The process occurs bonded with a strong focus in address-
ing the housing problem and correlated urban planning issues. The moment demanded both a ra-
tionalizing spirit, and a compliant cast of a new formal and conceptual vocabulary, with inputs coming
from multiple sources, from arts to sciences, from industry to nature or vernacular built forms. To a
certain extent, this resulted in a clash with previous architectural conceptions, as it was notorious
with a prevailing Beaux-Arts criticism.
Anyhow, this was a central formative period for the architecture we have today. Namely, it was
through its proponents that architecture arguably made its first serious, extensive effort to think itself
outside the inevitability of form, that is, (proto)scientifically, through functionalism and the like. None-
theless, in our days the context has changed, modernism has long undergone a review process, and
an information age has been installed. With his announcement of the end of the Gutenberg galaxy, in
an early reflection on our global age, Marshall McLuhan1 hammered one more nail to Victor Hugo’s
ceci tuera cela2. But still, the clash that modernism represents from the previous architectural concep-
tions remains referential to acknowledge what it seems to be an age-old, permanent epistemological
debate.
There is an inherent open-endedness, or ambiguity, in a general definition of architecture’s object,
which can cross wholly different scales/scopes. Moreover, since the rise of the discipline of industrial
design, in the early XXth century, many different areas of design have been specializing, and many
have been created just in the past decades bonded to IT’s (Information Technologies), signaling the inev-
itability of ever more setting collaborative practices, and so forth. Likewise, the work in objects of a
virtual sphere, first as an extension of the work in a physical reality, and then as objects in their own
18
right, contributed to change the game. These are just some examples of the many relatively recent
aspects contributing to accelerate the change of what has been traditionally perceived as the archi-
tect’s role, and architecture’s object both in its production and theorization, indelibly expanding their
scope to such a breadth that one can easily loose track. Perhaps prophetically, or perhaps simply
signaling an antient raison d’être, in 1968, Hans Hollein was making a funeral eulogy: “All are architects.
Everything is architecture”3. Even so, and aside its open-endedness and evolution throughout the times,
we believe that, in the least, architecture’s humanistic relevance cannot easily vanish.
If a certain mechanistic realm was already underway when architectural modernism was in ebulli-
tion, the issue gained new contours and relevance with the arousal of a review of the modernist ideas
(and ideals). The latter occurred in the mid XXth century, when there is a general accusation of a
certain emptiness, or inadequate orthodoxy, of modernity’s forms, and a corresponding attempt to
instill deeper levels of significance. This kind of perspective was notably expressed by figures such as
Aldo Van Eyck and some of his contemporaries in the aftermath of CIAM. However, in a post-
modern(ist) stance, some others, such as Robert Venturi, would also be accused of focusing too much
in the signification issues, with too much of rhetoric, historic, or semiotic concerns. Finally, theorists,
such as Giorgio Grassi, have pointed to what may appear to be a more consensual way somewhere
in between, where architecture could be regarded as a rational discipline, seeking order, a place where
rigor and coherence should be the ultimate modes of expression—“in architecture, the absence of order
becomes materially impossible”4.
The latter view values reason above form, giving no room for aesthetical or moral indulgences,
so to avoid rhetorical and formalist approaches to architectural production. In this sense, architecture
would ought to be a discipline finding sense among itself, through a logic of the praxis, and not
through methodological adoptions of other fields. That raises a pertinent, but perhaps unanswerable
question of a procedural order. On the other hand, it is a view that underlies architecture’s autonomy
through its techniques and forms. However, these cannot be conceived as occurring by uncritically
repeating gestures and approaches, since these are necessarily subjected to conditions and significa-
tion building processes that change overtime5. Instead, as genetic relatives, these will most likely
evolve through the praxis, while somewhat preserving the traces that originated it.
Notwithstanding, in current conditions it is seemingly harder and harder to keep track of the
meme carried techniques and forms, as they expand and mingle at an amazing speed, often blurring
to the point of unrecognition. Moreover, in last resort, a purely rational architectural way of thinking, as
it could radically be interpreted from such a call for order, would mean that there was not necessarily
an architectural object implied, at least not one that we would consider as so—in a pure rational
milieu, that would lead to a logical dead-end, where everything would be possible, but impractical,
since ultimately the [architectural] artifact would become the thought of the artifact and not the artifact
19
itself, and recursively so forth. In last resort, pure rationality eliminates any trace of bond with a
tangible reality, with forms self-referenced to previous forms, lost in a ouroboros serpent of pure to-
pology, not allowing the imperfectness of reality to engage towards a production of meaning or a
real-world concretion, thus a dead language6. Anyhow, the architecture that we address here is not
exclusively of a systematic order as in a Kantian architectonic, but eminently deals with material things
[complement with: Annex, I.1 Architecture: An etymological draft].
At first, the idea of house prefabrication may seem to be off this discussion. However, there are
several parallelisms implied. For instance, we can point to what may be considered a generally suspi-
cious scrutiny from the architectural community towards this often accused of empty mode of bringing
forms to life, and the way architectural modernism has been regarded at some point by its critics, as
somewhat vacant of meaning production. Additionally, the idea of prefabrication that is often as-
sumed by most people is a lot closer to the contemporary idea of product, which can conflict with
the notions of place that archetypally pervade the architectural conceptions of space and time. Be-
sides, by limiting the observation of prefabrication to its cases in house production, although in a
specific context, we are revisiting the home, the quintessential architectural object of study since
Vitruvius, the minimum unit for a socially signifying impact.
2 Prefabrication between the factory of modernity and a global space
Directly or indirectly, the Industrial Revolution had a profound impact on architectural produc-
tion, to which we can associate a modern conception of space of a Cartesian matrix. With the Infor-
mation Revolution, there was a new shift towards a space of relativistic (or relational) nature, whose
mapping requires different logics of analysis. Thus, after a hierarchical, gravitational logic, inherited
from Vitruvius, and pursued by the moderns’, it would now make sense to think of a heterarchical,
networked and relational logic. Despite this, the architecture we are making today is, to a large extent,
an architecture of modernist heritage, in which a more or less rigid control of space overlaps with
what would be a logic closer to our times, where there is (or should be) freedom of use, of choice, of
change, of dwelling, … of thinking.
To a certain extent, it is the machine, real and metaphorical, that subsists as one of the central
elements uniting these two civilizational times. It is to the machine that the modernist parents also
sought inspiration, translated into an aspiration to change the conditions of life through the built
environment, the dwelling and the city, as eloquently expressed by the CIAM. It is also to the machine
that we can, albeit partially, associate the introduction of new formal conjectures of that epoch, where
aspects such as function and economy were seen as superlative aspirations to translate into architec-
tural form. It is with the machine that information is nowadays processed and transmitted seemingly
20
instantly, allowing new ways of working, of producing, of relating to each other… of living. It is also
with the machine, now increasingly dematerialized, that a certain symbolic and iconographic side trans-
lates into a ubiquitous dissemination of brands, marketing strategies or other modes related to a
generalized commodification of goods or services, vehicles par excellence of a consumer society.
These lead to an indelible control of the architectural space-time by a sphere of consumption that is
primarily regulated by global mechanisms of capital, and where architecture itself is used as a manip-
ulator vehicle at the service of what it also seems to be a global capitalist ideology.
In this perspective, desires and aspirations are inculcated in a spatial user who is primarily a con-
sumer. These modify the conception of the productive machine, which thus leaves a sphere of strict
constraint to the canonical brute force of mass-production and opens itself to the possibilities of
other forms and methods that allow a scalable variability, that moreover can be algorithmically estab-
lished. Therefore, despite common traits—e.g. human intelligence, creativity and spatial action, or
constraint to the Newtonian gravitational condition—it also changes the paradigm of space-time
control, and with it, inexorably, is architecture itself that changes once more.
As a discursive object in architectural circles, prefabrication peaks in a modernist context. How-
ever, circumstances have changed, architecture’s production modes have evolved, as have its obser-
vation modes and its very objects of analysis. Nonetheless, despite the changes and an inevitable
fragmentation of a modernist narrative, a certain notion of prefabrication has subsisted, often scarred
by misconceptions or equivocal connotations. Early on, prefabrication appears as one of the arrows
pointing to a path of progress and positivist belief of an industrial era. More or less local materials
and modes of building, leave their founding place, and new materials, technologies, and production
methods emerge, transforming the ancestral architectural modes of intervening, that had archetypally
been based on a patient dialogue with their close environment. The sphere of the natural and vernac-
ular—an organic evolutionary consistency—is progressively abandoned, and it is moved towards the
construction of a taxonomical, abstracting and typifying reality—a numerical consistency—in which
the scale of production becomes the superlative mantra, it too pointing to increasingly global pro-
cesses.
The (hi)story of prefabrication is itself a global history. Furthermore, it is a history whose outlines
go beyond what is typically considered architecture’s field of action, and in this aspect, it has become
the target of both prejudice and acclaim. On the one hand, a relationship with the means of industrial
production has been looked upon with fascination by some. On the other hand, it seems to be apart
of an official architectural history in the majority of cases in which its implementation succeeded in
larger production scales. Nevertheless, the modern masters themselves have proclaimed it as a hy-
pothesis to take seriously, testing and using it throughout. It is also in this progressive motion beyond
a comfort zone of what can be described as the architectural field of action, that we can find some of
21
the added value that prefabrication can bring to the architectural discursiveness—in the relations that
can be established with the industry, with the language of the economy, or with certain sociocultural
dynamics.
On the other hand, prefabrication lacks an assertive definition, which introduces an added diffi-
culty to the debate. However, it is also in this difficulty that a broader field of reflection can be found
about architecture itself, inquiring about how it is fabricated, both materially (e.g., thinking in terms of
modules or constructive components) as conceptually (e.g., thinking on knowledge modules or tax-
onomic concepts such as system or type). Finally, closing the cycle, prefabrication brings to the fore-
front the notion of product, architecture as commodity (or consumable), which brings us back to the
idiosyncrasies of a globalized world, which can be expressed in dialectics such as local vs. global, control
vs. alterity, or art vs. reproducibility, and observable in its natural, anthropological, linguistic (semiotic)
or typological dimensions.
3 A methodologic potential and improvement of human habitat
Prefabrication has numerous faces. Thus, we must limit the object of study, which in this case
primarily focuses on single-family housing. There are several justifications that can be appended to
this restriction, but there are two that particularly deserve attention. Firstly, a focus on the problem-
atic (human and architectural) of housing and dwelling. Secondly, the idea of prefabrication of houses
as a product in architectural terms—industrialized, publicized, … consumed. It is thus about under-
standing architecture from a methodological point of view, in which the sphere of design and con-
struction are regarded as collaborating parts, yet excisable in the whole. A perspective of modularity of
an industrialist nature, which does not necessarily have to restring architectural creativity or formal
or functional outputs—e.g. as is the case of mass customization. On the other hand, a perspective
that in its opposite does not have to be captive of industrial practices—i.e. not alienating ancestral
constructive practices. Finally, above all, that may frame a contribution to the improvement of the
human habitat. Thus, this thesis is also a proposal to look at the practice of architectural design under
a modular, discrete aegis, closely linked to an industrial language and with intentional reflexes in
constructive efficiency, quality or economy—admittedly modern adages, nonetheless impossible to
ignore in any period.
Finally, if on the one hand, as a discipline of social and mediatic visibility, architecture is fed by
formal feats and the like, on the other hand, it also evaluates these same formalities or stylizations in
a binomial action-reaction between practice and criticism. In addition, although there are many ar-
chitects, many with great quality (others not so much), and an extensive framework of regulations,
with many mechanisms of possible scrutiny, recognition of lack of quality in the built environment
22
is [too much often] observable. Architects are, on the one hand, positioned in the legitimate and
proper aspirations of their art and, on the other, tied to an immense complexity of social, environ-
mental or economic constraints, where the levels of freedom of creative action are, for better or for
worse, subjected to a sphere of control located upstream, where the architect has little or no direct
intervention. Notwithstanding the cases in which the negative aspects end up coming from the very
architects, the complexity of constraints has the pernicious effect of fading the relevance of the pro-
fession, while paradoxically the human habitat is deteriorated.
At a global level, demographic or resource availability prospects do not draw optimistic scenarios
for a general improvement of the built environment, although resource constraints may have the
indirect positive effect of triggering more pragmatic responses. Unarguably, the problems are visibly
out there—sometimes closer than what we may think, from [extreme] poverty to lack of access to
water, sanitation or fuel, and so on—and a response in a business as usual mode will probably be
insufficient. It is known that an unlimited belief in progress has limits, and that technological devel-
opment alone will not suffice7. In a way, while the future was viewed with positivism in modernity,
we now distrust that same future—and perhaps prefabrication makes as much sense as before, but
for completely different reasons. On its own, architecture cannot solve society’s ills. Nevertheless, ar-
chitects will probably have to get used to leave their comfort zones (perhaps more than ever before),
adjusting practices to new realities and the reality of global resource constraints. In this perspective,
the confrontation with some of the old demons of prefabrication has here an intention that is both
scrutinizing and provocative.
It also matters to show prefabrication as an option, not always regarded favorably by architects,
which may carry other values that are not necessarily focused on the inevitable aesthetics in which
much of the mainstream production and dissemination of architecture has largely been focusing.
Whether cherished or not, these alternatives do exist, are part of the ecosystem of human construc-
tions, and can contribute to the overall improvement of the built environment. In brief, it is useless
to exclude them, but instead bring them a sense of normality in the praxis. Therefore, it also aims to
be a contribution to the (re)centralization of focus of the disciplinary action of architecture in the
improvement of the built environment quality, in the belief that it is through it that the profession
will continue to make sense and to be relevant in the future.
Prefabrication, or the idea of prefabrication, has long rendered visible another bias that persists among
architects, which in many cases can be related to a certain ego of authorship. Moreover, more or less
based fears that the prefabrication is hazardous to the built environment, by connotations such as
low constructive or architectural quality, in fact are not that different from fears such as those that
can be attributed to the speculative real-estate of great footage. Ultimately, that can be considered as
23
a matter of standpoint and perception, and perceptions may be deceiving. In the end, the great dif-
ference can at best lay in doing things well, instead of not so well, keeping professional and human
integrity, and that certainly that does not depend on any constructive method or technology, prefab-
rication or any other.
4 Road Map
This thesis is distributed over a main volume and an annex volume, the latter complementing the
subjects of the first. The main volume is organized in four parts, containing two main chapters, con-
clusions and an epilogue. The first part establishes a general background to the theme: starting by
addressing the subject of industrialization and the housing problem in a modernist context; to sub-
sequently formulate a review of a (post)modern period through structuralist building blocks; and
finally expounding several taxonomical perspectives that establish a background of systematic ap-
proach possibilities towards architectural production. The central part, the second, is where the pre-
fabrication theme is thoroughly expanded: from the establishment of a prefabrication vocabulary
through a view on the historical evolution of constructive practices and a definition of terms; to the
expounding of archetypal comparison paradigms of an industrial sphere with architectural production
modes; the addressing of variability aspects; the clarification of a modularity lexicon; and finally cul-
minating in an extensive description of the development of a modular prefabrication case-study. The
third part extracts the main conclusions in respect to the central prefabrication theme, expounding
them in the form of take home notes. Finally, the fourth part constitutes an epistemological epilogue,
where we more freely express concerns related with the ways architecture is contemporarily and glob-
ally fabricated.
24
25
I A Mechanistic
Inheritance
A task is thereby set for thought: that of contesting the origin of things, but
of contesting it in order to give it a foundation, … that origin without origin or
beginning, on the basis of which everything is able to come into being.
—Michel Foucault8
Somos fragmentos e projectamos isso uns nos outros.
[We are fragments and project it on each other. (Free translation)]
—Ana Teresa Pereira9
Marco Polo describes a bridge, stone by stone. “But which is the stone that
supports the bridge?” Kublai Khan asks. “The bridge is not supported by one
stone or another”, Marco answers, “but by the line of the arch that they form”.
Kublai Khan remains silent, reflecting. Then he adds: “Why do you speak to
me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me”. Polo answers: “Without
stones there is no arch”.
—Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities10
26
27
1 INDUSTRIALIZATION AND THE HOUSING PROBLEM:
ARCHITECTURE’S FOUNDATIONS THROUGH MODERNISM
1.1 Echoes of a Cartesian space and time
The space-time11 conceptions inherited from Enlightenment’s remarkable figures such as New-
ton and Descartes were key to the formulation of a Modern world-view12, installing a mechanistic
approach on phenomena, embedded by a positivist spirit founded in scientific objectivity, influencing
a coming era and architecture throughout. That is noticed in aspects such as the typically cartographic
modes of spatial representation—e.g. nautical charts or ruled architectural drawings—or in the con-
ceptions and mechanisms developed to observe and optimize production purposes—e.g. those em-
bedded by organization of Henry Ford’s assembly line—and so forth.
René Descartes (b.1596-d.1650) understood space from the perspective of a geometrical exten-
sion, laid in the dualistic grounds of the res cogitans and res extensa, measurable, sub-dividable, neutral,
and finally frameable by a set of coordinates13. The conception was enveloped by the method14, which
persists to our days enrooted in the ontologies of knowledge, in the basis of the scientific quest. In
physics, Isaac Newton (b.1643-d.1727) was the first to provide a comprehensive mathematical model
of “space, time and motion”15 in his Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica (1687). But it was not until
Albert Einstein’s (b.1879-d.1955) Generalized Theory of Relativity (1916), that came a confirmation that
space and time are inseparable, and a space-time causality with gravity was disclosed16. The theory
can be regarded as the Rosetta stone of a series of philosophical implications, where all things have
a relational consistency, from where analogies can be established with nature (e.g. through the notion
of ecosystem), with a human sphere (e.g. through the notion of social network), and so on.
In 1941, Sigfried Giedion (b.1888-d.1968) published the well-known Space, Time and Architecture:
The Growth of a New Tradition17. Giedion’s writings denote a certain operative, or even a dogmatic tone,
which broadly lines up with the mainstream architectural discourse of those days, where it is funda-
mentally implied a Cartesian outset of methodic shades. Subsequent authors, such as Manfredo Tafuri
(b.1935-d.1994) with his operative criticism18, have criticized the modernist tone and its strings of dog-
matisms, without which architecture’s freedom could apparently be limitless and potentially richer.
On the other hand, we must recall that architectural modernity has had its virtues, and that our multi-
referential world also needs critical (thus implicitly partial) modes of describing history, as Giedion
did, to establish and endorse those references which otherwise may fall under the radar. To recall
certain aspects of some discourses, as that of space and time in architecture, is not a way to devaluate
the importance of any sort of operative criticism. All the contrary, it can contribute to locate and under-
stand our world through an architectural perspective, which too needs to nurture and refresh its
28
references outside a vociferous loop of trends and superficial imagery where it seems to recurrently
fall: un-referential, purely relational, or instantaneous [complement with: Annex, I.2 The fragment
experience of space-time]. Anyhow, in the architectural praxis, the modernist posture, as embodied
in Giedion’s space and time exposure, is implicitly still largely in action, and its Cartesian outset still
mostly inevitable.
As in any other human activity, in architectural production everything ends up being related with
some sort of organization and/or conformation of space-time related phenomena. Instead of plainly
surrendering it to a sphere of Cartesian control, we can understand it more as expressing the potential
for multiple directions, and hence multiple forms, as many examples subsequent to a modernist era
have arguably attempted. For instance, that was the case with the principles implied in Jørn Utzon’s
(b.1918-d.2008) additive architecture manifesto (1965)19 or, in a broader dimension, with the architectural
structuralism rule-based design proposals20. Of the first we can find built manifestations such as the
Kingo houses (1958), or the Espansiva System (1969), and of the latter works such as Aldo Van Eyck’s
(b.1918-d.1999) Orphanage (1960), or Moshe Safdie’s (b.1938) Habitat’67 (1967) (Figure 1). These ex-
amples cross distinct architectural manifestations, different proposals by different architects with dif-
ferent interests and conceptions. Yet, in common they all contributed with an analysis and projection
of specific space-time realities, namely by typifying elements that can be connoted with principles of
economy—through production scales or repetition, or use of industrialized methods of construction,
and so forth. This has occurred without relinquishing an idea of diversity, or even a certain organicity
in the outputted forms. By doing so, they have also shown that the industrialized methods of con-
struction that modernity brought about to the stand, did not have to be looked as restrictive, limited
or downgraded approaches, as biased by some. Instead, they could be profoundly Modern, while
disclosing something beyond.
It is not our purpose to evaluate the impact of Giedion’s or any of his pairs’ ideas had in outcomes
such as these. Yet, the latter would certainly not be conceivable without a modernist precedence. In-
deed, we can observe modernism as the peak expression of a Cartesian conception in architecture, with
its space and time references and the like. Similarly, we can affirm that its primary critics, and some of its
inheritors, have explored under a relativist frame, more concerned with relational elements in a multi-
referential, dynamic process of construction, where the space-time referrals are too not unique, and an
Darwinistic evolutionary stance is also implied. In this sense, the latter is too a conception that has
opened room for architecture to deal with other referrals which are not only those of the canonic phys-
ical space (Newtonian), but also the virtual, utopian or imaginary, as well as of networking conceptions
or heterarchical distribution of constructive or spatial elements. Finally, it is a conception whose current
29
Figure 1. Utzon’s Kingo houses (a), Eyck’s Orphanage (b) and Safdie’s Habitat’67 (c).
30
global context enacts an ease of information availability like never, rendering architecture’s secrets more
accessible, which leaves it more vulnerable, but also potentially more powerful.
Since Einstein’s days, science has conceived multiple dimensions standing beyond the humanly
intelligible 3+1 of a space-time continuum21. Nevertheless, the dimensions of analysis that commonly
matter for architectural production have not fundamentally changed for centuries, mostly located
within a space-time frame that is both Newtonian and intrinsically phenomenological22. Indeed, ar-
chitectural production, as we have come to know it from history, typically deals with a tridimensional
space, and at most with its conformation within a certain time frame23. Also, we must not forget the
experiential dimension, subjectively occurring throughout building’s lifespan—as Stewart Brand24
pointed out, buildings do not crystalize in one moment in time, but are ought to be lived and experi-
enced (inhabited), having a life of their own. In western architectural culture, these spatial notions
are traceable back to Vitruvius, which refers the horizontal ground plane of reference—smoothing
and leveling the terrain, to create a stable ground where things can be swiftly be built upon—and the
vertical reference—pictured by the man standing upwards, with the head facing the cosmos and the
feet facing the earth25. From that notion, buildings are thus earthly erected facing gravity—the upright
directional reference—the elements, its users, and these altogether in time. This already indicated not
simply a 3+1D space, but a space-time which had at least another kind of experiential dimension pro-
vided by the user, that is, a relationally human space.
Indeed, the architectural production, in its re-conformation of space-time ought to require an
attitude that transcends a geometrical dimension, a strictly purposeful action or functionalist predic-
tion26, since it implies interference in behavioral necessities. Ultimately, the latter are not aprioristically
definable, even if statistically more or less expectable, since subjectable to volatile desires, aspirations,
and the iterative path of relations with a changing surrounding world. Moreover, the human social
being is a cultural being, with implications that have come a long way from the fundamental human
act of appropriation of space, quintessentially illustrated by the mythic occurrence of the gathering
by the fire27. To the Vitruvian vertical and horizontal dimensions, its references given by the ground
and the upright figure with head facing the firmament and feet the earth, a social and cultural stance
rhetorically introduced the public and private dimensions of man’s life. As a hub from where multiple
switches emanate, the quintessential dwelling—ontological artifact for human inhabitation—was
hence located between the public and the private spheres, as an essential element for human life, both
as protective device and social core28. In this sense, the dwelling can be regarded as proto-city and its
microcosms, both subject to the same principles. It is thus in the fiery warmth of this both mythical
and familial gathering of Man in an atavic space-time, that arguably too architecture finds its birth-
place29. It is too in the dwelling’s milieu that a new modernist architecture would initially focus.
31
1.2 The establishment of a modernist architecture through CIAM
Modernist architecture echoed a certain fascination on the industrial production. “A house is a
machine for living in” are the famous Le Corbusier’s words in Vers une Architecture (1923)30. This new,
modern, machine age, ruptured previous conceptions both artistically and intellectually. As it had
happened in the arts, an interest grew in exploring beyond figurative or stylistic modes. Concordantly,
as implied in the declaration of La Sarraz, for the early CIAM congressional representatives, modern
architecture had to be viscerally created from the most basic relations. Furthermore, the new way had
to be widely endorsed to the public31.
On the one hand, a critique was made to the historical-based aesthetics, most notably to the neo-
classical approaches, but also to the typical XIXth century eclecticisms and the like. On the other
hand, in due time, it would also become clear that the fascination on the new, limitless possibilities
would not reach full maturity. The considerations found a superlative metaphor in the machine, which
could be connoted with causes (e.g. industrialization and consequent urban growth), effects (e.g. new
social and working paradigms, different family structures, birthrates), or idealized aspirations (e.g.
produce houses as if were machines)32.
While a new idea of progress flourished, it grew a renovated interest in ancient and remote cul-
tures33. Alongside, the natural and anthropological findings, added to the technical (e.g. photography)
or the scientific (e.g. relational space-time in physics), contributed to the artistic boiling of the turn
of the century. As arts were becoming more abstractly modern, with the constructivism or the gestalt, they
were also becoming aware of earlier and remote cultures, of a nature leaving the enlightened preci-
sions of the realism’s or naturalism’s, and acquiring different humanistic features, as reflected in the
works of leading artists such as Gaugin, Picasso, Klee or Modigliani. Broadly, the influence of the
rich intellectual and artistic developments of the turn of the XXth century in architecture can be put
between a certain aesthetics of the machine (e.g. Futurism) and a certain aesthetics of nature (e.g.
Impressionism) anchored in humanist convictions and a positivist spirit, producing a rich and varied
legacy of outputs. Architecturally, it was neither a hollow aesthetics, as a subsequent critical accusation
of a modernist tabula rasa could lead to presume. It was an aesthetics where the aspects of the human
nature, as represented by vernacular traditions or by the needs portrayed by the urban hygienization,
were firmly present.
The CIAM, as its terminology denotes, would be set up to develop and promote the modernist
ideas, with main discernable focuses in housing and urbanism34. Its first five meetings took place
before WWII, and through the spoils of WWI and the Great Depression. Its foundation, with the
declaration of La Sarraz (Switzerland, 1928)35, revealed the famous four-part division of functions
subscribed in the early CIAM, while it rejected the formal archetypes that had been a trademark of
the XIXth century architecture. That came in favor of a conceptual core laid in science—“house life is
32
about a regular series of precise functions”, as put by Le Corbusier in 1929 in the Frankfurt congress36. In
its inceptions, the movement became the playground par excellence of notable members such as
Giedion, Gropius or Le Corbusier, which took the forum’s opportunity to spread their doctrine. At
times, the tone sounded more propagandistic or idealistic than substantiated in a methodology of
some sort37. Nonetheless, the seriousness and relevance of the proposals is unquestionable and an
analytic tone prevails, as recognizable by the ramifications that extended far beyond their historic
conjuncture. The contributions are foundational in the least by means of their radical and valuable,
interventive and provocative ideas, addressing the great architectural issues of their times, with a firm
translation in the idea of a new, modern spirit—l'esprit nouveau.
If the declaration of La Sarraz served as a model to embrace a modern discourse, an also relevant
landmark followed in 1942. That was the year when, after a ship cruise session on the Mediterranean,
Le Corbusier publishes the Chartre d’Athénes38, based on the Ville Radieuse book (1935), containing an
account derived from the discussions taken from the first five meetings. The charter set a total of
ninety-five points, numbered as if epistles, distributed in six topics: habitation, leisure, work, traffic, the
historic heritage of cities, and conclusions – main points of the doctrine39. Unmistakably ascribing to a credibility
that can typically be associated with a presumed scientific objectivity, it was expressed with a ration-
alistic, analytical tone. With it, buildings should have ideal solar orientation, ideal spacing, ideal loca-
tion, provided by ideal green spaces, served by ideal transportation to minimize commute troubles,
in streets with ideal width, and using ideal speeds—the perfect place for an ideal Man. Moreover,
historically relevant buildings were to be kept only if considered of good value, and their conservation
of no much trouble to the implementation of the modern predicates, and so forth40.
However, the deterministic tone became unacceptable to the younger members who joined the
congress after WWII. In fact, two phases can roughly be distinguished when considering the overall
CIAM meetings41. A first phase arising from the housing problem of the industrial metropolis, em-
bodying the functional city, building or greenery, under concepts such as Giedion’s space and time42. A
second, attempting to establish different, more emotional links between social and built structures,
which the first stage did not ignore but seemed to have been somewhat forgotten, with consequences
in how urban planning and form were understood. The difference can probably be explained by the
period of WWII that had intermediated the two stages, with traumatic implications also through some
massive post-war reconstruction undertakings, and concomitantly because there was a new genera-
tion on the course of making its affirmation.
33
1.3 The housing problem in the modernist formulation
The origins of the foundational CIAM had many faces, namely social (e.g. housing for workers
migrating from rural areas and overcrowding cities) and artistic (e.g. new conceptions of form). The
most profound roots were related with the housing and concomitant urban issues, the difficult in-
heritances of the establishment of an industrial age, as of WWI, or as of the economic depression.
Sanitizing cities which were of escalating size and complexity, providing proper conditions to its
affluent workers, were among the key aspects commanding (and demanding) a new scientific approach
to architecture in the first decades of the XXth century43.
As it is well-known, the Industrial Revolution had established a new period in the development
of human settlements. The dwelling, a shelter for individual and family use, and the urban setting as
the dwelling’s background towards community life, would be deeply transformed by a set of signifi-
cant technical and political innovations. Reforms initiate when the issues of urban and territorial
organization emerging from the industrialization begun to be more clearly understood. It became
obvious that the rules on which the pre-industrial city had been based would not fit the new devel-
opments. Thus, with the wild development of the industrial metropolis in the XIXth century, housing
became a major social issue. Big territorial shifts occur, with a massive migratory flow from rural to
urban areas, where people would come, e.g., in the search for work in the factories located in the city
fringes. Alongside, there was population boom in the second half of XIXth century in most countries
where industrialization took a stronger pace. As result, there was a widespread housing deficit, with
many people accommodated in cities whose pace of growth could not keep up with the demand.
Likewise, for the first time in history, home and workplace division occurs on a mass scale. The
workforce became detached from the workplace, and a new set of issues aroused from the conflicts
between people and transportation. The rise of the big industries and of new modes of transportation,
such as the car or the train, contributed to urgent house demands, which ultimately led to a change
in planning philosophies. The railway sliced the city, non-residential business centers sprang up, mar-
ket mechanisms contributed to break cities into differentiated zones, and so forth. Constrained to
the valuation of land price, the residential, commercial or industrial areas naturally ended up getting
economically [and thus socially] segregated.
The dramatic growth of urban population was confronted with the lack of proper water, sanitation
or energy sources for heating or cooking. The insufficiencies were confirmed by epidemic surges of
cholera, typhoid or tuberculosis, particularly before the occurrence of some important advances in
medical sciences during the second half of the XIXth century. The first international economic crisis,
a period of a relative economic stall between the 1870s and the end of the XIXth century known as
the Long Depression, did not contribute to any improvement. Starveling rural workers escaped in
34
even higher numbers to already crowded cities and, consequently, conditions were further deterio-
rated. Adequately providing proper housing conditions in the cities thus became a central matter
from the second half of the XIXth century onwards. In the early XXth century, the WWI (1914-1918)
and, successively, the effects of the Great Depression in the 1930s, would further stress the house
problem. The case of Berlin during the Weimar Republic (1919-1933) is remarkably illustrative of the
issues in the industrialized metropolis in the beginnings of the XXth century44. The sort of reported
problems, although intrinsically dated in their specificities, can certainly be regarded as universal in
their type, as observable by their historical recurrence, and their sound similarity to the growing pains
of the developing countries in our days.
Dwelling and city, house and urban policy, became interdependent with industrialization. Initially,
the poor housing conditions were the purview of engineers and city planners involved in the water
supply and sewer management. With the shift of production and social structures, cities become
territory for experimentation and urban and house research. There are several examples, more or less
conceptual, more or less utopian, or more or less implemented. Some addressed urbanism through
innovative dwelling concepts, with examples that can be regarded as groundbreaking or even utopian
for their epoch. Nonetheless, some cases would become true prototypes of modern housing. In this
sense, the New Harmony of Robert Owen (b.1771-d.1858), the Phalanstère of Charles Fourier (b.1772-
d.1837), the Victoria of James Silk Buckingham (b.1786-d.1855), or the Familistère de Guise of Jean-
Baptiste André Godin (b.1817-d.1889) are some of the most representative. Other examples, each at
their scale and purposes, denoted even more ambitious programmatic intentions for the city. Pro-
posals thoroughly describing the sort of actions to undertake, from the block and street to the dwell-
ing level, where examples such as the Barcelona Eixample of Ildefons Cerdà (b.1815-d.1876), the Linear
City of Arturo Soria y Mata (b.1844d.1920), the Industrial City of Tony Garnier (b.1969-d.1948), or the
Athens Charter of CIAM are unavoidable references. These had the merit of surpassing the classical
urbanism and, additionally, to be both true theoretical and practical essays of the modern urbanism45.
In all cases, of all the undertakings, the gravitational sphere of CIAM would echo more intensely than
any other.
With exceptions, such as those we have referred, architects would only begin to develop a wide-
spread interest in the house problem of the working-class in the beginnings of the XXth century.
Examples of this period can be found, e.g., in speculative communal blocks of Karl Marx Hof in
Vienna46, or of Gropius, Haesler, Fisher and others for the Dammerstock neighborhood in Berlin47.
The problem moved to the top of political agenda in the end of the 1910s. For instance, in Moscow,
in 1919, the state promoted a competition for a model neighborhood of what would be a new city48.
In the end of the 1920s, architects joined forces through CIAM. Rotterdam, Frankfurt, Warsaw,
Paris, Prague, Amsterdam, Madrid, Budapest, Brussels, Vienna, Berlin, or Moscow, from these and
35
other places, projects were scrutinized by leading architectural professionals. From these, studies and
designs would be produced, and buildings constructed, through new, modern and functional princi-
ples.
The content was to master the form. Adhesion to a revolutionary ideal and a renewed social and
political commitment was accompanied by the conviction that all this should correspond to radically
new artistic forms, freed of any bond to past traditions. On the other hand, the ideals of the architects
and artists were also based on naive and romantic (or delusional) assumptions, as expressed on the
utopia that architecture is able to solve society’s ills—“On the day when contemporary society, at present so
sick, has become properly aware that only architecture and city planning can provide the exact prescription for its ills,
then the time will have come for the great machine to be put in motion and begin its functions”, writes Le Corbusier49.
A New Objectivity renounced the cosmic pathos and the abstract outburst of expressionisms. In Gro-
pius’ words, buildings were to be made of “precisely defined forms, simplicity in multiplicity, repartition accord-
ing to function and restriction to typical basic forms. It should also be sequential and repetitive”. These would be
“shaped by internal laws without lies and games; all that is unnecessary, that veils the absolute design, must be shed”50.
The new spirit of building, based on technological achievements was about to conquer the civilized world
and building as the way to shape life’s processes. Architecture’s formal outputs denote artistic references
spanning from the Constructivist approach of El Lissitzky, to the De Stijl of Theo van Doesburg, or,
the Gestalt in the Bauhaus. In the 1920s, the Modern spirit of CIAM, embedded in an implied Taylorist
philosophy of scientific management, would look for objective ways to optimize floor plans, mini-
mize areas to the least conceivable relatively to their assigned functions. In a way, form could no
longer be distinguished from function, and so the academic compositional principle, typical of the
XIXth century no longer made much sense. The catchphrase of the American architect Louis Sullivan,
“form follows function”, would long stand as a popular mantra.
36
1.4 Convolutions of a modernist science
The demand of a standard dimensional reduction of the social housing production—required by
both the general situation of scarcity, derived from the Great Depression, as for the actual decline in
the household characteristics—coincides with the process of rationalization of the distribution of
elements in a plan, consistent with the investigations to optimize housing via rationalistic methodol-
ogies. A whole series of proposals of plans distributions and sizes, including those presented in the
Existenzminimum exhibition in Frankfurt, of the 1929 CIAM, would be proposed with a priority ob-
jective of minimization. Generally, the exhibited proposals renounced a review of the internal housing
structure, attested the lack of a critical insight regarding the existing conditions, and were limited to
a sectorial rationalization of the typologies.
Related research flourishes throughout this period, addressing housing types and their aggrega-
tions, the development of building and urban standards, or issues related with solar orientation and
ventilation. In addition, there are developments in the field of prefabrication and modular or dimen-
sional coordination, of which Le Corbusier’s Modulor stood as one of the most famous examples. It
is also of relevance the development of the concept of standard, understood by the rationalists as
guarantee of a minimum, not only quantitatively, but also qualitatively, in the production of modular
elements applied to the social house51. The high quality of some of the outputs is an impartial testi-
mony. Broadly, it is emphasized the need to devise methodologies that could clarify the project, that
is, clarify the architectural job from the adoption of practices that should not be based only in sub-
jective intuition, but in scientific observation that might be transmitted and controlled.
Research would have a large production in the study of ergonomics, in circulation optimization
or in production rationalization. Some developments transported efficient production techniques to
the building design. Floor areas for a certain activity, the description of each single function (eating,
sleeping, cooking, and so on), how that could spatially relate to others, and so forth, soon made sense
conceiving them through quantitative prescription. While some researchers, through ergonomics,
mapped the human body to find out the healthiest and least tiring postures in the different activities,
other have tried to map the activities that take place day in day out in a house. A well-known example,
by Alexander Klein, was a series of diagrams of how a house is used day and night. By establishing
when and how a certain action takes place, it would be possible to infer the minimum space it re-
quired. By grouping functional units (e.g. bedrooms, living and dining rooms, kitchen or bathrooms)
precisely according to the optimum, a sense of objectivity would be retained (assuming the space
would be used as originally designed, i.e., with little or no change over time). In 1936, Ernst Neufert
coordinated the publication of a comprehensive volume entitled Bauentwurfslehre, depicting infor-
mation on the measurements necessary for any imaginable activity—from the dimensioning and spac-
ing of chairs in an auditorium, to road traffic and park dimensioning—becoming a reference for
37
generations to come. Le Corbusier’s Modulor, first published in 1948, and with an addition, the Modulor
2 (1955), became a reference as a dimensional regulating system, an attempt to universalize dimen-
sions and proportions through a progressive scale, based on the Fibonacci sequence and the related
golden ratio φ.
Housing thus becomes an architectural research laboratory par excellence. The minimum dwelling
problem, says Gropius in the CIAM of Frankfurt, “is to establish an elementary minimum of space, air, light
and heat essential to humans to fully develop their vital functions without restrictions due to housing, or at least establish
a modus vivendi rather than a modus non moriendi”52. It is a modus vivendi in which, in the least, every adult
should be provided by a practical minimum invaded by light and sun53. However, to a rational pursuit
of an Existenzminimum—the biological minimum of air, light and space essential for life—Alexander
Klein and others add psychological objectives54, a notion reinforced through the Chartre d’Athènes55.
To the house it was attributed the function of refuge against the contradictions and conflicts of the
city, i.e., the privileged place for privacy, rest and strength recovery of the workers’ force. As in Vi-
truvius’, the house was again revisited as cell and proto-cell of the city—from the mirror of its inti-
macy, (urban) man becomes a social being, finding its place culturally in the world. As put by Giedion,
the simple housing cell leads to the organization of the construction methods, and these lead to the
organization of the entire city: the house is the molecule of the urban organism56. With tools such as the
Modulor, it was finally possible to link it scientifically all together.
Overshadowed by more famous figures, such as Gropius, Taut, Giedion or Le Corbusier, the
works of Alexander Klein or of Karel Teige figure among the strongest advocates of a scientific spirit.
Klein had a remarkably innovative and mathematically rigorous methodology, comparing various
types of dwellings, aiming to determine objective terms for the valuation of the design quality57. Teige
accounted the Frankfurt’s derived Existenzminimum exhibit, revealing a scientific, functionalist ap-
proach grounded in Marxist principles58. In 1929 Teige would notoriously criticize Le Corbusier’s
never built Mundaneum project, affirming that the rational functionalism from where Le Corbusier
would have had departed was being lost, on a way to become a caricature, a mere stylistic mode.
Teige’s belief on rational methodologies can be summed up in the words: “the only aim and scope of
modern architecture is the scientific solution of exact tasks of rational construction”59 [complement with: Annex,
I.3 Illustrating ideological incongruities].
Anyhow, it is notorious that much of the early agenda of CIAM deals with critical housing and
urban issues60. With nuances, the theme would be continually revisited until the latter stages of
CIAM’s meetings. Indeed, from the foundation (1928, La Sarraz, Switzerland), until the dissolution
(1959, Otterlo, The Netherlands), the grand themes in discussion consistently verse housing and its
entourage, from the most atomic level of analysis (e.g. the dwelling cell), to a larger territorial level
(e.g. the urban planning). La Sarraz’s programmatic setup had been clear through its four main
38
points—“General Economic System”, “Town Planning”, “Architecture and Public Opinion”, and “Architecture
and Its Relations with the State”61—where the underlying idea was to create an agenda to implement a
new architecture in a new world. That agenda is pinpointed by a general idea of rejection of a certain
bourgeoisie establishment of the very architectural profession. Despite the quarrels, as those por-
trayed by Teige’s critic to Le Corbusier’s Mundaneum never-built project, intuition and art of building
were to be commanded by science, configuring a true flagship of a Cartesian positivism. With no less
relevance, these also embodied an ideological program, as well as a propagandistic plea, setting the
tone for the subsequent Chartre d’Athènes.
Implicitly denoting a Marxist philosophy, and a Socialist affiliation, in the first point of the found-
ing La Sarraz’s declaration, architecture was regarded in terms of a transversal idea of economy. The
purpose was to achieve economic efficiency to deal with the impoverishment problems largely af-
fecting society. Towards this goal, make use of rationalization and standardization methods both in
architectural conception, as in the building industry realization. This meant making both architecture
and industry to evolve single-handed, through working methods simplification both in factory and
in-situ, through reduction of unskilled labor and increasing skilled technicians, and finally through a
re-education of consumers. The latter would be prompted to have less individual demands for the sake
of a greater common good, which was housing to be available for the maximum number of people.
Machine production was placed in the opposite pole of craftsmanship, a statement which referred
both to a seemingly inertia of traditional academia to adopt new methods and forms, and a hint to
embrace the vocabulary of industry and its methods, whether in processes, forms or even philosophy
of design and building production. In the second point, planning was regarded as an essential way
towards an overall organization of life in all regions, both in urban and rural areas, through means of
a functional order and not by aesthetically derived pre-conceptions. The famous four-part function-
alist division—i.e. dwelling, work, transportation and recreation—is therein drafted through dwelling, working
and relaxing, and focusing action on the division of the soil, organization of traffic and legislation. A key point
was to follow a rigorous causality between statistical data derived from the economic and social en-
vironment (e.g. demographics) and spatial occupancy and distribution of inhabited areas, green areas
and traffic. These were to be constantly monitored for updated status, so that legislation and an ever-
evolving technical sphere would be kept in close pace. In the third point, a call was made for architects
to spread these ideas on public opinion, referring the misconceptions to which architecture was often
taken for—e.g. aesthetical preconceptions or expensive connotations—and which had diverted it
from what should be its main concern: properly articulating the house problem. Set in a long term,
the goal was to, through schools and academia, educate people—clients, architects, builders, and so
forth—for them to embrace new ideas and leave behind the old connotations. Finally, on the last
point, it was reinforced a statement on the obsolete and inertial academia establishment, and its role
39
and influence in the State decision-making over planning and architectural works. References span
through works revealing inefficiency, economically disastrous, monumental, or aesthetically or for-
mally outdated, nonsensical to the spirit of the times. These would occur at the expense of the urgent
tasks of housing and planning; at the expense of the ultimate reason for all the concerns, which was
the very idea of progress, of future, of new: of modern.
Our zeitgeist is certainly different, and the modern(ist) architectural history had much more to it
besides CIAM. However, despite the efforts, and with due differences, generally the preconceived
opinions manifested in the public opinion as expressed in La Sarraz’s, as well as many of the sort of
problems criticized, are still observable to these days. This can mean many things. For instance, that
the noble intention to educate has failed, which in the least reflects a change of entourage, or even that
the way the problematic was laid was doomed to be dated. It can also mean that the sort of vices
whereby the profession was implicitly criticized by the public persist, and which can be summed up in
a tendency for privileging certain formalistic or stylistic approaches. In that respect, Teige’s critique
to Mundaneum should remain valid, not necessarily just in what refers to a reasoning for a scientific
approach, but especially in what refers to what can be called of truthfulness of form, which subse-
quent authors such as Giorgio Grassi have so vividly addressed62. In the least, it should echo towards
irrefutable ethical stances.
Possibly this clash will never change, as architecture will always be about formalizing artifacts,
hence necessarily overlooking a part of the available reality in favor of other, in part science, in part
free, individual, artistic expression. Furthermore, implicitly, artifacts are not consensual, except in an
ideal—unreal, utopian and dictatorial—isotropy. Past records are representations subjectable to dis-
tortion, but still is all there is as ultimate validation tool. Yet, the radicalism of a seemingly tabula
rasa—as historically but not entirely accurately, to some extent, the Modern Movement may be sus-
pect of—can sometimes enable a fresher insight, as it did with the clash embodied by the early CIAM
and the previous academia establishment. However, as relativism epistemologically implies, there is
no absolute referential, thus no definite grand answers, and no solutions the solution. In the reality
looked from human eyes, there is no single universalism, just attempts, questionings, an endless path
of investigation for the Homo Significans. In time, CIAM would be questioned and later more clashes
would arise. Nevertheless, the burst of CIAM certainly took architecture to a different place and we
could not conceive it today without its shockwaves.
40
1.5 CIAM dismissal towards a new modernity
A younger generation of architects begun emerging in the post-WWII CIAM meetings63, revealing
a gradually sharper critique of what had become a certain modern orthodoxy, which had, in their
views, turned the early modern ideals in a sort of stylistic, technocratic, and socially unresponsive
approach64. Broadly, the final period of CIAM is pinpointed by a determination to overcome a certain
Cartesian fundamentalism of the early stages.
Postwar reconstruction was a primary igniter of this purpose. Whole cities had to be rebuilt in a
short period, with priorities in many cases given to provide housing in large scale, and with the Chartre
d’Athènes widely adopted as methodological guidance. Prominent examples can for instance be found
in The Netherlands, as is the case of the reconstruction efforts undertaken in the city of Rotterdam65.
In some cases, such as in the social suspicion laid over UK’s postwar temporary housing program,
reconstruction urgency led to a perception of a qualitative decline and a consequent criticism66. In
the first post-WWII congress, the CIAM 6 (1947) entitled Reconstruction of the Cities, though with a
quite explicit general theme in terms of tackling postwar reconstruction, the spirit was set to address
the emotional and not only the material needs67. However, if different concerns were being expressed,
the functional schemata seemed to be kept. Elder CIAM leaders kept bounded to earlier conceptions
and such did not please a new generation of participants. From that point ahead two sides began
diverging.
The younger generation of architects participating in CIAM 6 brought fresh ideas and the debates
with the elder anticipated the challenges to come. Although a seven-point resolution would be issued
at the end of CIAM 7 (1949) some older delegates charged that CIAM was “losing its working charac-
ter”68. Among other advances, the theme of the emotional needs would be further developed by the
MARS group (Modern Architectural Research Group), the British-CIAM think tank formed in 1933. As
preparation to CIAM 8 (1951), the MARS group prepared the topic entitled The Core, a title suggestive
of a concern in re-centering the focus of urban discussion in issues of identity and community.
With CIAM 9 (1953) came a decisive division between the old guard69 and a younger generation70,
with the new proponents challenging the functionalist schemata of the Chartre d’Athènes. The dissat-
isfaction was reflected in a critical reaction to CIAM 8, with a famous sentence by the Smithson’s
synthetizing the concerns: “Man may readily identify himself with his own hearth, but not easily with the town
within which it is placed. ‘Belonging’ is a basic emotional need—its associations are of the simplest order. From ‘be-
longing’—identity—comes the enriched sense of neighbourliness. The short narrow street of the slum succeeds where
spacious redevelopment frequently fails”71. Instead of a set of abstractions, they sought for structural prin-
ciples of urban growth founded on the basic unit of the family cell, re-asserting the significance of
the social, as well as of the symbolic features of the built environment. The position also stressed the
significance of the values embodied by the vernacular building forms.
41
The dissatisfaction with the orthodoxy of early CIAM prompted national discussion groups and
more or less informal international meetings to gather in between the congresses. The drive was to
propose a different course for CIAM. The first meeting of what would later turn out to be Team 10
(aka Team X) was held at Doorn, The Netherlands, in January 1954, under the direction of Jaap
Bakema. The agenda was to make the preliminary arrangements for the next congress, CIAM 10
(1956) in order to revise the Chartre d’Athènes into the Chartre d’Habitat. The new generation meeting
at Doorn was united by the plea to make towns in which vital human associations would be expressed.
Despite some divergences, the debates resulted in the Statement on Habitat, a document that was to be
the first step towards the Chartre d’Habitat. Georges Candilis, one of the active members of Team 10,
asserted that the senior members preconized the creation of a Chartre d’Habitat in the same fashion
as the earlier Chartre d’Athènes. Such would be regarded by the elders as a great success whereas to
them, the critics, “it seemed totally bogus”72. In the end, the pretense new Chartre d’Habitat would never
came to life.
The Statement on Habitat viewed the Chartre d’Athènes as an adequate way to address the problems
of the XIXth century city, but inadequate to the XXth century reality, which fundamentally carried
new social concerns73. It envisioned a planning philosophy in which the whole of a community and
its specific characteristics would be considered. The concept would be synthesized in the Scale of
Association diagram74, which was presented in Aix-en-Provence by the Smithsons75. The diagram pro-
posed a replacement of the functional hierarchy of dwelling, work, transportation, and recreation emanated
from the Chartre d’Athènes, with scaled unities of house, street, district and city. This was in line with
MARS’s earlier proposals for the CIAM 7, which had recommended the inclusion of the category of
scaled settlements from village to metropolis76. Through it, the dwelling was understood as the core
of the community, and not the representational city center with its public notorious buildings. Archi-
tecture was to be made inside-out, returning to its meaning inducting origins, i.e. in man and its
habitat. In this perspective, a primary, higher hierarchy structure (e.g. infrastructure) acquired a
preeminent role as facilitator of a community, key to give coherence while inducing freedom to the
remaining urban thing. Overall, the Statement on Habitat was to replace CIAM’s functionalist method-
ology to analyze and compare settlements in different places, as the “story of the four functions was far too
simple”77.
Besides Team 10, several other discussion groups had been formed throughout the years. That was
the case of the already referred MARS Group, in the 1930s, or the British artistic avant-garde IG
(Independent Group), in the 1950s, as well as more or less formal, CIAM national discussion groups—
e.g. the French ASCORAL or Paris-Jeune, the Dutch Opbouw, the Norwegian Pagon-Norway. Notwith-
standing, from the fertile ground of the criticizing youth sphere of CIAM, no group or movement
42
would get a wider visibility than Team 1078. Some influent older CIAM members, namely Le Corbu-
sier, would recognize the value of the young’s proposals. It was time to “turn the page”79, he affirmed,
supporting the new proponents80. Indeed, the CIAM 11 (1959), in Otterlo, would mark the dissolu-
tion of the congress by Team 1081. Several attempts were subsequently conducted to re-ignite CIAM,
such as the ICAT (International Congress for Architecture and Town-Planning), promoted by Jos Weber and
other European architects, which would meet in Otterlo (1982), Hamburg (1983) and Copenhagen
(1984)82. Nevertheless, the CIAM formula was inevitably wasted.
In the final CIAM 11, Aldo Van Eyck83, called for a new awareness based on the core elements
of human existence expressed in his Otterlo Circles84. The circles can be seen as a synthesis of CIAM’s
dismissal and turning point towards a different, refreshed modernity85. Anyhow, Van Eyck’s proposal
is not in rupture, yet fundamentally subscribes a reconciliatory thought. What is foremost valued is
the establishment of relationships, to integrate, rather than keeping apart, and by that enriching the
whole that is produced. A dialectic of complementaries’—what Van Eyck called dual phenomena—
arises from this thought, where past and present, classic and modern, archaic and avant-garde, con-
stancy and change, simplicity and complexity, organic and geometric can have a seamless coexistence.
It is architecture opening itself to a relational sphere, to the “shape of relativity”86 [complement with:
Annex, I.4 Aldo Van Eyck’s Orphanage synthesis].
Van Eyck, as other Team 10 participants, sought after architecture as an expression of the com-
munity. They aimed to dispense the rigor of determinist, functionalist thinking, dismissing the crea-
tion of symbols of community, as it had been implied by some of the monumental works in direct
lineage with the Chartre d’Athénes. The 1950s planning and building of Chandigarh, master-planned by
Le Corbusier, and particularly Brazilia, by Lúcio Costa and Oscar Niemeyer, would stand as superla-
tive examples of such criticized monumentality, with their deterministic structures, their formally
sublime, yet somewhat alienating abstraction. If for the most orthodox CIAM modernists architec-
ture could be regarded as a sort of mediated representation, for the Team 10 participants there should
be more a sort of primal language, where meaning and form are interconnected. Ground was thereby
open to understand architecture from a new relational way, which was both relativist and structuralist.
The aesthetical austerity, a certain monotonic rigidity of the initial modernism, was being replaced by
an aesthetics of a new complexity based in a relationally dynamic understanding of structures.
The emphasis on how space-time could be embodied was too set in opposition to a prevailing
modernist conception of space in architecture, iconically formulated through Giedion’s space and time,
where the essence of modernist architecture is regarded as the blend of space and time through the
experience of movement. Architecture, “the masterly, correct and magnificent play of masses brought together in
light”, as had been formulated by Le Corbusier in Towards a New Architecture in 1923, emphasized such
43
idealization of space87. Aldo Van Eyck’s concerns would depart from a different standpoint, ex-
pressed in his famous words: “Whatever space and time mean, place and occasion mean more. For space in the
image of man is place, and time in the image of man is occasion”88. The arising question was not how to emulate
movement and produce forms out of space-time, but how could people create a sense of place, that
is, how could people create their own subjective spaces, or how could relativity find its intentionality
in shape. In short, the grand issue was how to humanize the machine of mass rationalization.
These were pivotal times where, in brief, the structural synchrony of the modern transitioned to
a historically informed, post-modern diachrony. It is a fertile period, where there were different ap-
proaches arising, with distinct conceptual basis and different formal outputs. Anyhow, in common
there seems to be an overall return to history and, fundamentally, there seems to be a new critical
attitude installed. In brief, the modernist research path seemed to be exhausted, or in the least, the
plea for newer and fresher references far exceeded what had earlier been the modernist appeal
through its foundational CIAM.
In between the rhetoric of theorists linked with what can be regarded as postmodernism, and what
were the theoretical approaches of groups such as the Team 10 or the Metabolists, there seems to be
an agreement that it was time to build a different, denser modern. As Charles Jenks explained in The
Language of Post-Modern Architecture (1977), at least rhetorically, postmodernism succeeded in reviving the
narrative potential, and thus a certain historicity of architecture89. The rejection of a modernist moral
language and cherishment of an ambivalent, richer and wider pool is explicit in theoretical works such
as the referential Robert Venturi’s Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (1966)90. However, the
greatest criticism towards labels such as postmodernism could be placed in an often too literal interpre-
tation of history in the formal outputs, overstating rhetoric. Notwithstanding, the postmodernism has
had an appealing rhetoric of complexity and contradiction, as highlighted by a Las Vegas strip, with its
pop imagery or advertisement-like shapes91. In a culture of consumption and a secularized society,
the great architectural symbols in history, the temples or pyramids, were paralleled to the worship of
ordinary forms of product, brand or fashion; with money, as the uttermost symbol making the world go
round, in the roots of the genetic tree of human artifacts.
The semiotic implications are unequivocal. Architecture, historically connoted as a symbol of
power allied to capital, as Tafuri vividly expressed92, leaves the sacred plinth towards the profane
ordinary. To the death of the author, expressed by the postructuralists in literature, is proclaimed
the death of the architect, as he is a reader in himself, interpreter of everyday signals. I am a
monument is thus a suggestive motto, paralleling the ordinary with the sophisticated, and from
where forms of capital are so utterly obvious that are no longer concealable behind ideological or
power representations.
44
However, the rhetoric of a re-symbolization of space also derived towards a sort of an icono-
graphic revival of historical forms, where the subtleness and intricacy appraised in the discourse gave
place to what can be regarded as literal, even caricatural formal acts appraising history. Indeed, if a
duck shape may announce a content in the Las Vegas strip, on the other hand a classical, academically
informed precision is used in compositional underlays, particularly visible in reinterpretations of col-
umns, entablatures, pediments, and the like.
In other developments, as in what can be acknowledged as a structuralist approach, there are also
proofs of a return, or attempt of reconciliation of modernity with history. Such is flagged, for in-
stance, in Aldo Van Eyck’s Otterlo Circles and is utterly visible in what can be described as a broad-
range search for a re-foundation of principles through e.g. anthropology, the study of the historical
vernacular built environment, or a refreshed look onto natural forms. In any case, it is clear, or so
has stood in a seemingly tabula rasa myth, that in a way history (or depth of significance) had been
neglected with modernism. It is a period when architecture seems to be freed, opening to the entire
universe of possibilities, instead of being restringing itself to any sort of canon. Such appears to be
an essential point of departure of any movement recognizable as such that have counterpointed
modernism. From then on, architecture not only recovers a broad sense of history, as it proceeds
with a different reengagement with nature or the archaic and/or ordinary vernacular, while also takes the
first numerical steps towards a digital sphere.
The moderns such as Gropius had sought for the “internal laws without lies and games”93. Yet, some-
what in the process, a bound with a non-idealized, with the (imperfect) real, had been lost. In some
cases, depth of significance was even purposefully (operatively) discarded. The fact that the Bauhaus
school had no history discipline upholds the statement; a fact, as presented by Gropius in the Bauhaus
Manifesto and Program (1919), was due both to a visceral reaction to the old school, as of and under-
standing that arts and architecture should return to a profound knowledge of the crafts94. Approaches
such as structuralism also went deeper in search of inner relations, but without losing sight of the con-
notative bounds with the surface. They went deeper without losing sight with the levels of significance
without which the structure loses its bounds with any possibility of humanism, as in a pure self-
reflexivity of craft; the significance without which the structure has no density, no body, no touch,
mere thin air, pure abstract representation.
45
2 ENGAGED STRUCTURES IN A (POST)MODERN WORLD:
CONCEPTS, TRENDS, FORMS AND ALTERITIES
2.1 Structuralism, semiotics and significance
What we can call structuralism can broadly be described as a philosophy, or an overall worldview
that provides an organic instead of an atomistic account of reality95. It can be regarded as a reference
word for a mode of thought, of viewing things, a method to investigate and approach in a particular way96.
Thus, it can be described as about inspecting systems’ relations through their elemental structures.
Historically, it arises mostly in the XXth century, with notoriety from the second half onwards, man-
ifested in multiple areas, although with emphasis on the social sciences and humanities—ranging
from Linguistics, Logics, Semiotics, or Anthropology, and eventually reaching Architecture. It con-
sensually develops from linguistics, particularly from Ferdinand de Saussure’s (b.1857-d.1913) refer-
ential work97 prior to WWI98. However, it would only be right after WWII, that the pioneering works
of Claude Lévi-Strauss (b. 1908-d.2009), using it as model for his anthropological observations, reig-
nited the interest in the approach, and decisively took it outside the field of linguistics. It is arguably
from there that it acquires a wider recognition99, namely the acquaintance of an architectural audience
avid of new references.
By understanding that a structural analysis of linguistics could be methodologically derived to
language, and thereby to the general analysis of phenomena, Saussure anticipated the discipline of
semiology. His American contemporary, Charles S. Pierce, devised an analogous label, naming it semiotic.
Lévi-Strauss’ contribution in anthropology, or Barthes’ work as critic and social theorist, namely in
his Elements of Semiology100 (1964), updating many of Saussure’s basic principles, were key to decisively
take the analysis outside the scope of linguistics. From there the notion evolved onto a wider con-
ception of language as sign system, providing a common vocabulary to investigate conventions and
codes of all types, from the lexicon of fashion, food, or art, to the rules of folk narrative, architectural
or even medical codes, through literature, the world of images or the signals of the body, and so
forth. As the structural approach pervaded the analysis of sign systems, a critical, poststructuralist
reaction arose, fundamentally criticizing an apparent universalism or determinism of the first.
2.1.1 LANGUAGE AND SEMIOTICS
Language is a condition for social or thinking processes101, to understand who and what we are,
intervening between us, human beings, and the world, thus a determining element, even for the very
46
survival. It is what enables dialogue, communication, but that is only possible if we previously sub-
scribe the meanings that precede our own familiarity with it—i.e. if we previously acknowledge the
images and/or symbols it entails. The way things are classified through language interfere on our
perspective on them102, yet most of the times we do not have such consciousness, even if we may be
rationally aware of it—in the limit, language is invisible to us, transparently pervasive103. Finally, the
notion of language can be expanded to include all signifying systems which enable access to infor-
mation, whatever kind that is, thus implying a semiotic.
Ferdinand de Saussure was the precursor of this understanding. Among his contributions, it is
worth acknowledging with greater detail four related key notions: the distinction between synchronic
and diachronic observation of language; the notion of meaning through difference; the distinction be-
tween language (lange) and speech (parole); and finally, the arguably more relevant notion of language as
a sign system.
Saussure was predominantly interested in a synchronic approach to linguistics, rather than in a dia-
chronic approach104. The latter, classically followed by his predecessors, entails a historical or evolu-
tionary kind of examination following from etymologies, phonetic change, and the like. Conversely,
the synchronic approach entails a conception in which language is, so to say, frozen at a certain point
in evolution to understand its functional principles. Surely that any pretension to make a comprehen-
sive study of language must cover and combine both diachronic and synchronic angles. Saussure did
it himself, and defended the usefulness and complementariness of both. Similarly, in a structuralist
approach is not refused one over the other105. It is nonetheless unquestionable that the synchronic
perspective revolutionarily opened a new territory for exploration, with repercussions far exceeding
linguistics.
Perhaps one of its most relevant impact aspects is that, departing from a social and cultural per-
spective, it founded a structural way of looking to phenomena. That means that social-related occur-
rences could thereon also be regarded with a scientific, systematic, or structural spirit, and with it
contributing to strengthen some typically loose bounds with the natural-derived sciences. With it,
order, method, structure, construction, and so forth, are strengthened as object of philosophy. Con-
versely, humanities acquire a status similar to the so-called exact sciences, where a synchronic per-
spective can be paralleled with the search of universal laws—e.g. as in physics. The notion is in struc-
turalism’s backbone, in the intention of approaching reality, its phenomena and construction, under
a methodological thinking in which there is a guiding principle, or structure.
In that sense, Lévi-Strauss’ work stood out, as he used the structures borrowed from linguistics
in his anthropological works, thereby leaving the door wide open for others to use analogous methods
in their respective fields of research. By getting closer to the anthropological structural relations, his
work opened way to understand the world through a return to a beginning, to an aspired ontology.
47
This conviction in a return to the basics as a source for understanding society was undoubtedly
strengthened by the adaptation of the new linguistic model106.
Saussure formulated that words do not name things, but ideas, or, in other terms, “language is a
form and not a substance”, adding: “this truth could not be overstressed, for all the mistakes in our terminology, all
our incorrect ways of naming things that pertain to language, stem from the involuntary supposition that the linguistic
phenomenon must have substance”107. In this sense, what defines an idea is its relation to the other words
in the system, and that leads to the concept of difference in language. Each sign has a meaning, because
it is different from other signs within the same language, rather than because of any linguistic reason
to be so. Thereby, the relation between these is expressed as a difference in negative terms, as when
saying e.g. ocean and fish are different. Language can thus be understood as constructed of differences
without positive terms. Nevertheless, these are positive when considered in their totality—e.g. to
reach a definition of intense, we can say not weak, expressing the meaning by the negative term of
another. As more negative interpolations of this kind are found, the clearer a word is rendered to us,
with the resulting meaning thus produced being positive.
In brief, without difference, meaning is an impossibility—“in language there are only differences”108. Mean-
ing is not mysteriously immanent in a word or sign, but it is functional, the result of its difference
from other signs. Moreover, a one-term language would be an impossibility, since difference requires
at least two terms. Thereby, it is reasonable to consider possible, even if rudimentary, to describe an
entire universe from a two-term, or binary language, as Saussure himself implied109. Such a binary
notion entails an evolutionary perspective, one that is organic since it is made of unfolding construc-
tions of meaning, but also one that can ultimately be machined—and it is worth noting that this
occurs decades before Alan Turing’s formulation of the backbone of today’s computing.
Thoughts and sounds, images and symbols, work together through speech (parole), which is framed
by language (langue), thus enabling ideas to be expressed, and so forth. All of this moves back and forth.
Language denotes a shared system with its own rules, that is, the language as a whole (e.g. Portuguese,
English, and so on). Speech denotes a particular use of units of language, or what individuals use,
from the resources of language in their day-to-day use—speaking, writing, or uttering110. In this sense,
the language is the entire system, the frame, the reference. Conversely, the speech is its atomic con-
stituents, which are subjected to language, but poised to transform it in time, as it is empowered with
the recombination of existing forms in new ways.
A language is not complete in any speaker. Its perfection lies solely in a collective, and therefore
it implies a social sphere—i.e. at least two or more subjects. It is not purely personal nor private since
such does not allow dialogue, hence hardly qualifiable as language at all. As Saussure expressed: “Lan-
guage furnishes the best proof that a law accepted by a community is a thing that is tolerated and not a rule to which
all freely consent”. When, in the inceptions of the biological sciences, naturalists classified animals or
48
plants, labelling them according to some classification system, they were no more than manifesting a
natural human tendency (or need) to put names on everything. By doing so, we weave an invisible
linguistic bridge between us and the world—or, as Heidegger formulated, the Dasein (i.e. the being
there or existence)111.
Language is a fundamental social process, in which meaning is symbolized in modes that can also
be understood and replicated by others. Moreover, language can be altered, it is not a crystalized
entity, but in consistence with its collective requisite, that can only occur if others adopt the changes.
Otherwise, communication is not possible, and consequently such disengages the production of
meaning. The speech is where from new words are fetched, linking to what is for us revealed as new
meanings, and how these relate to, or limit our thinking. Old words can be used in unfamiliar ways,
or terms can be coined to make a different sense from what would be initially expected. Moreover,
words produce different thoughts in different languages. Since there are always subtleties, it is often
hard to find a perfect match, except perhaps in the logics-based languages that we use to communi-
cate with machines.
In brief, language is the whole (formal) system used in communication, which can be analyzed apart
from its use (e.g. in grammar or syntax), and is not complete in any speaker. On the other hand, the
speech is the use of language to deliver a thought or accomplish a purpose, is flexible and changing,
and is as diverse and varied as the people who use the language.
As with Saussure’s language and speech distinction, almost a century later Noam Chomsky would
similarly differentiate linguistic competence and linguistic performance, i.e., in brief, the theory we carry on
our heads and the practical use we make of it. Another similar distinction can be found between
structure and event, i.e., between the abstract systems of rules and the tangible individual occurrences
produced within those systems112. As this discussion is progressively detached from natural linguis-
tics, we begin realizing some relational patterns between different elements113, implying a structuralist
way of observing phenomena. On their root, is the notion of sign system and its semiotic implications.
Saussure’s conception of language as a sign system is installed in a synchronic focus on the rela-
tionships of system’s components, and/or with a system as a whole, in a particular state, regardless
of changes over history. The sign system is methodologically dividable into two components—the
signifier and the signified114. Succinctly, the signifier can be looked as what comes to the mind of the
speaker or hearer when the signified is expressed. In other words, the signified can be regarded as a
graphical or sound element (e.g. image), and the signifier as the meaning of such element (e.g. concept
aroused by image).
To illustrate, the words composed by the letters h-o-r-s-e (signified ‘horse’) form a signifier in the
mind of English readers evocative of, e.g. a highly domesticated four-legged mammal, which has
commonly been adapted to work, ride, entertainment, therapeutic or sport purposes, and so forth
49
Figure 2.
Signifier and signified.
50
(signifier ‘horse’)115. ‘H-o-r-s-e’ thus expresses a concept with which we had to get acquainted with in
some point in our lives. That is why we now know that this particular set of graphemes ‘h-o-r-s-e’
combined make the word ‘horse’ that means what we know as being a horse. So, this ‘horse’ is in fact
what we can also call a concept, a mental-image or idea. But to a very same ‘horse’ we can call ‘cavalo’
in Portuguese, ‘caballo’ in Spanish, ‘ ’ in Cantonese, and so forth (Figure 2). We could even call it
‘35’ or ‘24’, or some sort of apparently nonsensical combination of graphemes or phonemes. How-
ever, we will no longer be using a previously codified language, we will be making our own codifica-
tion. Since language only works in a social context, in the least we need two intervenient participat-
ing—i.e. a sender and a receiver—besides the codification itself and its knowledgeability by the users.
Words are not the only signifiers, it can be a group of words, such as how do you do?, or eventually
not even words. What happens is that we are used to signifiers to the point of not questioning them.
They are everywhere, in traffic lights and signs; or in gestures we make, shaking hands, smiling, or
waving goodbye; screaming of scare or giggling of joy; in the arts, when painting a portrait, making a
sculpture, or writing a poem. As reality, they are everywhere, so much to the point of being rendered
invisible. For instance, when children begin to distinguish meanings of things, they are in the process
of incorporating the signifier, that is, in the process of making it invisible. Similarly, as grow-ups, when
we learn a new signifier, we engage in a process of discovery, eventually ending up internalizing it. In
our minds, when things are attributed with a name, progressively the name becomes the things
named, to the point we do not distinguish it anymore, until it is just one more sign in our (mental)
lexicon of signification.
Certainly, in ordinary circumstances, the distinction between signifier and signified within a sign
system is purely methodological, sustaining a semiotic perspective of language which is analogous to
the Kantian dichotomy of phenomenal (mental) and noumenal (material) worlds. Other theorists, such
as Charles S. Pierce have conceived the components of the sign system through other relations, in
the case expressing a trichotomic, rather than dichotomic dialectic, through sign, object and mind116.
The distinction between components works for a language theorist methodology. However, it does
not seem to work in concrete use, as we do not experience a signifier which does not signify and vice-
versa—in language, each sign is a conjunction of all its components, hence its invisibility as a sign
system117.
Thereby, in the sense of language as a sign system, every object is both present and absent, where
before words make sense, we must make sense out of words, otherwise they are just unknown ran-
dom graphical elements or unarticulated sounds. For instance, it is plausibly impossible to read San-
skrit without ever having seen its graphical representation before, the same applying to any other
language. Once a certain sense is established, words become objects on their own, they become absent
51
and, simultaneously, available to be re-combined, to again become present. That is, from their inter-
nalized absence (their state rendered invisible) we will be apt to engage in new meaning.
Concomitantly, a thing is never fully there, it is only there to the extent that it appears before us.
However, it is not there insofar as its existence is determined by its relation to the whole system of
which it is a part. A system that does not appear to us, that it is there but transparently. In this sense,
each object, even in its quasi-absence, ultimately reflects the total system, and the total system is present
in each of its parts. This intrinsically structuralist outline has been remarkably depicted in Lévi-
Strauss’ myth, where broadly it is conceptualized that all mythological stories can be regarded as illus-
trations of a single one118. In a radical interpretation of this proposal, things could be reduced to
elemental relations.
If we could affirm that consciousness119 is not the origin of the language we speak and the images
we recognize, so much as the product of the meanings we learn and reproduce; conversely, with or
without our intervention, surrounding conditions keep changing, modifying the significances that we
may take for granted. In a considered individual sign, the change of the surroundings implies a change
in the sign as a whole, and hence in all the methodologically split constituents which are embedded
in it. Therefore, ultimately the representation of the sign itself will not suffice, leading to a reality
where only simulacra can be conceived and all references are shred. The example of Magritte’s paint-
ings eloquently illustrates this line of thought, which ultimately may end up in a sort of nihilism
[complement with: Annex, I.5 Down Magritte’s rabbit hole].
Together, sign and its components, make up what Barthes called the lexicon of signification120, which
can also be regarded as a satisfactory proof of a particular affiliation to structuralism. That is also an
essential notion to analyze manifestations other than those constituent of natural language, as in se-
miotics. Moreover, it also seems key to analyze onto those other systems or structures which can be
understood if regarding language in a broader sense, that is, on the assumption that every signifier—
i.e. a natural or artificial thing—can become a sign, as long as if engaged to communicate a message,
that is, to signify121.
2.1.2 BUILDING MEANING
It is generally acknowledged that structuralism values the deep structures over phenomena,
thereby denoting a certain ahistorical universalization of concepts. Yet, such universalization is not
full proof, since, as it is reminded by a post-Darwinian perspective, it also must be regarded histori-
cally and contingently. To some extent, we could observe structuralism in parallel to the Marxist or
the Freudian conceptions, both concerned with fundamental causes—economy and family core re-
spectively—that is, implying that individual man is driven by major forces. In this sense, individual
52
choice and consciousness would be wiped out, since the background forces or unconscious motiva-
tions prevail122. To a degree, that implies that it is out of the scope of the individual to originate or
control the bonds of his social or mental existence. In this sense, as it has been implied through Jean-
Paul Sartre’s existentialism, structuralism has also been regarded as anti-humanist. However, this rad-
ical view is contradictory to the generally acknowledged intents of the structuralist proponents, that
regard it more as a humanist proposal rather than its opposite.
Because of its focus on the search of essential structures (more related to a certain concept of
system, i.e. synchrony), rather than in the evolutionary processes (more related with the concept of
evolution, i.e. diachrony), some have labeled structuralism as deterministic, and its outcomes have
been regarded as overlooking phenomena and existence. Roughly, in structuralism reality is described
has composed not of elements or things, but of relationships. The elements may change, but in a way
they retain a dependency on the whole, which they are a part of, and where, regardless, fundamental
relationships remain unchanged. Moreover, in this sense, reality is a substrate lying beneath ideas and
emphasis is put on the logicality of systems from which meaning is to be constructed.
Therefore, structuralism can be regarded as a tendency to focus on the boundaries, on establishing
what can be said, meant or thought; or, even more radically, on being reductive, as many complex
subjects are seemingly condensed in a few key features, universal structures or truths, which may
presumably explain everything, binding humans together, or what humans have in common. How-
ever, there are very different approaches to what can be called structuralist thinking, and summing it
up in a deterministic path would be ignoring the myriad of surfaces that have been addressed.
Wittgenstein, a remarkable logician, aside philosopher, has implied that “knowing everything is equiv-
alent of knowing nothing”, outcomes are starting points, and hence that “philosophy is worthless”, as it is
“never ending”, thereby opening a path through the very logicality to relativize even logics own achieve-
ments123 . By questioning the deepest structures, some of the so-labelled structuralists have also
acknowledged their partial role around and within other structures. In this sense, synchrony and dia-
chrony cannot be regarded as opposites, yet recognizing that every system exists as an evolution, and
that evolution is a character of a system. Saussure himself regarded both as complementary ap-
proaches.
Structuralism is also necessarily a label that can be used within many different scopes and contexts,
and as in other isms, a label in which many so-labeled would not recognize themselves in. In fact,
some were notorious for their critical position towards it, to the point of considering it as a gross
violation of freedom of thought. On the one hand, there are those that can be considered Universal-
ists—e.g. Lévi-Strauss and Lacan—concerned with the operations performed by the human mind in
general, not just with the workings of particular minds at particular times. In that view, behind the
diversity of empirical facts, there is a universal mental structure. By contrast, there as those appearing
53
as relativists—e.g. Foucault or Derrida—worried with the surface where things occur and transform,
where things can be re-enacted into the things beyond, not merely concerned with the deep, essential
structures124. Regardless the greater or lesser criticism, regardless the different modes of approach,
all share a vocabulary that is related with modes of producing meaning. That derives in last resort
from Sausurre’s work125, whose core proposals bear the idea that the production of meaning funda-
mentally depends on language, particularly emphasizing into the nature of the essence of any lan-
guage.
As put by Sartre, “existence precedes essence”126. The existentialists regard the human subject—how
he thinks, acts, feels, lives, and so on—and its role in the bringing meaning to life, as a center refer-
ence, source and outcome, for the immanence of knowledge. They sustain that there is no predefined
pattern, where we must fit into; that we must create our own meaning, place our own value on our
acts, and that our individual freedom is absolute and unbounded. In structuralism, unlike in an exis-
tentialist perspective, in many ways man is no longer regarded as a reference point. The totality of
things, the structure, acquires a predominance over man’s autonomy as a creator and giver of signif-
icance: the ego dies. It is not about man as a creator, yet the unconscious collective awareness that
constitutes man as an object in itself. We, and It is, replaces the I. As in Lavoisier’s ancient expression,
there is no creation, but transformation. In structuralism, man is a part of a system that precedes its
existence and, too, will endure after, at least until there is a trace of humanity left.
This is nonetheless a radical view of structuralism, which may ultimately lead to a dangerous
ground, where references can be hard to attain. Criticism came from the realm of art or literature, as
the structuralist view seemed to imply a loss in creativity. The view of Man’s freedom could be seen
as ever entangled in the restrains of a system. However, as Sartre analyzed, the value of structural
thinking could also be regarded not in opposition but in relation with man. Roughly, the important
is not the man within the structure, yet what man makes of the things that are made out of him. What
is important is to realize that man’s doings are immanent history (i.e. evolution, transformation) and
that that is also (and fundamentally) the matter of what structures are made of. This is not to be seen
in either black or white. These are unrepeatable cycles made of ever-changing states, which may or
may not reflect recognizable patterns. Structuralism acknowledges the structure, but it is not reduc-
tive, since it does not limit, instead it opens the door to, e.g., a poststructuralist understanding.
Conversely, the poststructuralist proposal generally implies that the knowledge of the things
around us is not only derived from the things themselves, yet produced through filters rendered
invisible to us, through the symbolizing systems, there, (un)awarely inscribed. It implies an account
on how meaning is processed, but it also states a fundamental distinction between human beings and
other animals, which is the capability to recognize difference, and, by such, build meaning. Other
animals can also be social, but they are not cultural, as they produce nor transmit no meaning in a
54
cultural sense, at least not one that can likely be accessible from a human perspective127. Such would
find echo, for instance in Foucault’s discussion of subject and identity128, or Lacan’s idea of human
beings as organism in-culture129.
Structure is an ancient word, long used in anatomical or grammatical circles. Yet, as Barthes ex-
pressed130, the linguistic model originated by Saussure, along with the economics of a Marxist origin,
have become in a great deal, the true science of structure. As an intellectual meta-language, the use of
the word structuralism applies to an approach, where a structuralist vision is constituted. Even if refuting
its labelling, its awareness, in a sense, makes its user structural. Yet structuralism is not a school or
movement, making it useless trying to find a common corpus. Nonetheless, there is certainly a struc-
tural way of making things, in painting, writing, music, and so on, and one that does not need to be
recognized as such. A structural way is not necessarily a formal way, in the sense that is reflected on
a certain approach or result to form, as for instance the Russian Construtivist approach might denote.
It is a mental way, or activity, not a formal way, certainly a lot closer, for instance, to the sort pointed
by Malevich’s Black Square, where the apparent simplicity of the structure seemingly entails all possi-
bilities131.
The goal, if a goal is there to be set, is to reconstruct an object, manifesting its rules of functioning.
For instance, Wittgenstein did it through logic, while acknowledging logics limitations132. As Barthes
wrote, “structural man takes the real, decomposes it, and then recomposes it”133. In this process, something new
is added which has a different value, i.e., creation, or evolution occurs. That may indicate a copy or
mimesis of the original object, which is taken and added to at least another order to make a seemingly
new one. Yet structuralism is not about a homology of the initial object and its state—a pure homo-
logical development would likely indicate an entropic (de)gradation of the (original) object. It is in-
stead a reconstruction from the understanding of its (apparent) fundamentals, heterologically and
relationally confronted with a different object or surrounding. What matters is not necessarily the
nature of the object, or its essence, yet what is added to it, i.e., the process in which the object is
recomposed, and through it acquires a different meaning. What matters is the path, not the destina-
tion, life above its unavoidable ends. It is about what Barthes called the “structuralist activity”134, that
is, man’s modes of producing meaning, of constructing culture, … of living.
The idea can be exemplified with the relation of language with the construction of myth. We can
create new meanings and concepts, which do not necessarily need to be attached to what we may
perceive as facts of the real or reality, or even to what we may call truth. All of this constitutes part of
a human construction, and we can apply it to any kind of language—to a graphical language, to a
spoken or written language, or even to body language (the dancer’s movement, the musician’s inter-
action with his instrument), and so forth. Indeed, as we leave the realm of language, adding layers upon
layers of signs, we can say that somewhat we are entering the realm of myth, since the (III) Myth is not
55
Figure 3.
From Myth to form.
56
necessarily a truth, certainly not a fact of what we can assume as being real. Instead, we can make the
equivalence between myth and sign, i.e. a codified representation (Figure 3). Then, again, everything is
a sign, that our brain apprehends, interprets or represents—as de Pierce said, “nothing is a sign unless it
is interpreted as a sign”135. Whatever the apparent degree of essentiality of the approach, as Jacques
Lacan expressed, “the signifier does not designate what it is not there, it engenders it”136. Under the signifier
there is nothing or a quasi-absence.
By dissecting an object, as the specialization has been making, the ultimate goal is reaching the
fragment, which can be, e.g., a basic geometric shape, or a phoneme (and even those can potentially
be reduced even more). The dissection produces a dispersion (fragmentation) but not necessarily an
anarchy, as the re-distribution of the fragment, so implied in its meaning construction, is conducted
by a sovereign principle which embeds difference, for minimal the difference may be. That difference
guides a process of association. As in Kant’s architectonic, a structuralist activity articulates the frag-
ment onto a fragment-plus, that is, onto a system, or structure, or what other terminology or con-
vention may be in use. To the basic fragment, a series of devised rules, more or less explicit, more or
less iteratively developed, guide a combinatorial process by which form (of speech, of music, of painting,
and so on) is created, and that is nonetheless limited by the subject’s ability to acknowledge them.
It is truly a simulacrum process137, where the world ends up rendered differently from what it was
found, and yet is not necessarily new. In fact, it does not seem relevant to know whether a newly
appeared object is new or not, but, again, the relevance seems to be in the path, or process. Although
form is the entire thing as implied by Saussure, and regardless Russel’s paradox, which puts the issue in
an irresolvable loop, what is relevant is not the form, but the meaning, because ultimately the meaning
is its production. The structuralist activity is not about the fragments, the meaning of each individual
fragment, nor a universal essence. The fact, totally isolated, is as useless as its extreme generalization.
What matters is not if it is new, but the humanistic production that it proceeds. Taking Barthes’ ex-
pression, what matters is not the meaning of the fragment, but Man fabricating meanings, the Homo
Significans138.
The term modern can help to elucidate this argument. Between a process of denotation (i.e. of non-
coded iconic message) and of connotation (i.e. coded iconic message), distinction can be difficult to
attain, since connotation comes so immediate and natural that becomes extremely difficult to distinguish
both terms139. As other terms, modern tendentiously follows Saussure’s notion of difference in negative
terms—i.e. what is modern is not ancient, not medieval, not antique, or not traditional140. It distinguishes a
period by the negative of another. Yet, paradoxically, by associating modern to a specific period of the
first half of the XXth century, as it occurs with modernism, and concurrently, detaching it by naming
a succedaneum postmodernism, modernity becomes a thing of the past, when in its essence modern is
57
nonetheless consensually connoted with new141. Indeed, modern can be seen through the negative dif-
ference towards old, or, as with new, by pairing with relatives. Nonetheless, such denotation is instan-
taneous (immediately volatilized), a fragment re-built with meaning in the fragment-plus connotation.
For the Homo Significans, the word modern can mean many things. That is prove of a cultural (commu-
nal) richness as brought about by a diversity of insights, not of purely anarchically spread fragments,
since that is subjected to language, hence to be shared, as language does not exist in a single subject.
The ancient atomists sought to unveil the essences in nature. However, the Demiurgical answer
of their ontological quest has proven not to suffice. Embroiled in the shades of Plato’s cave, the
answers seem to only be graspable by the appearances of the images: no being, nor exactitude, just
appearances. Analogously to the cave allegory, the ancient Indian parable of the blind men and the
elephant also illustrates a range of truths and fallacies that are implied in the subjective experience.
The story has different versions, but essentially tells that a group of blind men touches an elephant
to get to know what it is like. Each touches a different part, then compare the description of their
part with others, ending up in complete disagreement. Primarily, the stories vary on how each part is
described. Soon they enter in conflict. In some versions this escalates, becoming unresolvable, in
others they stop talking, and slowly start listening, collaborating to see the whole elephant. A sighted
man passes by, observing the full elephant and then describing it. With it, they also learn they are
blind. One’s subjective experience can be true, but may not be the whole true. If the sighted man
could not touch, he could not feel the beast as the blinds’ did; if he could not smell, his experience,
and hence the meaning produced, would also be truncated; if he could not hear he would additionally
may not become aware of the blinds’ discussion. Even if fully aware, he still certainly would be ig-
noring something, because in the least looks can be deceiving.
As Werner Heinsenberg once stated, “we have to remember that what we observe is not nature in itself but
nature exposed to our method of questioning”142. Indeed, the social and the cultural Man is a human con-
struction, which differentiates us from other animals, and that ultimately lays in the distinction be-
tween organism and subject. Each individual of the natural world has inherited characteristics, which
result of ages of evolution, and these develop, amplify or fade in interaction with the milieu. Addi-
tionally, the human subject is too an effect of culture, a result rather than an origin, and in that sense
more likely to reproduce a range of uncertainties and beliefs than to resolve them. In that sense, if
we lay claim to a certain truth, we are defining what we believe, but what we believe is not purely
personal, yet a conviction that is proceeded through an inculcated culture. From here, it can be as-
sumed that we are the result of something Other, alterity beings. However, knowledge does not go on
without a subject, since we are unavoidably linked to both an upstream and a downstream Other, since
in ourselves we are too an Other: subject-is-the-object-is-the-subject, alterity all around.
58
When the death of the author is claimed, as it has been by the poststructuralists, is as acknowl-
edging what can be an easily forgotten evidence that the author is a reader, and in that sense that no
work is universal, or no single interpretation is possible. There are unavoidable tautologies, but as the
text changes from reader to reader, reading moment to reading moment, the structural Homo Significans
too knows its very structuralism will change. As Barthes wrote, “structuralism, too, is a certain form of the
world, which will change with the world; and just as he [structural man] experiences his validity (but not his truth)
in his power to speak the old languages of the world in a new way, so he knows that it will suffice that a new language
rise out of history, a new language which speaks to him in his turn”143.
Implicitly challenging the Cartesian architectural utopia, structuralism has remarkably expounded
the impossibility of a truly objective judgment, since we are all prisoners of language. In the absence
of a last resource God, or any other ontological cornerstone, transcendent source of meaning for
phenomena, there is no greater significance; instead, there is a continuously reshaped open loop of
movement and structure, …of life. Such arguably carried profound implications in culture’s episteme.
In time, a Cartesian view was replaced by a relational new monistic view, which inevitably called also
for different aesthetics. The art movements in the early XXth century had began disclosing a shift
from the Cartesian representation to a relational new-monism144. In the literary author-reader rela-
tionship, the reader too acquired a new relevance as builder of significance—i.e. all authors are read-
ers, and conversely all readers are authors. In relativity’s relationality, space-time begins and ends in
the subject. Conceptually, among such a fragmentation, can there still be room for architecture to
truly be?
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2.2 Research trends of a structuralist affinity
[vernacular, natural, normative, numerical]
In the 1950’s and 1960’s the influence of structuralist thought was already well spread across
Europe and the USA and began to influence architectural thinking in this period. Lévi-Strauss’ work
in anthropology had popularized the structuralist approach to a wider audience. The study of folk
narratives or myths of traditional cultures inevitably also drew attention to their built forms. In a
retrospective look to his own work, in Myth and Meaning (1978), Lévi-Strauss affirmed: “Notwithstanding
the cultural differences between the several parts of mankind, the human mind is everywhere one and the same and that
it has the same capacities… I don’t think that cultures have tried systematically or methodically to differentiate them-
selves from each other. The fact is that for hundreds of thousands of years mankind was not very numerous on the earth;
small groups were living in isolation, so that it was only natural that they developed characteristics of their own and
became different from each other. It was not something aimed at. Rather, it is the simple result of the conditions which
have been prevailing for an extremely long time”145. The arguments can help explain the diversity of human
forms of habitat, framed under an evolutionary perspective, but also it can ultimately indicate a way
towards a seemingly inescapable global homogenization. In any case, if there were deep structures
organizing basic human aspects, with social and cultural manifestations, it seemed reasonable to con-
sider that the built environment, a human creation, would too be influenced by these.
These notions induced a great impression in some architects and theorists at that epoch146, with
the study of the built environment overlapping many different disciplines—cultural geography, an-
thropology, history, urban planning, ethnography, cross-cultural studies, behavioral sciences, or ar-
chitecture itself147. The developments signaled a research trend of structuralist inspiration, marked by
travels to remote places, documenting ancient and remote cultures, or by the observation of natural
structures. The observation of archaic vernacular built environments, embedded of an age-old wis-
dom, became an important subject of analysis148 which carried valuable lessons to architectural pro-
duction: a sense of essentiality, of proven, established and adapted forms, validated by ages of evolu-
tion.
Typically, the pre-industrial vernacular constructions can be described as made of economic prin-
ciples, using locally available resources, with simple but effective construction methods. These are
adjusted to the physical, social and cultural needs, as well as to the local climate, but also depict a
strong resilience based in a morphological adaptability, by successive addition and transformation
over time. The resulting forms are precise, in the sense that are directly reflecting the natural context,
as well as the needs and life experiences originating them. By their truthfulness and simplicity, many
of their principles can be easily recognizable. For instance, in different climates, in some cases the
roofs are highly sloped, to face rain and snow, whereas in others they are flat and are often used as
terraces to dry cereals in sunny times. The forms are organically exact, placed just where they belong,
60
reflecting their contingencies. They are not planned or imposed, but additive (i.e. added in time, ac-
cording to need) and are kept in close watch, cared, as there is no greater driving force than pure
necessity149. However, these processes are not necessarily purely deterministic, as in the anthropological
functionalism sense expressed by Bronisław Malinowski, since they also hold unpredictability and
chance, and drive signification construction modes. For instance, at cases, a personal statement, a
higher resource availability, or by no particular reason, a more elaborate expressiveness, or decorative
imprint is manifested. In turn, this may or not be subsequently further reproduced, either eventually
installing a new tradition branch, or simply standing as a one-off case.
The material formalization through construction is subjected to processes of choice that are not
only constrained by a natural context, but also by the evolution of cultural processes related with
“fashion, tradition, religious proscription, or prestige value”150. For instance, the use of wood construction
may be pervasive in places where forests are abundant, but certainly, a traditional Japanese wood
building carries a different pathos than a traditional North American wood building, even if the ma-
terials and technologies in use are somewhat similar. Indeed, construction practices are not merely
biological in the sense of strictly answering to survival needs or natural conditions, but intrinsically
of a cultural ballast. For instance, most probably the primitive cities were not biologically better to
live in than in the countryside, as cities were more prone to diseases, and so forth. Nevertheless, these
cities were culturally attractive, because in the least they embodied the idea of an improved knowledge
exchange, which favored the development of crafts and the like, or because people came from
squalor, and thus cities symbolized [the promise of] a better life. Anyhow, the idea of vernacular is
unavoidably linked with an evolutionary stance of cultural practices, as these embody in the artifact
what in biology natural selection represents to species—anthropologists call it evolutionary anthropol-
ogy151. The perspective is that cultural practices guide an artificial selection, or selective breeding pro-
cess where humans intentionally chose specific traits based on their knowledge gathered in time.
Therefore, as memes, vernacular buildings embody a process carried and spread from person to per-
son within a culture that too is evolving152.
The study of archaic cultures, together with extensive travel reports was certainly not a novelty in
the 1950s and 1960s, when the vernacular becomes an important subject of research. In science, the
practices of the XIXth century naturalists had been embedded of a similar spirit. The travels and
documentations of some of the XXth century architects would too display a certain exoticism of built
structures, portrayed in bold photos or impressive sketches, poetical synthesis that fascinated the
audience. Traveling and recording the great buildings and built environments of the past had long
been a widespread practice, marking architectural thinking and production in modern times153. The
famous Grand Tour, which became democratized as railways became pervasive, attests it. Le Corbu-
61
sier’s The Voyage to the East (1966)154 is probably the most famous account of that way among archi-
tects along the XXth century. However, the curiosity on the vernacular or in popular building forms,
although not new, apparently became more intense than ever.
The frugal and sincere beauty, evocative of a certain atavism, certainly impressed a public avid for
the [old] unseen, and perhaps tired of a certain modernist orthodoxy. One of the icons of such re-
cordings would be Bernard Rudofsky’s superbly photographed Architecture Without Architects: A Short
Introduction to Non-pedigreed Architecture (1964)155. To a certain extent, the archaic vernacular became a
methodic ideal for the new, as from an exogenous perspective, its buildings and values apparently
depict social and psychological well-being, seemingly perfectly adjusted to their setting. In this sense,
vernacular’s synchronic qualities, i.e. its universalist, evolutionarily tested values, became theme and
validation-in-history of a trend of new proposed forms. Ascribing to the precursor steps of D’Arcy
Thompson’s On Growth and Form (1917)156, the Darwinistic analogy would also be driven to the ob-
servation of natural structures themselves, in the search for naturally validated models to apply in the
production of the built environment.
Besides the appealing imagistic, the idea of a vernacular reestablishes a sense of place construction.
The example of the Arquitectura Popular em Portugal [“Popular Architecture in Portugal”] (1961)157 enquire
attests it, signaling a research trend for the age-old knowledge provided by the vernacular practices
towards a redefinition of the modernist approach. Modern architecture, wisely adapted to the place,
while qualified by artisanal objects, would subsequently enter the vocabulary of the Portuguese archi-
tectural practice. Fernando Távora´s Casa de Ofir (1958), or Álvaro Siza’s Casa de Chá da Boa Nova
(1964) are a proof of a wise approach to the setting, while providing it with a modern expression,
which has as much of powerful, as of subtle. It is an expression truthful both to [the representation
of a] place and to a design language with its own authorial, artistic idiosyncrasies. With different shades,
namely a reconciliatory view between nature and machine, such a softened sense of place had already
been explored by some referential modern architects, as Frank Loyd Wright or Alvar Aalto.
Wright’s Broadacre City (sub)urban concept, envisioned a landscape gathering both nature and the
machine, expressed in the artificial layout of the fields or a productive condition of the territory. With
it, in a way, there was no longer a city, as the city was everywhere: for the adventurous, the nomadic,
inspiring freedom and movement, entangled by multiple roads and highways, telecommunication
lines, flow paths158. It was hence a communication city, in which each point could potentially be
connected to all others, and in which nature appeared as a continuous medium, receptacle of the
entire system, where all components are ought to work organically159. In that sense, Wright’s Falling-
water (1935) was both archetypal and prototypical, as it established an ideal (and idyllic) bond of nat-
ural and artificial spheres. With the Broadacre City, it was also implied an understanding that modernity
was not only in the city, but could hypothetically be everywhere, as all the territory is, in potential, to
62
be cultivated by Man. Richard Neutra had already implied it in one of the initial CIAM meetings,
setting a case for a liberalized modernity160. Wright’s Usonian houses would reiterate the idyllic, and
its implied political worldview of Broadacre City, but adding the dimension of design-constructive sys-
tem, stressing the intention to make houses affordable to a large part of the population—the concept
was inaugurated with the Jacobs house (1936), and would be accompanied by the Usonian Manifesto,
published in the Architectural Forum in January 1938161. With it, design systems, types, function or
technology are not to be opposed to a concept of place. Generic purposed design and construction
systems, allied to firm and respectful intentionality towards a specific setting, are too conceivable in
a peaceful coexistence between a sort of universalism and a place-aware stance. In Usonia, systems
were no limitations, yet a way to embrace difference in a technological dialogue with nature162, a
condition that would notably be followed in propositions such as Albert Frey’s living architecture
[complement with: Annex, I.6 Albert Frey’s nature and industry synthesis].
In a different context, the work of Alvar Aalto was too seduced by the world of living nature as
an architectural metaphor163. In his view, the economic set of the vernacular built forms can only be
surpassed by the greater essentiality of nature’s forms. His buildings adopt additive forms adapted to
place. Aalto’s works come in line with a Nordic way epitomized in Erik Gunnar Asplund’s, which
broadly develops a synthetic relation with place, joining both the classical tradition and a modern
stance, as had been eloquently depicted in the Skogskyrkogården [“Woodland Cemetery”] (1935-1940).
Aalto’s work was functional, but not mechanist, yet with a purposive intention forming and framing
human activity. A staircase can simply be functional, or bind conditions and experience, building and
topography, acting as place for social interaction—Villa Marea’s (1939) iconic stair, certainly an-
nounces something other than function. Aalto spoke of an extended rationalism comprising a reconcil-
iatory attitude on both human164 and natural165 circumstances166. The Nordic way would find a re-
markable legacy in Jørn Utzon’s works, gathering influences coming both from the vernacular and
the natural forms, engaged in a sphere of productive efficiency, as expressed in his Additive Architecture
manifesto167 [complement with: Annex, I.7 The Additive Architecture of Jørn Utzon and the
Espansiva System].
The appeal of the archaic vernacular, as depicted in Bernard Rudofsky’s photographic account or
as portrayed in the humanist essence and natural-artificial bonds of Wright’s or Aalto’s works, finds
a parallel in the appeal of the ordinary vernacular elements of the built environment. For instance, in
the CIAM 9, the Smithson’s exhibit photos of London street life by Nigel Henderson, illustrating
their cherished as found concept, that is, the remembrances, the fabric of ordinary traces and scars of
a place, which give it a particular feel, energy, character168. To a degree, the idea of the as found agreed
with the main canons of modernism in terms of refusal of ornamentation, search of structural purity
and, above all, truthfulness in the use of materials169. Materials ought to be used and seen as they
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were. Buildings were to treat the site as an as found object. The signification levels were to be found
and built upon the proposed buildings. Other semiotic implications would also be expressed in works
as Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City (1960)170 or Gordon Cullen’s Townscape (1961)171. As in Aalto’s
case, modernity was not to be understood from an idealized utopia enfolded by abstract, geometrical
compositions. The available patterns and urban fabrics were ought to be transformed, not sponged
out and converted into a formal abstraction. What it fundamentally changed was the view of the
everyday, the valuation of the ordinary as an endless source of wisdom for the architectural produc-
tion.
A related arising trend, endorsed an architecture that should be less about control and more about
empowering a participatory role of the unfolding life. In a sense, architecture was no longer to be
about high-pedigree buildings, or grand urban solutions. Instead, it should be holistically engaged in
the broader scope of the built environment, and its ordinary forms, wiping out the old high/low architecture
narrative. Many theoretical developments reflected these concerns. Amos Rapoport applied anthro-
pological studies to habitability, laying the idea that the physical environment of man, particularly the
built environment, is so complex, and overlapping so many disciplines, that has not been, still is not,
and hardly will ever be controlled by the designer172. John Turner stressed the role of user participa-
tion through an enquiry on societal control levels towards the built environment173, and a related self-
building line would be pursued by Walter Segal174 [complement with: Annex, I.8 John Turner’s
network and hierarchy]. John Habraken, and the work developed among the SAR (Foundation for
Architects Research) group, led the concept to another level, where a fundamental distinction was made
through the hierarchies of the support and the infill concept175 [complement with: Annex, I.9 John
Habraken’s Supports]. Stewart Brand would add a new perspective to the support and infill distinc-
tion towards the design of buildings acknowledging different hierarchy and timespans of levels and
the user participation in each level176.
Among the developments177, it is also important to refer what is a certain re-enactment of the
discourse on the type. The topic can broadly be summed up as an inquiry into the deep, general struc-
tures, paralleling the linguistics’ synchronism, and be included in an overall development of a norma-
tive perspective, developed from a research on systems. The research on type is too linked with a
recovery of history. The early notions of Quatremère de Quincy (b.1755-d.1849) had set the termi-
nological base for type. Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand’s (b.1760-d.1834) comprehensive depiction of
types echoed the influence of a series of renaissance treaties, such as Serlio’s practical treatise, and by
that following an academic line that can be traced back to Vitruvius’. To a certain extent, modernism
had ruptured this line, determined in abolishing the imitative character embodied in a ‘demonized’
Beaux Arts. The recovery of a type discourse thus followed the need to inscribe a social and cultural
dimension into architecture, a purpose that modernism had somewhat deviated from its priorities.
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The intrinsically normative type enabled both an analytical and a projective purpose, a tool to
analyze history, and conversely to design architecture. Tafuri defined the typological critique, as a trend
insisting on the formal invariants differentiated from the analytical masters of functionalism by its
historicist character178. With L’Architettura della Città179 and La Costruzione Logica dell’ Architettura180,
between 1966 and 1967, Aldo Rossi and Giorgio Grassi reevaluate architecture, which should thereon
be grounded into an understanding of the building types distinguishing the modern European city181.
They asserted the inevitability of rationalism based on the generative potential of the types, with an
historical twist. The rational methodology of type was not to be one of functional measure. Instead,
it should set up architecture as measure of architecture, expounding its lineage and future outcomes
through a record of autonomous principles, and thus essentially structuralist. Without interference,
architecture may inadvertently (and dangerously) end up in a kind of self-referenced/redundant de-
rivability, enclosed in a typological loop, where there is no real new input, but a sort of empty play of
forms, i.e., ultimately, a dead language.
With the Broadacre City Wright had implied nature in the city and in a larger territorial view,
within a liberal idea of land and production of built form182, and Aalto had referred to “nature as the
best standardization committee”, ascribing to a genetic tree of human artifacts where industrialization of
processes and forms completes the picture. Approaches to natural principles were also profusely
addressed in the development of building structures, binding together architecture and engineering
angles. In brief, as some structuralist sought for human patterns and gave an anthropological look to
relations as a leitmotiv of architectural production, namely in observing the vernacular built forms,
others sought for patterns and relations in the natural world. For many in the latter path D’Arcy
Wenthworth Thompson’s (b.1860-d.1948) On Growth and Form (1917) stood as a seminal reference. In
this line, the search into the structural qualities of natural forms would find pioneer references among
the practical and theoretical works of Antoni Gaudi (b.1852-d.1926), Friedrich Kiesler (b.1890-d.1965),
Robert Le Ricolais (b.1894-d.1977), Buckminster Fuller (b.1895-d.1983), Frei Otto (b.1925) or
Emilio Pérez Piñero (b.1935-d.1972). Using design models that investigate rules of structure or
self-formation, processes and shape formations were drawn from an observing curiosity in nature’s
forms and principles. Architectural models delivered visual evidence of force flows that prompted
towards analytical descriptions of the structures. The tangible experiments anticipated computer
analysis, and provided base for derived design techniques. It was also a search for optimal structures,
of building lighter to achieve the biggest spans as in Otto’s Münich Stadium (1972), to comprise the
biggest volume as in Fuller’s Geodesic Domes, or to achieve both in self-erecting deployable structures as
in Piñero’s unbuilt designs for NASA of portable greenhouses for the moon.
The examples denote a shift from architectural language, or from a normative typology, towards
the tactility of materiality and reaction to contextual impacts. Approaches spanned from establishing
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boundary conditions from where forms would be freely devised, to structuring devising processes
according to rule sets differentiating relationships between form, mass and force. Broadly, in materi-
ality, stressed systems tend to optimize themselves, and depending on strengths, by modulating den-
sities, different behaviors and responses could be detected and calibrated towards a numerical objec-
tification. If, in a first stage, such objectification served as a validating tool for construction purposes,
analogous principles have also more recently been re-engaged in service of algorithmic ruled itera-
tions.
In a different line, Christopher Alexander’s works brought in approaches from mathematics and
computer science, using set theory, graph theory and early computer tools, emphasizing the interac-
tion between people and the environment, to attain an abstraction of vernacular architectural con-
cepts. With Notes on the Synthesis of Form (1964), it was emphasized a numerical rationalism into solving
design problems, defining a design problem as the “requirements which have to be met”. Among these
requirements, were interdependent relationships that made them extremely hard to fulfill. By meth-
odologically mapping and analyzing relationships, the structure of the problem was to be brought
about logically. As other observers of the built environment, Alexander has broadly documented how
patterns may be recognized from and towards structuring our environments. It has significantly been
an inspiration to architects, engineers or theoreticians, but it has also been criticized by what may be
called a prescriptive dimension and an underlying aesthetically biased stance. Nonetheless, the work
is invaluable for its linkages between archaic and ordinary built environments and the widespread
materialism of modernist society expressed towards a digital sphere.
An important part of the legacy of the research onto a numerical objectification of the structural
qualities of natural or vernacular derived observations has been foundational in terms of a more
recent use of algorithmic digital tools, manifested in a search onto form via sets of rules and con-
strains, or on the problem of the automated space layout. The first developments start in the late
1960s, but it was only in the turn of the millennium, and with democratized internet communication,
that progresses have boosted. Notwithstanding, crossing the data values with emotional needs or
aspirations is a task still in its inceptions, as evidenced by the case seemingly basic, yet complex prob-
lem of the automated architectural layout183.
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2.3 Structuralist related forms
The formal approaches that can be related to a structuralist sphere, find its first acknowledgeable
developments in the architectural panorama of the 1960s. These have been implied around many
different labels and groups—such as New Brutalism, Dutch Structuralism, Megastructures, Metabolism, Situ-
acionism, Archigram, and so on—although not necessarily manifesting a particular structuralist affilia-
tion. The labelling is often unclear, with different terms sometimes referring to similar concerns, but
addressed by different groups. Around the prolific 1960s, some of the most remarkable and imagi-
native signal inputs were revealed by the fertile production of resurgent utopian proposals184. Exam-
ples are abundant, as is the case of the Smithsons’ city plan for Berlin (1958), as well as Yona Fried-
man’s Raumstadt (1961) or Spatial City (1961), or in some of the Metabolist proposals such as Kenzō
Tange’s Tokyo Bay Plan (1960).
As also observed in the natural structures, the use of additive principles derived from the vernac-
ular observation seemingly involved a limited array of related elements organized in a limited array of
variants, disposed through certain sets of rules. For instance, in earlier times, the Fibonacci sequence
had also been used in the Modulor from the belief that natural principles follow structural, universal
principles185. With greater or lesser degree, similar principles as those entailed by Aldo Van Eyck’s
aesthetics of number would be paralleled in other architectural proposals. Aldo Van Eyck’s Orphanage
(1970), Louis Kahn’s Richards Medical Center (1965), or Herman Hertzberger’s Diagoon (1971), figure
among the numerous examples where this sort of underlay can be clearly recognized. Formally, these
generally reflected an architectural conception made of more or less flexible layouts of switchable but
normally well-defined modulation. Space arrangements are combined by sets of rules and hier-
archized according to expected patterns of use and the elements of form normally reflect a concern
in establishing clear articulations, for instance, distinguishing load bearing from non-load bearing
elements or service spaces from servant spaces.
The ties between Team 10’s concepts such as the hierarchies of association, a concern for cultural
identity, or an acknowledgement of urban life through the relationships established by its inhabitants,
assign to a key idea of primacy of relations over things valued in the structuralism of the humanities.
The actions taken by Team 10 members to create formally complex large-scale systems able to adapt
to the city and the landscape led to different formal logics. The split can generally be placed between
a certain formalistic approach, which can be foremost recognized in the Smithson’s proposals,
and a clearer inner intentionality in Van Eyck’s or Candilis’s. On the one hand, as in the
Smithson’s Robin Hood Gardens housing complex in Poplar, East London (1972), it is portrayed a
certain interest in solving the emotional issues by designing spaces for casual social encounters
whenever possible, with hybrid spaces, not entirely public nor private, where socialization could
occur, through elements such as elevated pedestrian decks in mega-structural blocks.
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However, in a way, such was not much more than a continuity of the modernist approach in the
sense of imposing top-down design solutions, where the modern block was little more than disguised,
with slightly more sophisticated spatial sociability solutions186. On the other hand, a resolute shift
from a certain alienating abstraction brought about by modernism and its tendency of top-down
design, to make an architecture open to its user, freed of design impositions, where there is a well-
defined upper structuration that nonetheless enables users to freely engage in appropriating space.
The Smithson’s as found concept placed a new ethic stance, regarding the observation of the built
environment, cherishing its most ordinary and/or potentially unaware characteristics. On the other
hand, with the celebration of the natural qualities, as expressed in their woodiness of wood; sandiness of
sand187, it was implied a distinctive aesthetical stance.
The preference for raw materials, such as in-situ concrete, would give rise to a somewhat imposing
architecture. In the end, the approach would be labeled New Brutalism, which implied negative con-
notations. Reyner Baham coined the term in his 1955 essay The New Brutalism, making reference to
what he called a tendency to “look toward Le Corbusier and to be aware of something called ‘le beton brut (and)
l’ Architecture, c’est, avec des Matieres Bruts, etablir des rapports emouvants’ ”188. It is a naked, crude architec-
ture, where the Miesian more to achieve less allegedly does not take place189, where things are sup-
posed to be presented as they are, with no masks or disguises. It seems the ism of the brut is
also linked to an idea of rupture with a certain functionalist approach. It does so using a discourse
that employs vocabulary such as connectivity and flow, looking towards different aesthetical
conceptions, where design values such as image and composition acquire a new intentionality that does
not necessarily ascribe to the classical notions.
From that point, topology can gain relevance to a radical point of superseding geometry—where
a brick can be regarded as equivalent to a billiard ball. However, a literal use of topology redounds in
complete relativity, in amorphous, non-definable forms. With topology, a threshold is crossed, where
architecture ultimately can no longer use concepts such as proportion and symmetry. In it, there is
also no scale, opening up a perspective into a digital field where dimensions collide in numerical
codification, the algebraic strength of vectors making a door handle equivalent to an entire building
or a city. Conversely, that can also be referred on the perspective of an a-formalism as a positive force,
as expressed in their contemporary artistic works of Alberto Burri (b.1915-d.1995) of Magda Cordell’s
(b.1921-d.2008). Reyner Banham writes: “Even if it were true that the ‘Brutalists’ speak only to one another,
the fact that they have stopped speaking to Mansart, to Palladio and to Alberti would make ‘The New Brutalism’,
even in its more private sense, a major contribution to the architecture of today”190.
New aesthetical conceptions were also implied in what has been described as mat-buildings, a ref-
erence credited to Alison Smithson in the article How to Recognise and Read Mat-Building. Mainstream
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Architecture as it has Developed Towards the Mat-Building (1974). The first designs to have such label as-
signed were both developed by George Candilis, Alexis Josic and Shadrach Woods, all disciples of
Le Corbusier that founded their own office between 1955 and 1963, and where all at some point
active participants in Team 10. They participated in two competitions, one for the Free University in
Berlin (1963, and concluded ten years later), the other to the Römerberg in Frankfurt (1963). Among
other designs that can also be ascribed to a mat-building formulation, can be noted Le Corbusier’s
project for Venice Hospital (1964-65)191 or Van Eyck’s Orphanage in Amsterdam (1960).
Mat-buildings apparently use different compositional philosophies of those of the early modernists.
Geometrically they can be characterized as high-density, large-scale structures, organized through
more or less regulated grids. However, above all, there is an underlying general, topological order
influencing the disposition of units, which often share similar morphological characteristics. These
principles can be related to what has been called kasbahism, a notion ascribed to the historical Kasbah
urban structures, where buildings become less objects in themselves and more of elements of a larger
structure. With its topological order, the larger structure prevails, even if orphan of some individual
elements. With it, the overall form is an open-form192. As in the Kasbah, in mat-buildings the possibility
to endure change seems to be one of the characteristics that are primarily cherished193.
Despite a generic, topological character, metrics can nonetheless be important in these struc-
tures—Berlin, Frankfurt and Venice projects all share the use of Le Corbusier’s Modulor194. However,
these are just referential towards a formalization, as in a way these very same designs could easily be
something else without losing their identity. There is an inner resemblance, using similar but appar-
ently diverse units, which the immersed user is to experience as varied. As in an algorithm, this is
achieved by combinatorial processes, enabling the creation of complex relations through the iteration
of relatively simple rules. The resemblance of the seemingly diverse units is too one of a Vitruvian
echo, placing house and city, unit and larger form, in a direct bond, sharing an identical nature, one
on which the mat-building provides a structural synthesis.
This idea is strengthened by the open-endedness of the program. In Alison Smithson’s words:
“Mat-building can be said to epitomize the anonymous collective; where the functions come to enrich the fabric, and the
individual gains new freedoms of action through a new and shuffled order, based on interconnection, close-knit patterns
of association, and possibilities for growth, diminution, and change”195. From here, ultimately it makes no sense
to consider forms aprioristically, yet human activities which will eventually define them. In this sense,
in the mat-building form does not follow function. On the contrary, with it, the city is relational, not
functional, and it is not [merely] elevated in pilotis over a green land. It is a built form in a permanent
coming-to-be, spreading and absorbing any variation. In it, there is no place for singularity, except
that of the system [and an equivalent structure] regulating the process. Similarly, analogous concerns
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would too be present in the larger scale, as is the case with the territorial cluster-forms, with their se-
quential and open shapes, tending to a spinal growth towards the exterior.
In the mat-buildings forms repeat and intersect, growing horizontally from within, until an inter-
twined structure and a flexible mesh is formed. The functional indeterminacy allows a seemingly
endless growth and repetition, in an implied reference to evolutionary principles influenced by his-
torical structures. There is no longer a grid in the modernist sense, but a regulating mechanism that
is asymmetric, non-repetitive, and organic: a relational grid, following relativity’s geometries. From
the Cartesian inspiration of Neo-plasticism or Purism, it was now time to embrace the free forms, as
those portrayed by the abstract expressionism. As the Smithson’s write in Urban Structuring (1967), it
was time to “observe the paintings of Pollock or the sculptures of Paolozzi”196. It was time to rethink the lexicon
of the [inevitable] forms required by architecture to tangibly come about.
Outside Team 10 other related ideas developed, influenced by Louis Kahn (b.1901-d.1974) in the
USA, or Kenzo Tange (b.1913-d.2005) in Japan. The Metabolists in Japan197, developed architectural
formal concepts that included growth, change, flexibility, interchangeability, group forms or clusters,
differentiation between primary and secondary structures or the role of transportation routes. Given
such characteristics, the proposals undoubtedly echo the Dutch school, namely Habraken’s supports
theory. Kenzo Tange’s utopian Tokyo Bay Plan was probably one of the most famous Metabolist pro-
posal. It had too an unavoidable visual and conceptual affinity with the mat-buildings. Tange proposes
a linear structure with many smaller centers. The structure works at several levels and with the pos-
sibility of different implementation degrees. There is the linear connection between Tokyo and the
expansion, linking it to the existing transportation routes. In the central spine runs a civic core of
office buildings traversing horizontally between vertical service hubs. Perpendicularly, a series of ar-
raying ribs supporting housing. It is a vision of a future, which too, as in the mat-buildings, entails an
open-endedness conception.
In 1962, Kisho Kurokawa, a Tange disciple, published the Prefabricated Apartment House. In it, he
joined the idea of modular service units for kitchen, toilets and nursery units with pre-cast concrete
construction. He subscribed the concept of servant and served spaces, and defended the idea of the
building forms to be as precisely organized as the space rocket. In 1969, he would write his Capsule
Declaration, paying homage to cyborg architecture and the era of human mobility and electronics. The concept
of capsule living embeds an idea of spatial optimization to the most intricate detail. It is also embed-
ded in the idea of an ultimate placenessness, where the lifestyles of individuals travel freely in the space
of the metropolis, as they freely inhabit a technotronic society. The concept would be in the origin of
some of his most remarkable creations, with the Capsule House inside the thematic pavilion of
Expo’70, in Osaka, the Takara Beautillion pavilion, and most famously, in the Nakagin Capsule Tower,
in 1972198.
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In a different context, the Archigram group also delivered technocratic idealizations in their utopian
imagery. Visual references for projects such as Plug-in City (1964), The Walking City (1964), or Instant
City (1968), span among comics, pop-art, popular sci-fi, technology of oil refineries or of space-age
capsules, in post-apocalyptic or dystopian renderings. It is also about an architectural apocalypse, as
it conceptually consisted in a deliberate assault on architectural conventions, invading its seriousness
with popular art, all of which pinpointed by a great deal of irony and provocative spirit. There is, on
the one hand, a concern in addressing urbanism, and on the other, the design and conception of
individual buildings, where the injection of new subjectivity in the design and conception of archi-
tecture was simultaneously linked with an engagement with the urban frame. The idea is too remark-
ably visible in Constant Nieuwenhuys’ architectural-artistic proposals, where the envisioned struc-
tures are as if floating in space, suspended, extendable, anarchical, limitless. The New Babylon (1956-
1974), is in this sense envisioning a utopian anti-capitalist city, thought of as a flexible system in
permanent change, made to provide pleasure, creativity, the situationist detournement and the human
encounter. As it expands, it forms a cluster morphology, freely adapting to the ground conditions. In
detail, the cities of the New Babylon are articulated sectors; each a macrostructure composed of mi-
crostructures where housing and public space may merge199.
Above all, through Archigram or Constant’s proposals, it can be witnessed an immanent promise
of imagining alternatives, and effectively placing them at a communicational level which benefits its
larger understanding in a wider, non-expert audience. Without such mesmerizing and promise of
imagination, it is hard for architecture to live up to a liberating status that has potential to touch
society, to engage people. However, that is also a dimension of a fantasy of disenchantment, where:
“Architecture is probably a hoax, a fantasy world brought about through a desire to locate, absorb and integrate into
an overall obsession a self-interpretation of the everyday world around us”, as Warren Chalk wrote in an open
letter to David Greene in 1966200. The Smithson’s as found, as Van Eyck’s Kasbah’s, had been such a
self-interpretation, where in its stride architecture ends up accumulating de-contextualized imagery.
In a post-apocalyptic worldless world, there will be no room for architecture to be seen, as we will all
be in a elsewhere spaceship and can only look outside, from within, to the greater architecture of
nature.
From all these examples, in which it can be recognized at least an implicit structuralist affiliation,
we can observe recurrent concepts, such as: repeated use of identical elements; modularity of struc-
tures, elements, or relations; use of self-generative or rule-based mechanics; establishment of different
hierarchical modes (e.g. structure and infill); causality between individual project and the city and vice
versa. Many of these characteristics could be regarded from a mechanistic—algorithmic—point of
view. Yet, given the broader range of structuralism, only a simplistic approach could endure such a
perspective in exclusivity. Nonetheless, the temptation to place its interpretation from a mechanistic
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standpoint has endured in architectural circles. That figures a limited insight to structuralism, but
nevertheless sets practical prospects towards a different understanding of the relations between ar-
chitecture and optimized construction methods, which have more recently been revived with a new
attention given the variability enabled by the technological evolution.
Herman Hertzberger provided a eloquent insight on this dispute, writing: “Everything in architecture,
good or bad, in which the constructive aspect occupies a visually prominent position, and which has to do with repetition
of prefabricated components (whether of concrete or of some other material), with grids or frames, rigid or shaky or both
– it is all labelled structuralism. The original and by no means empty meaning of structure and structuralism indeed
appears to have been submerged by loads of architectural jargon”201. On a contrasting argumentation, if taking
structuralism literally to design, every form is ultimately structuralist. That inevitably results in voiding
the pertinence of making any distinction between structuralism and other ways of approaching de-
sign202. As an -ism, structuralism is indelibly historically traceable, as many of the examples we have
referred can portray. However, it embodies a much deeper potential, not only in binding a discur-
siveness of vernacular or natural with objectifying conceptions, but also in the framework it provides
towards an engagement of alterity conceptions in architectural production.
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2.4 Alterity in architectural production
Finally completing a new building seems such a glorious culmination. But it is an
illusion… A building is not something you finish, a building is something you start.
—Stewart Brand in How Buildings Learn, What Happens After They are Built
Artists talk a lot about freedom. So, recalling the expression ‘free as a bird’,
Morton Feldman went to a park one day and spent some time watching our
feathered friends. When he came back, he said: ‘You know? They’re not free:
they’re fighting over bits of food’.
—John Cage
Freedom is amorphous.
—Salvador Dali
Don’t ask for a rainbow, fetch it.
—Aldo Van Eyck
As free actors in space, we are nonetheless intrinsically constrained by the underlying context
through which we are born and bred. As a semiotic point of departure, this notion is unquestionable.
However, its radicalization has also been criticized. The extremes, which philosophically can be put
in dialectics such as existentialism and structuralism, empiricism and rationalism, or freedom and
constraint, can unobtrusively be regarded as opposed. In existentialism, man’s ego (its individuality)
faces an Other (i.e. a community, a nation, a world, and so on). In structuralism, the ego is seen as
unavoidably located within a structure, implicitly conditioned by an Other. However, on the one hand,
facts cannot be observed as facts alone, as observation implies a structure from which observation
takes place. Conversely, structure cannot be reasoned by structure alone, as to reason we first need
to observe facts to place them comparatively—e.g. without experiencing the sky, clouds never could
be deduced from nothing. In this perspective, pure reason or logic are tautological, they cannot create
new knowledge in themselves. They can only be based in previous axioms made from previous ob-
servations, thus ultimately stressing an ontological quest. On the other hand, pure sensorial input
would be anarchic, fragmented, and not recordable, as if spray-painting a wall which is not there203.
Architectural production implies some sort of control procedure. However, there are more obvi-
ous or subtle ways to exert it towards the experiential level of a user or observer. An application of
the semiotic notions of language and speech, could imply a formulation of build objects open to free
73
interpretation, or that somewhat could be freely appropriated by the user. However, unlike it can be
in the humanities, in architectural production it will hardly suffice to theorize or speculate. In princi-
ple, something is to be brought about materially, in a graspable form. On the one hand, this indicates
that perhaps architecture should be regarded with a special interest from the viewpoint of other areas
of knowledge. Conversely, this is also signal of the problems which theorization faces when con-
fronted with a praxis. In a physical world, the structural Homo Significans is frequently engulfed by the
constructive, legal or economic impositions limiting architects’ or users’ freedom.
Regarded as a counterpart of control, freedom can be described as unconcealed, unlimited release.
Unlike freedom’s release, spatial formulation is ordered, targeted, even if it is of an emotional order,
or an order that is impossible to define. Such as indicated by the trap of language evidenced by struc-
tural linguistics, freedom is too virtual, not attainable, intrinsically subjected to a sort of control, as a
rainbow that can be seen but not fetched. Freedom is thus subjected to a (in)visible structure, so it is
not independent. It takes no account of things, is anti-social, anti-authoritarian, anti-structure, or
conflictual, and ultimately is in itself constrained. In that sense, there is no such thing as freedom of
choice, as, by choosing, freedom is paradoxically diminished. Where everything is possible, there is
no reference, no need, there is just an isotropic, non-referential void. In this sense, freedom is amorphous,
thus non-architectural. The issue is eloquently illustrated by the paradox of choice, where is stated
that, psychologically, the more autonomy and freedom of choice, the more difficult is for a choice to
be made, as aspects such as chooser’s anxiety increase, to the point of paralyzing decision: more is
less, too much paralyzes204. Space-time creates a demand, which is manifested in a perceived form,
and it is this formalized space-time that makes freedom understandable.
Within the multilayered construction business, architectural decision-making is often over-
whelmed by upstream decision levels. This makes it difficult to escape a certain functionalist perspec-
tive, which typically favors, say, a certain financial accountability, which in turn may not be very
consistent with user’s spatial freedom: freedom is always conditional. Agreeing with the Marxist no-
tion that economy has the primacy over political or social life, perhaps the main purpose of a func-
tionalist perspective is to determine which couples with the requirements of predictability. This means
to envisage what can be the expected effects of certain options taken during the course of the design
process. On another level, determinacy can be a cause of detachment of the building with its user.
People need to be identified with the spaces they inhabit205, and that seems to be the best way for
buildings to endure, as people will more likely be caring for what they value and cherish, than for any
sort of overshadowing, controlling force206.
Following the language and speech distinction, a participatory or co-determined architecture could
be regarded through a perspective where, if language is the design, speech is given to the occupants. As
Hertzberger wrote: “The relation between a collective given and individual interpretation as it exists between form
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and usage as well as the experience thereof may be compared to the relation between language and speech”207. Archi-
tecture or urban planning can be regarded as the result of an interpretation from the architect of both
a material and an immaterial field that are read from a collective language sphere. In a way, the speech
can too be seen as the unfolding integration of these elements, where built and social structures are
met [complement with: Annex, I.10 Enacting freedom in Herman Hertzberger’s Central Beheer].
That is an interpretation of archetypal social behaviors, but also something that we can allegori-
cally ascribe to an endless Musée Imaginaire—an imaginary collection of images existing in the memory,
as originally described by André Malraux208. Following the metaphor, architecture harvests its shapes
from such an imaginary museum, translating it in the design, where thus speech is given to the architect.
This Musée Imaginaire also recalls two essential parameters of architectural freedom: the architect de-
signing from his own background, his personal museum; and the freedom of the user, also with a
museum of his own. In each, control and freedom occur at different levels, with the architect exerting
his spatial freedom under, e.g., economic or regulatory constraints, the user exerting his spatial free-
dom under, e.g., the constraint of the built form he inhabits, and both constrained by their individual
traces and an underlying social bias. Buildings are thus where two human organizations meet, the
intense group within, and the larger, slower, more powerful community outside. There is the experi-
encing human being, but there is also the frame of control—e.g. state, legislation, and so forth. A
building can even be our own house, but, in many cases, we cannot do what we want with it—
economic, social or environmental constraints limit options; regulation mechanisms have a word on
what can be built, or on aspects of how a house looks like, and so forth.
In bringing form to a material sphere, the architect’s freedom and responsibility is never fully elim-
inated, since in similar conditions, different architects most likely produce different designs. In this
sense, the architectural solution is personal/subjective. With or without awareness, there is always a
constraint of some sort when transferring though to the built environment, which will be manifested
in the use of some sort of intermediary, control mechanism—e.g. urban regulations to communicate
maximum building height allowed, graphic representation to communicate building’s dimensions to
contractor, and so on. Thereby, the architect’s task occurs in a limbo, where the client’s expectations
must be met, while his own experience may in cases point to a different direction, or regulations yet
another. That is, the subjective constraints of the individual sphere of the architect face the subjective
constraints of the individual sphere of the client, to which it must be added the collective constraints,
and so forth. Yet, because delivering form is a requirement, for the architect, the path through this
threshold must be traversed to bring up the artifact to life, and that implies choices, funneling possi-
bilities, going to one side while discarding other.
Anyhow, buildings seem to have a life of their own, and therefore a certain built form is not final,
but a becoming—as Stewart Brand (b.1938) writes, “a building is never really finished”209. Implicitly or
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explicitly, to alienate or attract human participation, involve or not the user in the design process,
purposefully specify or not parts of the design, leaving a greater or lesser degree of appropriation to
the user’s criteria, can be discouraged or stimulated (or perhaps just ignored) by the architect. This
kind of perspective of control can also be set for a larger urban or territorial level and ultimately can
be regarded as an ideological matter. For instance, the Faculty of Architecture and Urbanism of the University
of São Paulo (1969), by Vilanova Artigas (b.1915-d.1985), is a remarkable example of ideology taken
to an extreme, where freedom and equality are determining guiding principles. The spaces are wide
open, seemingly without hierarchy. That is further stressed by its flow in half levels, connected soft
and wide ramps, which give a sense of a single plan level. Nonetheless, there is an imminent order.
Spatially such order is primarily given by the huge public atrium, a central void that physically and
visually bonds the diverse spaces of the building, and from where the different levels and their con-
nections can be perceived. This order is further stressed by the building envelope, particularly its
roofing, which dominates the internal space, and by the precise rhythm of its solid columns that
enable [and contrast with] the lightness of the roof, which is stressed by its geometrically precise
skylight pattern. The order of the building is what enables its freedom; the central communal space
represents a spatial order, which nonetheless is intended from a purpose of freedom. The fact that
the building was though without entrance doors further stresses the ideology of a democratic, com-
munal space, which finds its greater expressions in an idea of fluidity and certain programmatic open-
endedness, through wide spaces and free flow communication. Anyhow, although beloved, the build-
ing is also criticized by its users, since its open-endedness can sometimes be chaotic. In a way, its
polyvalence simply lacks order, and that simply does not always comes in handy: its ideology (i.e.
freedom) is also its imprisonment. The architectural production is indeed an imperfect equation.
Social life is full of uncertainties and constraints. As Marx disclosed, control is inextricably bonded
to [social] conflict. Likewise, any sort of user participation in an architectural design will inevitably
origin conflict. Between the architect and the user, there is a potential conflict of a communicational
or cultural nature. Although still revisited, the qualities and faults of Modernist control strategies have
become clearer with time in respect to the alienation of human participation, invariably favoring other
aspects. In any case, critique may be unfair to many of the modernist architects, as, in many ways,
aspects of their designs were out of their control. For instance, architects in the postwar were in a
large pressure to meet the huge demands for social housing, and quality had to make way for quantity.
In everyday practice, architects are pressured to deliver in some way, and conditions are often far
from ideal. It is not an easy task to focus in delivering quality to the design, as stuff as bureaucratic
tasks and the like accumulate, limiting the architect’s ability to devise responses. In another perspec-
tive, often there seems to be a lack of communication between architectural professionals and other
actors involved in the building’s construction or building’s maintenance throughout its life span.
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Anyhow, most of the modernist architectural archetypes were, in brief, fundamentally based in an
alienating conception, where tight control mechanisms mostly impede user participation, or in the
least result in less inviting forms210. Opposed to such a deterministic conception several voices
aroused in praise of cross-cultural approaches towards non- or less-restrictive principles211. In the
historically developed city, the palimpsest of built layers is rendered as result of open forms and a
varied and stable network of relationships within the entire system occurring through the special
sociability of the street. In it, there is seemingly no imposition, as control is socially implied. As it
appears to an observer in the present, the network of streets, its relation of building heights with
width of streets, it all seems to be a balanced game of economy, materials, techniques, social accepted
values of privacy, security, and so forth. In our modern cities, control and the role of authorities are
a major influence on the design and use of built environments. On the one hand, authorities are
important to assure the existence and coherence of the urban infrastructure. On the other hand, their
control should not extend so far that people lose any sort of influence212. The major problems seem
to appear when control is liberated to voracious speculation. Ultimately, the users will inevitably be
constrained by their ability to afford certain spaces, which often leaves them hostages of the profit-
engaged mechanisms, with few or simply no chance of influence.
On the long run, between the control levels of public policies and their emanating regulations,
building entrepreneurship, design, and using, the outcome is not always profitable to the built envi-
ronment. In such a chain, the architect and the user are typically the least controlling in the entire
process. Nonetheless, influence can be exerted from these, as it has been attempted in Jean Nouvel’s
Nemausus I state-financed social housing, built in 1986 in Nimes, France, where an ingenious method
was devised to overcome dwelling’s spatial limitations implied by regulations [complement with:
Annex, I.11 Alterity beyond Control through Jean Nouvel’s Nemausus I]. Inevitably, any kind of
speculative design has probably a greater potential of mismatch between the design intentions and the
building’s normal use. Anyhow, most buildings are unavoidably speculative, and no architecture
can suit all tastes. Architecture requires options to be taken, an order to be established, although not
necessarily a totalitarian control. Whatever the order may be, that necessarily ends up pleasing some
more than other. As in the sentence attributed to Abraham Lincoln, “You can please some of the people all
of the time, and you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time”.
There are thus no definitive answers on how to combine control and user freedom in architectural
production. Moreover, the expressed intentions and the practice often lead to contradictory state-
ments. When Mies van der Rohe reduced a building to an ideal ‘fast nichts’ [“almost nothing”], as in the
Farnsworth house, we could apparently understand it as an embodiment of a non-interference of the
architect on the lives of the users. Nothing could be further from the facts213. With Mies’ nothingness
what was instead suggested, was a maximum opportunity for freedom of expression, but only and
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only if as not altering what the architect envisions. Such idealized nichts [“nothingness”] turns out to be
a mirage of freedom which only some can afford, and few can cope with—a total, permanent, im-
posed, perfect, irrefutable, controlled, ideal, personal (the architect’s view), non-universal freedom214.
The Fransworth house is immaterial matter, metamorphosed in the prestidigitator hands. It indulges
[a simulated] freedom, which lives and breathes in a utopian world, where the tiniest contamination will
have devastating effects: change is ruin. It is a highly sophisticated, final language with no admissible
speech. Edith Farnsworth, the client which had endorsed Mies to entirely fulfill his architectural beliefs
into the design, would later attack Mies’ famous axiom: “Less is not more”, she wrote, “It is simply less!”215
(but then, apparently there were also personal issues involved).
The more radical functionalist approaches reduced space design to a machine engaged with pro-
gress, with little or no concern for man’s less quantifiable needs. The subject is recurrent since, with
different sorts of approaches. One can be the putting into perspective the obsessive nature of an
immaculate functional order by an appeal to flexibility. Another can be to regard research within the
cultural context of an activity to be applications from which to reinterpret, rework and exploit the
functional program216. In one, the technical answer, where the built spatial hardware is hard-wired
towards user participation. In the other, the open-space with no predetermined meaning correspond-
ence, available for free interpretation, where the space is materially released from its functional pur-
pose, placing control not in a physically built form, but in implied regulatory design mechanisms
which endure a potential of adaptability. The first can archetypally be ascribed to the type of approach
endured in Gerrit Rietveld’s Schröder House (1919), and can be contemporarily noted in the transform-
able apartment theme, using transformable, multi-purposed furniture and [high]-tech apparatus in
order to optimize space through flexibility of use. The latter finds an eloquent archetype in Le Cor-
busier’s conceptual Dom-ino (1915). The formalization of both the technical, and the open types, is
intrinsically related on the structural and infrastructural design philosophy.
Rietveld’s Schröder House, although built to a specific client, also renders a highly conceptual ap-
proach. Each activity in the house requires a choice. On each situation, the user can decide what the
intended house configuration is. Such is enabled by a series of built-in sliding partitions. In the center
of the living level, there is a fixed core with services and the stairs. The bedroom level is too following
a principle of embedded sliding doors. There are numerous different spatial combinations hard-wired
in the building. The concept got to concretization because the client keenly defended such concepts.
Nevertheless, throughout its history, the concept would reveal its faults. What was probably playful
in the beginning, would eventually reveal hard or unnecessary. The effort to constantly open or close
the sliding doors ultimately led the clients to keep the same spatial configuration all the time, that is,
to turn permanent their flexibility options217.
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A broad idea of user participation was notoriously implied in Le Corbusier’s Plan of Obus in Algiers
(1928-1931), based on an infinite linear curved block bounded to the structure of the motorway,
where the possibility of participation by its inhabitants is left open. The earlier conceptual Maison
Dom-Ino (1914-15) had already denoted an open-endedness in its free plan and façade, but nonetheless
it had no formalization, conveying an idea of freedom through its bondless indeterminacy. The design
is truly a proto-architectural concept, a framework, completely independent of the floor plans of the
house: a concrete skeleton with three slabs, six pillars and a staircase, embedded in the idea of mass
production and allowing a great deal of layout and façade variability. It is also the prototypical image
of many designs later developed by Le Corbusier to address the housing problem—namely the Maison
Citrohan (1920), the Immeubles-Villas (1922), the Pessac (1925), or the Villa Savoye (1931)—but also
archetype of vacant, adaptable forms. The concept foresaw a bearing structure, which could be used
as a base to take decisions about the plan divisions and windows location and size in a later stage of
the design or even of the construction, and thus can be interpreted as an open-ended design, allowing
user freedom. Fundamentally, it is foremost a concept, not too much compromised with a final form,
and that may well be what made it prevail.
In common, the types depicted by Schröder or Dom-Ino houses ascribe to the need to make the
spaces we inhabit our own, instilled with freedom purposes under a more or less explicit sphere of
control. They convey a desire for a sense of permanence, for stability, for keeping a feel of shelter
and reference to call a place our home. In this sense, Rietveld’s concept-made-house may had worked
fine if the house was not to be assigned to a single family, but instead temporarily occupied by dif-
ferent families over time. Nonetheless, the open-ended principles were unthinkable in the post-war
mass housing: more freedom meaning more technical apparatus (Schröder) or more space availability
(Dom-Ino), and in both more is money.
From the earlier modernist optimization studies, post-war construction urgency and so forth,
compartmentalization of the building process through different, industrially-driven, construction
components made more sense than ever, and control towards built-form could be more accurate
than ever. With it, it has risen a preliminary methodological distinction between what can be called
the servant and served spaces, a terminology which fundamentally distinguished those spaces with more
variety and/or density of infrastructure terminals, such as kitchens or toilets, from those with less,
such as bedrooms and living rooms. In brief, the servant would stand for a lesser potential of trans-
formation, whereas the served for seemingly more freedom of space. Modernism had already provided
the notion of the free plan and/or free façade. Alongside, it was distinguished a structural core of
columns, beams or slabs, from a remaining free floor and façade space. With the introduction of
discrete levels, the services were added to the distinction. To the structural core would be added a
second, infrastructural core, the services.
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Buckminster Fuller’s prefabricated bathroom (1938) stood as an extreme concretization of such con-
ception, adding both concepts of product rationalization and ergonomics towards the determination
of its shape, and calculated exactly in agreement with the space that is assumedly necessary for it to
be transported to site with ease. In the Salk Institute, in La Jolla, California (1959-1965), Louis Kahn
implicitly distinguished servant and served spaces, with the program reflecting the requirements as well
as mirroring the deepest wills of people for freedom and security. In the project, the complex is
divided in three parts, each related with an aspect of the research institute, with a publicly accessible
meeting center, semi-public research laboratories and a private dwelling center. In the research build-
ing, the servant spaces are articulately subordinated to the served laboratory area. The spatial concept is
integrated with the structure, which enables a span that leaves the entire floor area free for any type
of posteriorly intended subdivision.
Between a buildings’ useful life and the need to typify human activities lies a central conflict. In a
shorter or longer run, once a part of a city or a building is completed, it will invariably be occupied
differently than what was initially suggested. Such unpredictability, has led some theoretical and/or
design approaches to claim for a greater flexibility in use, calling for ease of adaptability or to design
with polyvalence in mind. Different goals may be at stake, where generally is accepted the idea that
the material elements of construction should not undermine eventual future changes in the building’s
use. A related idea has to do with the future prospect of totally or partially recycling built structures,
discretely separating them in hierarchies conducted by life-span expectancy. The quest for flexibility
can hence lead to different approaches. Some, by setting some material decisions to latter stages of
the design process (or leaving them open). Others, by applying standardized, hence potentially more
easily replaceable building elements. Others even, by distinguishing between primary and secondary
elements, or between those that are to be permanent and those more easily replaceable. These ap-
proaches are not exclusive and may be found used simultaneously218. Moreover, as with the greater
or lesser availability of space, the design brief will inevitably affect how freedom-enacting intentions
may be transposed.
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81
3 TAXONOMIC LANDSCAPES:
(RE)MAPPING ARCHITECTURE’S STRUCTURES
Der Römische Brunnen
Auf steigt der Strahl, und fallend gießt
Er voll der Marmorschale Rund,
Die, sich verschleiernd, überfließt
In einer zweiten Schale Grund;
Die zweite gibt, sie wird zu reich,
III Der dritten wallend ihre Flut,
Und jede nimmt und gibt zugleich
Und strömt und ruht.
[“Roman Fountain
The jet ascends and, falling, fills
The rounded marble basin up,
Which shrouds itself before it spills
Into a second basin’s cup;
Growing too full, the second runs
Its surging billows to the next,
And all three give and get at once,
And run and rest.”]
—Conrad Ferdinand Meyer, translated by A.Z. Foreman
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3.1 A general notion of systems
Cognitive psychology indicates there is a human tendency from which seemingly complex opera-
tions, of which there is no prior knowledge of, are understood from what are thought to be their
simpler terms, and by which difficult operations are solved by breaking them into smaller, easier to
grasp, parts219. This reductionist notion also implies some sort of reference from where things are to
be compared and understood, and that essentially raises the need of having some kind of taxonomy
to relate the otherwise diffuse fragments. Anyhow, a reminder should be present to what has been
said by the Gestalt psychologist Kurt Koffka, “the whole is other than the sum of its parts”220, implying that
when the human mind forms a percept (or gestalt), that the whole is something other, or different,
than what appears to be grasped from what are hence its parts. To this, we can add the Royal Society’s
motto, nullius in verba (Latin for “on the word of no one” or “take nobody’s word for it”), which incites the
breaking of boundaries and ever questioning. With an implied methodological call for science, the
motto suggests that boundaries are there to be broke, but also that, recursively, when breaking them,
there are new boundaries coming to life before us. As subscribed under a structuralist viewpoint, it
is from the (sub)conscious structures that we are able to give a foundation, question and develop
knowledge, thus going beyond existing boundaries.
In Myth and Meaning (1979), Lévi-Strauss expressed his understanding that “science has only two ways
of proceeding: it is either reductionist or structuralist… And when we are confronted with phenomena too complex to
be reduced to phenomena of a lower order, then we can only approach them by looking to their relations, that is, by
trying to understand what kind of original system they make up”221. Regardless the approach, it stands out that
some degree of simplification must be attained to understand seemingly more or less complex phe-
nomena. Moreover, there is also a relational sphere, referring not only to isolated elements, but also
how to rationalize their affiliation, implying a systematicity. The latter is thus key towards the produc-
tion of knowledge, in the unfolding processes of building and structuring signification. It is what
essentially enables a communicational platform, enabling ideas to be recognized, differentiated, and
understood, affecting aspects such as language, prediction, inference, decision-making and all kinds
of environmental interaction, and thus involving processes of choice. As structuralism implies, every
discipline is supported in a particular language, defining its terms and establishing common grounds,
and without a communication platform, no discipline or knowledge of any kind can be developed.
The taxonomic mechanisms of a systematicity enable it. Thereby, a common ground between the no-
tions of structure and system can be established222.
Subscribing a Kantian architectonic notion, which can roughly be acknowledged as equivalent to a
systematicity, the ways by which architecture is brought into being can be regarded as embedded of an
organizational nature, where both a nounomenal (or mental) and a material (or executive) spheres meet.
For instance, on the dialectic of design/construction, through mental/prospective notions such as
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design system or compositional system, or executive notions such as constructive system, systems construction223, or
prefabricated systems224. Transposing a systems’ vocabulary to architecture, questions such as what is a
system? or what characterizes system? can be translated into something such as what is a building? or what
characterizes a building?, and so on. Even leaving philosophical interpretations of these questions aside,
such questions are anyhow vague on their own, and would have to be further specified. In this case,
the formulation implies an equivalence of system with building, hence where building is not an object
of analysis in itself, but symbolically a system-object insofar as it is understood of being constituted of
diverse parts. Furthermore, in answering to what is a building?, in the least it would have to be
understood what can be meant with building, or what it symbolizes. That is, if it is being addressed a
projective-constructive reality (which in itself can be split in to additional streams of analysis), or if it
is also being addressed a perspective such as of architecture’s functional program, building maintenance,
or an experiential level of the use of space, and so forth. The taxonomies thus established for any such
analytical process are intrinsically of a limited scope, and have to be regarded insofar as a transitory
and inherently symbolic formulation. That is, there is an underlying practicality in establishing these
kinds of distinctions, which can serve methodological and/or communicational purposes.
For methodological purposes, a distinction between a theoretical and an empirical system can be
established225. The first can be said of being of an in-out type, traveling from a mind-set (a mental,
nounomenal dimension of concepts, propositions, or suppositions) towards the world (a material di-
mension of real or imaginary beings, objects, or things), via empirical reference and logical integration.
The second can be said of being of an out-in type, moving from a set of phenomena to theory. Laszlo
and Krippner described the concept of system as serving “to identify those manifestations of natural phenom-
ena and process that satisfy certain general conditions. In the broadest conception, the term connotes a complex of
interacting components together with the relationships among them that permit the identification of a boundary-main-
taining entity or process”226. A system can thus be regarded as a boundary condition, or directional refer-
ence—e.g. in-out or out-in—between two states acknowledged as being different. Furthermore, the
establishment of a boundary condition implies a formalization through a symbolic device—i.e. setting
a frame of reference of a reality (symbol) through a certain form (e.g. material, verbal, visual, and so
forth), i.e. clarifying a scope.
Deepening the definition base, a system can formally be described as a frame acknowledging a set
of two or more elements, where each element has an effect on the whole, each element is affected by
at least another, and all its infra-groups or supra-groups have the first two properties227. Additionally,
we can generally speak of four main characteristics of a system. One is things, that is, the objects, parts,
elements, variables, or other (sub)systems within it, which may be physical, abstract or both, depending
on the nature of the system and the intentionality of its use. A second is attributes, that is, its qualities
or properties and its things. A third is relations, that is, the internal relationships among its things. A
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forth is environment, that is, the surrounding, or medium where it exists. From here, a broad definition
of system can be put as a set of things that affect one another within an environment and form a larger
pattern that is different from any of the parts228.
Put in more visual terms, a system can be regarded as more of a pattern than of a thing in itself.
Although not entirely accurate, a way of illustrating it would be through an analogy of moving in and
out a visual representation of a Mandelbrot fractal set, in the sense that the fractal depicts interrelated
elements, whose appearance is differently rendered in each moment or scale of observation, regard-
less their bonds, but nonetheless retain an invariance relating them. That is, more than a stagnant
entity, the acknowledgment of a system serves a methodological purpose, but can only acquire signif-
icance when dynamically set alongside other so-called systems, that is, their value resides in their sym-
bolic power as both referential (rational) and significant (semiotic) device.
From the diverse approaches that can be observed in the literature describing systems, stating as-
pects such as wholeness and interdependence, hierarchy, inputs and outputs, and so forth229, perhaps the most
comprehensive is the one emanating from the knowledge of the second law of thermodynamics.
From there, it is suggested the exchange capabilities of a system, studying thermodynamic systems in
terms of their kinds of boundaries and of transfers, addressing notions such as openness or closeness,
external or internal, dynamic or adynamic, permeable or impermeable, and so forth, which can only be ob-
served from the establishment of a boundary condition. Anyhow, distinctions such as open/closed are
in last instance purely methodological (even in thermodynamics)230, given the implied relativism of
systems231. The above terminology stands for the thermodynamics approach, but analogous terms can
be used to concepts such as exchanging information or currency, or also to describe nature’s eco-systems,
and so forth232. For instance, in architecture, a notion such as closeness can in spatial terms somewhat
convey the idea of more of a controlled environment, or objectual sense, and conversely, openness
may imply interaction, or the ability to cope with change233.
From what has been said, in brief, a system can be considered as a boundary condition, represen-
tation, or classification, of a universe of elements. In broad terms, we could synthesize it in a set of
the kind S={t, a, r, e}, with ‘S’ standing for system; ‘t’ for things, ‘a’ for attributes; ‘r’ for relations; and ‘e’
for environment234. In higher or lower ranks, each element in this formulation could be analyzed as an
analogous system per se, meaning potentially obtaining an infinite set of systems from a given finite
system—hence an open system(aticity). By opposition, it can be said that a closed system is one where is
required a formal consideration onto where the range of analysis is limited, thus defining the scope
of the system, enclosing it. Anyhow, for practical purposes, most systems so-considered are regarded
from a closed perspective.
To illustrate such a systems’ schematics in an architectural context, the system say constructive component
of a building—e.g. steel truss—can be observed from the perspective of its diverse elements. Its things,
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i.e. the elements that make up the component—e.g. steel profiles, screws, bolts, welds, paint. Its
attributes, i.e. the characteristics of the elements considered individually or their function in the whole
component—e.g. paint can have both a protective and an aesthetic function, and so forth. Its relations,
i.e. again considered in each of the individual elements or in the overall component—e.g. the relation
between a steel profile and a screw, or how the steel truss will connect to its support, what visual
effect will it produce. Finally, its environment, i.e. the supra or infra systems with which will it be a part
of or contain—e.g. the building is the environment of the steel truss, but also a portico formed by
the truss and its supporting columns can be considered as its environment, and so forth. Additionally,
a steel-truss like the one described in our example, can be considered as a closed system from e.g. a
spatial use perspective, but can also be considered as an open system from the perspective of e.g. its
maintenance (e.g. painting to protect it from corrosion), and so forth. From here, it is also clear that
besides its intrinsic formality, that an underlying intentionality is required to make a knowledgeable
or an operative sense of a system—or, as Marchal has written, “and, of course, what we end up looking for
will depend on the kinds of systems that we have found it interesting to identify”235.
The mapping of a system is thus subjected to a set of purposes, scope, or on the resources available
to proceed it, and so forth. Anyhow, some findings are just not readily possible to recognize or to
assimilate, and thus frame onto a system of some sort, and some others may never will. Moreover,
with the available knowledge at a certain moment, some realities are just too complex to be mapped
onto a system, or their relevance too far from a certain core purpose for it to have any practical rele-
vance in more immediate terms. Overall, given an inherently qualitative dimension, which we can
relate with the very human condition—a dimension where the homo faber, following Hannah Arendt’s
description236, meets the homo significans—it stands out that more than set towards strictly utilitarian
purposes, systems are partial, rational means of a seemingly ever-unraveling human construct.
As the physicist Richard Feynman eloquently implied, we just have to allow ourselves to be in
some framework where we have to make faith in what others tell us, otherwise risking on perpetually
asking why?. That is perhaps why our civilization has come up with specialization, laws, standards,
certifications, and so forth237. Whatever the work one makes, we are inescapably engaged in a societal
frame, which involves tradeoffs and a degree of trust—implicit or explicit, aware or unaware—in
what other people say or make, and thus we purposefully have to allow ourselves the ignorance and a
socially engaged belief for our work to attain a productive sense. Anyhow, that does not mean disre-
garding the nullius in verba motto, which puts forwards a sense of dissatisfaction, where perfection or
accomplishment cannot but fugaciously be fulfilled. As primarily an act of human intellect over space-
time, whatever that may be, architecture must deal with the natural imperfectness and evolution of
human spirit, and that is valid both for how architecture is produced as for the ways it is experienced.
Moreover, as some of the most intrepid modernist works have shown, good intentions delivered in
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optimized fashion by brilliant architectural minds, although may be aesthetically (subjectively) appre-
ciable and/or symbolically sharp, do not necessarily mean successful designs from other points of
view—e.g. Brazilia.
It is our belief that the reality of architecture is not that of the perfection of universal laws that
have the potential of explaining everything such as in physics, yet to act in the imperfectness of the
unfolding human life. In that sense, architecture can be regarded as much more about social engage-
ment than about science, less of a method, more of an ongoing praxis, carrying its memes, and in any
case an artificial [and imperfect] human construction. Maybe the old adage of the computer world is
true: the perfect system is one with no users. Nonetheless, through a more or less explicit statement
of a systematic order, with greater or lesser accomplishment or influence, several remarkable authors
throughout history have attempted to establish architecture’s taxonomies, as is the case of the ancient
Vitruvius, the Renaissance men such as Alberti or Serlio, or the more recent Modern’s such as de
Quincy, Durand, Semper, Le Corbusier, Habraken or Frampton. Anyhow, regardless the approach
and/or circumstances, the fact is that the efforts undertook by these and others apparently signal an
ontological aspiration, that of giving architecture a discursive foundation where the archetypal stones
or any dogmatic formulation cannot reach. A foundation amid the unraveling dynamic of the things
of the world, for fugacious that may be.
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3.2 Type and architecture
3.2.1 A KIN ORDER OF TYPE
In architectural discourse, the broadly used notion of type is what probably more vividly has been
synthesizing the semantics of what is a seemingly more general notion of system. Indeed, although
both are prone to multiple interpretations, the contribution of a system’s understanding of phenomena
finds several analogies to that of the type in architecture, with both concepts often mistaken, which,
depending on the scope or approach, it is not necessarily incorrect.
Our built environment is perceived through our sensory mechanisms and evaluated through our cul-
tural background, via ideals, images, values, meanings, expectations, and so forth. What we experience is
the outcome of many individual decisions of numerous people over time. The patterns arising from this
environment are direct derivations of a society’s culture over space-time, expressing shared preferences238,
and these can be classified in multiple ways.
In architecture things can be labelled in terms related with form (e.g. a box-like house), space (e.g.
a patio house), and so forth. Architects, or other actors involved in the building processes, or any
observer of such processes, can also use terms related with things such as the market (e.g. describing
a house by the number of rooms, as T0, T1, T2), the style (e.g. colonial house or neo-classicist house), the
location (e.g. country house or beach house), and so on. These classifications can be more or less ques-
tionable, and whereas some will be more prone to trends, others can have a deeper impact in the
continuous process of analysis and production of the built environment. Modernly, in architectural
thinking, particularly since the XVIIIth century, with the contributions of Quatremère de Quincy
(b.1755-d.1849) or Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand (b.1760-d.1834), such classifications have frequently
followed the terminology of type. Nonetheless, the notion of type had been around in architectural
circles for quite some time, although with different connotations239.
While seeking for the origins of the art of building, common traces can be found everywhere. For
instance, creating a shelter from available materials, or devising a technology for it to provide the
basic purpose of protection towards the weather conditions. As eloquently put from a vernacular
perspective, as different materials are found, new uses are eventually enabled, old materials given
different uses, or the knowledge to devise a different technology is adapted, and so forth, eventually
evolving to a higher sophistication in materials, techniques, or processes240. Such can be regarded as
an evolutionary view, and is one that has been broadly implied by several versions of the myth of the
hut, as famously expounded in Laugier’s cabane, set on the path of a Vitruvian-humanist tradition. In
such an evolutionary perspective, forms are bound to arise from a timeless iteration between the
observation of the real and its course in imagination, thus changing and adapting throughout.
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Sprouting from the mythical notion of the hut, early reference books, such as Vitruvius’s, or later,
since the Renaissence, Alberti’s, Serlio’s or Palladio’s books were embedded in the spirit of type. In such
a Vitruvian lineage, the notion of type was essentially related to a kin idea of form, that is, on a certain
predominantly objectual way of envisaging architecture. The case would particularly gain visibility with
Serlio’s, due to the groundbreaking illustrations accompanying the text, while contributing to a wider
dissemination and audience awareness. The broad scope of the Vitruvian triad firmitas, venustas and util-
itas, ascribes to a kin architectonic whole of an objectual, but too divine sense, since architecture is there
regarded as a synthesis of these ideas in an undividable, perfect whole of interdependent parts materi-
alized in a construction form. That has carried epistemological repercussions to these days.
The Doric, Ionic or Corinthian orders, rediscovered in the Renaissance, added to that objectual sense
an emphasis on a somewhat mixed conceptual/aesthetical purpose. Conceptually, in the Renaissance,
the faraway classical history provided a supposed ontological validation, which could not be thor-
oughly verified, but also could not be refuted—indeed the mythical hut model is based on non-
particularly confirmable, yet plausible suppositions. The Roman or Greek remains, added by numer-
ous inputs, such as those of remarkable Renaissance artists and architects, enhanced an aesthetical
dimension to that ontological harbor, thus resulting in a higher-architecture—corresponding to a high-
culture241—that readily became a model mimicked throughout. Remarkably illustrating the underlying
validation process, a few centuries later, a comparable ontological harbor would be used to build the
monumental, classicist inspired Washington DC, assumed as a both an architectural model and ide-
alized as a solid, stable cornerstone of a liberal society242, safe-haven of a national identity.
The classical orders are derived from a mythical inspiration—the hut or the like—each following
more or less rigid rules and each with its particular issues, as illustrated by the classical corner align-
ment conflict of the Doric. Since seemingly directly binding conceptual and aesthetical purposes, the
classical orders fundamentally reinforce an objectual, kin sense to architecture’s episteme. Further-
more, they essentially constitute in themselves the idea of system, following its own laws, which can
additionally be used in buildings in conjunction with other orders. Yet it can also be seen as a type,
that is, each order can be distinguished from the others for the use of certain kinds of constructive
or aesthetical motives related with more or less clear symbolic purposes, and so forth. From here, it
matters to attempt to clarify the distinction between system and type, noting that the modern notion of
type in architecture would extend far beyond the notions that could be interpreted from the classical
orders, which in many cases has nonetheless blurred the difference in terms.
3.2.2 AN ENLIGHTENED TYPE
Etymologically, type derives from the Latin, typus, meaning figure, image, form, or kind. From the
Greek, typos, it is associated with a blow, dent, impression, mark, effect of a blow; figure in relief,
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image, statue; anything wrought of metal or stone; general form, character; outline, sketch, and so on.
From the XVIIth and XIXth century onwards, it has been used to symbolize, and to project, to foresee.
Since ancient times, the knowledge of anatomy and physiology had been divided into systems—e.g.
cardiovascular system, endocrine system, and so on243—which meanwhile have grown in specificity
and clarification.
Carl Linnaeus, in his Systema Naturae (1735) and subsequent works, was the primary responsible
for the ‘invention’ of modern taxonomy, or systema as he called it, by then dividing the natural world in
three kingdoms, (animalia, vegetalia, mineralia), each of these into classes, (e.g. animalia into mammalia,
aves, amphibia, pisces, insecta, vermes), and so forth. To these days, in biological terms, the notion of
system follows a similar logic, regarded as a group of related (natural) objects or forces within a
defined zone, an interdependent or regularly interacting group of items making a unified whole. In
the same Systema Naturae and other works, Linnaeus also famously used the word type in the biological
notion of type specimen244 in his groundbreaking taxonomic classifications of the natural world. In
biology, a type specimen is an example that serves to anchor or centralize the defining features of that
particular taxon—i.e. it is a preserved specimen designated as a permanent reference for a new spe-
cies, new genus or some other taxon. These types are usually physical specimens that are kept in a
museum or herbarium research collection, but failing that, an image of an individual of that taxon
has often been designated as a type.
Regarded immutably, type has thus the classificatory character of an encyclopedia—i.e. a referential
source of knowledge made to withstand the times, much in the fashion of the Vitruvian triad or the
Classical architectural orders. Anyhow, nature’s classifications have evolved ever since Linnaeus, ac-
companying the findings of science, although in some cases early classifications have generally stood
the test of time. In any case, directly or indirectly, type has most likely entered the architectural vocab-
ulary based on Linnaeus’ signification, not least, in our belief, because an important part of Linnaeus’
type specimen characterizations followed a morphological insight. From there, as a modern conception
of methodological breadth, the discourse of type definitely entered the architectural lexicon with the
early encyclopedic definitions of de Quatremère de Quincy, or the collections of types of Jean-Nicolas
Durand.
In the core of de Quincy’s conception laid the distinction between type and model. In it, whereas
type was located in the domain of the ideal, the abstraction, the model was located in a rendered set,
used for practical purposes, repeated as it was245. According to de Quincy, fundamentally we should
not mistake the idea of type with the idea of model. Whereas he regarded the idea of type as the original
reason of the thing, which can neither command nor furnish the motif or the means of an exact
likeness, the idea of the model was regarded as a complete thing, or an instance of the type, which was
bond to a formal resemblance. The concepts do resemble the early biological taxonomic definitions,
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where model can somewhat be understood as specimen, and type as type specimen, although clearly follow-
ing a free interpretation of their own, including some philosophical additions. Curiously, de Quincy’s
type/model distinction do resembles the genotype/phenotype biological distinction, which would only be
introduced in taxonomic terms in 1908 by Wilhelm Johannsen246. Anyhow, on de Quincy’s lineage,
other distinctions have followed, as for instance the historically closer analogous distinction, pro-
posed by Habraken, between system and pattern247, which, regardless the divergence in terminology, in
any case stands for the establishment of some kind of order, or replicable methodology, but not
necessarily in stagnant mechanistic terms.
On the same epoch as de Quincy, the French architect Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand developed a
classification method to address architectural issues. Durand’s approach was too tuned with an en-
lightened French post-Revolutionary spirit, which was additionally in line with the teaching philoso-
phy of his Polytechnique school248, where efficiency and economy were regarded as fundamental oper-
ators in architectural design and construction. By composing designs through modules on a squared
grid, each depicting a scaled dimension, elements could be ordered: spacing of columns, wall loca-
tions, axis, openings, and so forth. Such approach expressed a generative understanding of the con-
cept of type, since it was not limited by the mimicking of instances (models), but allowed a free-flow
within a recognizable order.
Additionally, with Durand’s Recueil et parallèle des édifices de tout genre anciens et modernes (…), or Le
Grand Durand as it also became known (1800), it was delivered the first extensive survey on major
architectural monuments built since classical times, gathering a massive collection of examples. The
book included plans of different buildings from different historical periods249, and it was imbued with
a true encyclopedic spirit. To ease comparison, the buildings were systematically classified, grouped
by building type, drawn to a common scale and stripped off any context whatsoever. Indeed, in it,
only plans and elevations were presented, and that in itself underlies an intention to depict universal
architectural characteristics, regardless their location, cultural or historical setting. In a sense, through
it, man does not inhabit a qualitative space, yet a universal geometric space, a notion that follows and
stresses its very zeitgeist: method is everything.
3.2.3 CHARACTERISTICS AND LIMITATIONS
Our modern inheritance, allied to a practical communicational sense, makes us name the spaces of
the house after their functions—the bedroom is where we sleep, the kitchen, where we cook, and so
on. Although of utterly practical intentions, this explanation is insufficient, since the relation between
a so-considered spatial sphere and the activities that take place within is more complex than what
such a functionalist view conveys. The spatial sphere involves qualities that exceed a mere functional
characterization, such as a particular system of settings and a context. For instance, sleeping may
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happen in places other than the bedroom, cooking normally takes place in the kitchen but different
lifestyles or cultures may require different ways of using it, thus defying a usual functional corre-
spondence. The spatial sphere certainly involves a particular location, with a particular environmental
quality, which varies according to our socio-cultural perspective and/or background250. Therefore, to
identify types of space, there must be an awareness of its inherent relativity, as well as of what poten-
tially will be happening within those spaces. Moreover, it must be understood how these spaces are
positioned within the whole system of which they are part of—e.g., a room in an apartment or an
apartment in a building, and so forth. Not least, there must be an awareness of the transitional space
between public and private, the open and the reserved, the self and the social and cultural milieu, and
so forth, which will inevitably be reflected in the qualities and shape of the architectural ensemble.
Keeping that awareness in mind, anyhow, the concept of type can generally be defined as what is
constant in terms of parts and relations among the innumerous different expressions, serving a dual
purpose: making us share its particular values, and therefore a culture, while allowing us to express
our individuality within that culture. Partly, it can be ascribed to a communicational need, that of
transmitting ideas through recognizable concepts, or attempting to reach a wider audience. Yet, part
is also necessarily related with a Platonic Ideal, that is, a projective perspective, where implicitly or
explicitly, type can be regarded as a device in the creative process. From here, two distinct ways of
observing the type can be noted, the type as Ideal, and the put in practice of the type, in a different
context relatively to the original, mimicking and adapting—i.e. transforming from an abstract notion
onto a sensible object in a different place. As an Ideal, the type is not immutable, yet subject to change,
as the practical developments, or the variations it arises, are ought to question their very source of
departure. In a way, it can be regarded as an essence, a soul, or as an internal form-structure, that
unites the works based on a type. In this sense, between objects of the same type there is a principle of
similarity given by the type. For instance, the graph theory illustrates a method for visually representing
what may be read as an essence, or objects stripped off to their similarities, which can be regarded as
an application of the concept of type. Nevertheless, since architecture results from a social construc-
tion, the similarities depicting what is the essence embedded in the concept of type, depend on the
scope or viewpoint from where they are regarded. Moreover, some types are naturally more easily
recognizable or communicable than others.
As a comparative instrument, type has long been used to analyze and discuss a design or multiple
designs, and with it contributing to build further ones. Notwithstanding, when truly designing, the
architect is not exactly or strictly concerned with the classifying principles, yet most likely to make
use of those principles that are already neurologically embedded (or in the eminence of being embed-
ded) in his own body-mind into a practical devising purpose in the creative process. In any case, we
can recognize diverse possibilities to approach a notion of type in architecture, for instance through
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the notion of archetype, prototype, typology, style, format, or pattern, of which non-constructive or non-
creative processes can also be included. Regardless the approach, or simply a divergence in terminol-
ogy, type is most eloquently manifested in architecture by the architectural works themselves. For
example, any seemingly coherent group of architectural works, like the Greek temples, the Romanesque
churches, the Palladian villas, the Prairie houses of F. L. Wright, as well as cases of vernacular architecture
such as the Berber Moroccan houses or the Kasbah’s, can be described as tangible manifestations of the
notion of type251.
Whether addressing spatial, physical, stylistic or other spheres, the notion of type intrinsically allows
multiple interpretations, since type is implicitly an abstraction issue, and as so, its notion is more or less
vague. Different buildings built in different locations, with different sizes and different programs may
belong to the same type. That is the case when they share similar formal characteristics, similar kinds
of details, similar colors, and so on. For instance, very different buildings painted in blue, can be said
of belonging to the buildings type blue, although there are many different blues’. Indeed, methodolog-
ically type implies what can be described as an inner coherence, or more precisely, the sharing of at least
one common element of similarity between two or more elements that hence form it—thus binary.
In that sense, as in a language/speech distinction, an individual cannot form a type, although it may
belong to the type individual. However, as in verbalizing the colors we see, given slight differences in
hue or luminance, it is difficult to categorize certain entities in a single shelf as in many cases they are
in an intermediate zone. For instance, we know that green is between blue and yellow, but bluish
green or greenish blue are harder to differentiate, and we can only distinguish or describe them by
comparison with others and, even then, the very limits of our perception mechanisms will disable a
broader understanding. Types thus have a relative definition; they are partial, as it is always to some
extent any generalization; and type is a generalization of a certain say lower level of things, in other
words, a description of a limited (inferior) set of relations. Nonetheless, a type is also qualitative, and
thus subjectivity can and will arise. Therefore, the scope and terminology of each as so-described type
as to be set clear and its breadth acknowledged through its limited condition.
3.2.4 A RATIONALE OF TYPE
In an attempt to clarify the terminology of type, Duarte252 confronted it with what he called module,
which was not used in the exact same sense as de Quincy’s notion of model (although there are resem-
blances) but more as a component of a type, hence in a constructive and somewhat mechanistic perspec-
tive. Following his reasoning, a simplified, but straightforward way to understand it is to portray such
a module as a sub-type of a type, where a set of modules forms a type, and such type will be a module of a
different type, and so forth. From here, it can be considered that there are different levels of modules
and types, whose definition degree depends on the abstraction degree in use253. This idea is quite
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remarkably illustrated in the educational short movie Powers of Ten developed by Charles and Ray
Eames in 1968, where the Universe is portrayed in and out successive scales of 10, from the human
scale on to the entire universe and back to human scale down to the most elementary particles. Thus,
the notion of type can also be regarded like a photograph, a frame in the continuum within which a
certain story is told. Anyhow, from this understanding, the bonds between the concepts of type and
system are reinforced, with no great observable difference between both concepts.
The categories branch or set theory in mathematics provides notions that can be brought for a meth-
odological discussion of the type. It not only helps to clarify the terms, but also extends the rationale
of type to a point that exceeds what the practical purposes of type can usually have in architecture,
providing a comprehensive understanding of its mechanics. In brief, it states that to formulate catego-
ries (∴types), it is essentially needed the objects (∴modules) and the morphisms (∴relations). Moreover, it
postulates that more important than the objects, is their relations (here we opt for the terminology type,
object, and relation). Without the relations, it is impossible for types to be recognized, therefore to exist254.
Such as with the Russell’s barber paradox, I exist insofar as one other recognizes me, without the
other I am not. As such, in a practical sense objects only make sense when confronted (related) with
other objects. In a simplified analogy, in architecture this can be illustrated by things such as the con-
structive joint (i.e. the relational element of two or more constructive elements), the hall space (i.e. the
relational space between two or more spaces), or the door (i.e. the threshold between two different
spaces), and so forth. That is, on how different objects—physical, virtual, abstract, and so on—may be
brought together, connected constructively and/or spatially, and so forth. In any of these examples,
the definition of the relating element constrains the very elements, their ability to face gravity, to flow,
the ability for the user to see, hide, sense, cross, isolate, avoid, confront, … to exist.
Objects are thus independent entities that are going to be related within a sphere of a different
hierarchical degree that we can call type. As in the structuralist language and speech distinction, if we
consider the objects as letters of the western alphabet then, for example, English grammar could be
their type. Another type for the exact same objects could also be Portuguese grammar, whereas Sanskrit
grammar would be using different objects for also a different type, and so forth. Relations are the implicit
invisible element that enables objects, and types along with objects, to interact and communicate—in a
sense, music only exists in what is distinguished from silence, hence, methodologically, it can be
regarded as a somewhat ordered relation between perceived vibration and non-vibration, or more
generally between vibration x vs vibration y, and so forth. Following the same matrioska reasoning,
ultimately relations can themselves be considered a type of object, and so forth. Finally, ontologically,
relations have no tangible manifestation, they are strictly spatial, since they binomially accompany an
object whose function is to relate other objects, and thus they have a pure methodological existence—
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i.e. a standalone object is such in the extent that it relates with space-time, through which we observe
it, object-subject ourselves in space-time.
Since the idea of type is intrinsically linked with the idea of object, the types of a given scale can be
seen as the objects of a following scale—for example, the types of buildings can be considered as objects
of the urban fabric255. For instance, consider the object ‘room’ (where ‘room’ is the type in object-room)
and the object ‘door’ (where ‘door’ is the type in object-door). Via a certain relation, from both these
objects we can obtain the object ‘bedroom’ (where ‘bedroom’ is the type in object-bedroom). Via a different
relation, the same object could be instead a ‘dining room’, and so forth. Although belonging to different
types through some scopes, both English, Portuguese and Sanskrit can be said of belonging to the
same type—i.e. the type language. It is as imagining a world inside another, the universe in a nutshell256.
In architectural terms, types and objects can be understood from different scales or degrees of ob-
servation, and, in each, the type can be defined with a bigger or smaller specificity, as it will also be
analyzed through different levels of relations. Therefore, there can be types of urban spaces as a resi-
dential plaza, types of housing as a detached house, types of space as a kitchen, types of construction as
a wall, and so forth. Also, a house can be a detached house, can have a court that can be a central
court, a central square court, and so on; the degree of specificity can be increased until which each
house has to be considered individually. More, an element can be set as belonging to a certain type,
until a microscopic or macroscopic version of it is so far detached from the original observation
point, that even the very object that was used as a starting point is unrecognizable in such analysis
set. Evidently, there are more or less obvious degrees of reasonability, usefulness, or practicality in
the observation and classification of phenomena—the degree of specificity of analysis of the house
can extend as far as addressing each house individually, but, extremely, eventually also on to each
individual texture on its walls, molecular composition, and so forth.
Anyhow, in architecture, the most useful notion of architectural type also seems to be the most
abstract. That is, the one that does not rely on any rigid shape or any sort of physical attribute, but in
the way spaces are related and the social behavior they suggest or imply. For instance, when referring
the type office building, the type open space, or the type supermarket, the specific characteristics of these are
not being mentioned. These can have all sorts of shapes and sizes, and be organized differently, yet
by the implicit abstraction of the type we can easily have a closer sense of what we may be dealing
with. That occurs because the architectural type is de facto no more than a socially engaging instru-
ment, as it enables, or eases the transmission of what is said meant or done—where the limits are in
imagination as well as in the linguistic ability to socially and/or culturally convey them.
To the types, objects and relations may be assigned different nomenclatures. As we have seen, in
algebra they can be called, respectively, categories, objects and morphisms. In a systems terminology, they
can be described as things, attributes, relations, (and environment). In architectural terms, eventually these
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too can be termed differently as long as serving their taxonomic purposes. Finally, it is worth noting
that, from a mechanistic point of view, the similarity of the concept of type with the concept of system
is notorious. Yet, from such a perspective, whereas systems can generally be synthetized in the set
S={t,a,r,e}, the concept of type in architecture can somewhat be regarded as a simplified version of
this. In it, things and their attributes can be condensed to a unified notion of object, and the environment—
i.e. the place or topos in diverse architectural acceptions—as in Durand’s geometrical detachment, is
released of the equation, or simply left to observe on a type of a different order of observation. Overall,
such can bring a binary formalization to type, regardless eventual unfolding that may occur, where
T={o,r}, with ‘o’ for object and ‘r’ for relation, which provides it an enhanced operative sense, sim-
plifying its communication, and that furthermore aligns with the psychological reductive (binary)
needs to formulate thinking. From here, we could say that type can be considered as a simplified system,
yet the value of such synthetized expressions is merely indicative, relative, and not to be seen in
stagnant terms, and their unfolding can go as far as imagination may lead. Indeed, these synthetic
expressions are ultimately no more than speculative. Their value can only reside in their use for a
particular taxonomic frame.
3.2.5 USING AND UNDERSTANDING TYPES
To a certain extent, the idea that the unfolding of types can go as far as imagination may lead agrees
with Durand’s approach, which inspired architects to attain rational solutions for different types of
architectural forms. His notion of type can be regarded as a directory of forms not referring to any
particular context or use, but open to all their potential content. It could be regarded as if a manual
of validated practices and, thereby, a target for reproduction. Indeed, many examples would be cop-
ied, and, in that sense, following de Quincy’s rationale, the type was in many cases rendered model.
Nonetheless, the approach entails a much more important notion, as to design under Durand’s
method is a matter of knowing the types and their possible combinations and, through it, finding
further types and combinations. In this perspective, with it, immutability—or monotony—is there
only if intended or allowed to. Added to a reenactment of symbolic values that Modernism had some-
what neglected, that is too a quest in which theorists and developers have engaged from a certain re-
enactment of the speech of the type in the 1960s and 1970s onwards.
The use of types is not a matter of originality (or lack of it), it is a condition imposed by the use of
natural languages to describe phenomena. When using a type-like description we engage communica-
tion among the different intervenient. A common ground is formed. From a common base, the ar-
chitect, facing specific problems, is engaged to devise a synthesis. In this sense, something is made
by transformation of something that is familiar. When transforming a traditional type, decisions must
be taken on what to keep and what to reject. Because the type mirrors common values, the choice
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process is engaged in the values of society. Therefore, a choice process is ought to reflect those shared
values and not merely arbitrary choices. The type is not necessarily to be mimicked as a model, but to
offer a frame of reference for problem discussion and ways of transforming, call it replication, origi-
nality, construction, deconstruction, or whatever label we may put to it. Type implies an analysis of a
certain reality, which thereby recorded, belongs to a past tense. In a world flooded by (apparent) new
things, it can turn out positive to follow a strategy of continuity with the past, as implied with type,
without neglecting what is of our times. To do it, the circumstances and practical needs are ought to
be let added to the modern spatial tradition, or any other tradition for that matter, and enrich it rather
than replace what is still valued, that is, acknowledging our memes, building up on their shoulders.
The originality of the architect, Homo Significans, lies in the ways as he, as too a Homo Faber interacting
and working with the available reality, finds to assure this continuity in a particular way. In this sense,
continuity is unfolded transformation, evolution, enrichment; it is not being stuck to the past nor
ignoring it, and certainly not sterile repetition.
De Quincy’s and Durand’s types aroused in the context of the Enlightment, reflecting the devel-
opments in natural sciences. Their path would be followed by a lineage of authors ascribing to a
rational perspective, such as Viollet-le-Duc’s exaltation of rationality based on his admiration for
Greek architecture, or his enthusiasm for the Gothic, expressed on the methods or materials of the
first house, or on the analysis of the methods of construction of the Gothic builders. In The Concept
of Type in Architecture - An Inquiry into the Nature of Architectural Form (1995), Agudin sums up a large
extent of the tradition of the type discourse in architecture. Apropos the evolution of the concept
during the XXth century he refers that “In the transition from the nineteenth to the twentieth century, the psy-
chology of form exerted a profound influence in art theory and history. About the same time, Le Corbusier came up
with an interpretation of the origins of architecture that emphasized the mentalistic nature of the first architectural
invention. For Le Corbusier the first house was a primitive thought, rather than a primitive construction. Finally, in
this century, the field of cybernetics and computing has provided the framework within which notions like ‘design process’
emerged. Architects and theoreticians, like Alexander and Eisenman, rejected the idea that a design starts with a
preconceived image or type. Instead, they proposed the consideration of design as a ‘patterned design process’, in which
the initial image or type plays no significant role”257.
With Le Corbusier, van Doesburg258 and other fellow moderns, in a way the form became pre-
ceded by concept, that of the space-time created by the mind, thereby separating the direct correspond-
ence from myth to architectural form—e.g. a column serves a spatial intention, not a formal or sty-
listic aprioristic predicate. Type thus becomes more of an instrument of the mind, articulating with
geometrical and/or perceptual259 intentions (e.g. space or materiality) to deliver form, seemingly in-
verting the logic of the hut, setting it in terms of process instead of in terms of form as the former had
engaged on, and with known analogies of the industrial world also implied.
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Imbued of a certain dissatisfaction by the fading of the symbolic qualities in the architectural form
that Modernism had proceeded, in the 1960s and 1970s, the concept of type had a resurgence. To-
gether with the concept of typology, in a somewhat Durand’s reminiscence, it aroused as a fundamental
epistemological notion, attempting to relinquish analysis and synthesis, history and modernity, in the
works of some prominent architectural theorists such as Carlo Aymonino, Aldo Rossi or Giorgio
Grassi. Following the diverse theoretical trends, a considerable number of texts were published on
type in architecture. Some developments, such as with Stiny’s shape grammars, have also implied it
with algorithmic processes of design, where from the assumption that architecture can be reduced to
simple geometric shapes, and an interpretation of a coherent body of works, rules are devised in order
to mechanistically reproduce or augment the body of works that originally made up its type260. In this
manner, forms are to be scientifically validated, and thereby enabled for mechanization throughout.
However, even if apparently accomplished, it remains a subjective, interpretational side of the origi-
nal, which may jeopardize the validity of the scientific-like process—an issue that has seemingly been
overcome in Duarte’s Malagueira grammar261.
Other authors, such as Christopher Alexander262, have attempted to overcome the type as a con-
straining (aprioristic) image source, engaging in a transformative, organic sphere. However, even in
those cases, again precedence lays even in the most hidden places, there, available, for subjectively be
interpreted, and once again challenging the type. The variety of approaches to the notion of type in
architecture throughout history has been remarkable, which confirms the richness of the discussion,
and the danger of rushing into any sort of grand conclusions. As Agudin writes, “Type, like Form, is
eminently a philosophical question”263. The real question, we would add, is engaging in the endless journey
of finding out what architecture is all about, putting aside a logic of accomplished finale, maintaining
a sense of openness towards the world.
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3.3 A discrete view of architectural production
“When you buy furniture, you tell yourself, that’s it. That’s the last sofa I’ll need. Whatever happens, that sofa
problem is handled”.
—Ed Norton’s character’s lament in the movie Fight Club (1999) after his condo gets blown up
Through the Vitruvian triad of utilitas (use, ergonomy, function, space), firmitas (solidity, construc-
tion, structure, matter) and venustas (beauty, plasticity, appearance, aesthetics) architecture arises as a
unified ensemble, where each of these elements is interdependent and each is somewhat ought to
have a similar relative importance—in a way, we can call it architecture understood as a kin form-
structure. However, with certain interpretations of notions such as systems or type it can also be implied
an enactment of what we can call a discrete understanding of the architectural form.
Although constructively highlighted in the least since the Gothic separation of wall and bearing
structure, it is more clearly in a post-industrial world that a discrete acknowledgment of the reality of
construction has found a fertile ground to evolve. In architectural thinking, the notion may primarily
be ascribed to a distinction derived from Gottfried Sempers’s studies of building artifacts that led
him to break away from the Vitruvian triad, distinguishing the elements into classifications falling
either into the tendentiously heavy/stable stereotomics of the earthwork or the tendentiously lightweight
tectonics of the frame264. Similarly, it also finds bonds with the distinction between the dry and the wet
(or fluid) methods of joining derived from the early crafts. In any case, the related notion of tectonic,
as implied by Frampton in his own professed architectural triad—topos, typos and tectonic—but funda-
mentally the categories developed by authors such as John Habraken, Francis Duffy, Stewart Brand,
or Bernard Leupen, have been valuable contributions for this discussion.
Overall, among these approaches it is noteworthy a compromise between both an abstract and/or
representational sphere (type) and a material and/or sensorial sphere (tectonic) within an environmental
setting (topos). Discursively, in architectural history and theory, these can be credited to an early
acknowledgement of the architectural form from a rational perspective that can be traced back to the
technical evolution comprising matter and craft. In a first stage, these would eventually lead to a
space-time perspective typical of modernity, with rationalizing contours of a hierarchical order. How-
ever, with the posterior introduction of a timescale perspective of the architectural form in the dis-
course, eventually it too aroused a perspective crediting the relative, networked relations over hierar-
chical ones. With it, has also aroused a discrete understanding of the once kin-conceivable architectural
form.
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3.3.1 MATTER, CRAFT AND REASON
From an evolutionary perspective, the primitive hut still fundamentally stands as a believable onto-
logical model of architecture, which finds one of its most famous expressions in the description of
the XVIIIth century architect Marc-Antoine Laugier, in his Essai sur l 'architecture [“An Essay on Archi-
tecture”], published in 1753. In it, Laugier distinguished two main architectural elements that lay at the
basis of all architecture, the supporting branches (structure) and the protecting leaves (enclosure, or pro-
tective layer)265. In such a raw technological state, materials have a direct correspondence in construc-
tional function and do not require any particularly sophisticated craft. Although speculative, Laugier’s
model endured probably by the sake of its simplicity, from the belief that progressive simple trans-
formations are the ultimate guide informing architectural design. He did it notwithstanding his un-
derlying intents of legitimizing aesthetical tendencies through the seemingly rational logics of the
origins, justifying an evolutional process towards the orders of the Greek temple, and thereby setting
it apart of an arbitrary mimicking of ancient models.
To the model of the hut, Quatremère de Quincy would add the cave and the tent as further
speculative original models, where the cave relates to hunters, the tent to the nomadic gatherers, and
the hut to settled agricultural social milieus, thus adding a social co-relation to the technical sphere
of matter and craft. The cave represents little or nothing of constructive intents and few remains in
it of architectural or projective suggestion, aside its primal shelter purpose266. Nonetheless, the addi-
tion of a rock solid cave notion brings a new material insight to the architectural discourse, that of the
solidity, robustness, or weight, that had been absent in the explanation of the original lightweight hut, made
of relatively more fragile [or seemingly ephemeral] trunks, branches and leaf’s.
As Kenneth Frampton pointed out, Karl Otfried Müller’s Hanbuch der Archäologie der Kunst (Hand-
book of the Archaeology of Art) (1830), related the hut model to a series of applied art forms producing
things such as “utensils, vases, dwellings and meeting places of men”267, which imply both a more intricate
technical knowledge and an artistic insight. With it, it is also remarked the implications of the dry
jointing understanding of the term, noting that the specialized use of tektones, referring “to people in
construction or cabinet makers, not however, to clay and metal workers”. In a further clarification of the term,
Frampton adds the contribution of Karl Bötticher in his Die Tektonik der Hellen [“The Tectonic of the
Hellenes”], published in three volumes between 1843 and 1852. In it appears a key distinction between
Kernform and Kunstform, that is, between the original wood elements in a Greek temple, and their
artistic translation in stone through the trighlyphs or metopes of the classical entablature. From Böt-
ticher tectonic hence emerges as “signifying a complete system binding all the parts of the Greek temple into a single
whole”268. A representational sphere is thus added, where the original wood and leaf’s are only present
insofar as a reminder, a motive that no longer requires a correspondence in a material/craft sphere,
but where the relational features are preserved in a rational domain.
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Also building upon the primitive hut model, Gottfried Semper (b.1803–d.1879) in his Four Ele-
ments of Architecture (1852), distinguished four basic features of architecture: Herd (hearth), Erdaufwurf
(earthwork), Dach (roofwork, including the roof’s support structure), and Umfriedigung (enclosure, or
covering membrane). Making use of an historic and ethnographic background, Semper ontologically
related these elements with the ancient crafts—the hearth to ceramics and metalwork, the earthwork
to masonry, the roofwork to carpentry, and the enclosure to the “art of dressing (the walls), that is, weaving
and wickerwork”. The focus is not exclusive on the crafts, acknowledging the elements in terms of
production and materials. It also includes what, in our view, is the key concept of Stoffwechsel, referring
to a process by which the outward appearance remains unchanged despite a change in the material
and production mode—thus, it implies the notion that forms do not necessarily need to be attached
to a material truth as they can somewhat free float in appearances as long as technique allows so.
Moreover, Semper categorized the construction process into two key notions—the tectonics of the
frame, with lightweight components (e.g. wood posts) assembled to form a spatial matrix; and the
stereotomics of the earthwork, made of the repetitive assembly of heavyweight elements (e.g. brick).
For Semper’s contemporary Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (b.1814–d.1879), architecture is definitely to
be framed under a rationalizing way. Viollet-le-Duc saw a world in which there was no coherent
approach to architecture, and thus urged for a rationalist way. It would primarily be from the Gothic
architecture that he derived his lessons on structural and formal systems, to the point of applying
them to modern materials such as cast iron. Concurrently, he examined organic structures from na-
ture for inspiration, iconically applying the influences in his Assembly Hall design (1864). Nikolaus
Pevsner stressed that Viollet-le-Duc’s interest on reason towards the architectural form was an ex-
tension of a trend in France that extended back to the XVIth century, where “Delorme, …, Derand, …
Cordemoy and Frézier”269 were masters valuing rigorous stability principles and clear expression of
structure270.
The classical architecture also delivered Viollet-le-Duc key examples of such statement, with the
Greek temple regarded as a rational representation of its own construction. In that sense, the devel-
opment of a new architecture was also to be based on reason in the way that the classical orders had
supported temple design. He believed that reason and method were key driving forces for quality
architecture271. Viollet-le-Duc thus envisioned that architecture could be produced as long as the
rationalizing spirit prevailed, even if its methods and materials were subjected to change. He would
exemplify it, going as far as proposing the incorporation of the iron as building material under the
logic of the Gothic, in what we may now observe as a kind of collage [or pastiche], but that made
perfect sense given the context and an intrinsic exploratory character. Semper’s Stoffwechsel is thus also
implied, but only insofar as following fundamental rationalizing principles. Ideal forms would relate
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with specific materials, with their appearance reflecting a rational way of designing and building, but
that not meaning different materials could not be applied, as long as they kept a sense of rational truth.
As a counterpoint, contradicting the methodic trends expressed by his contemporaries, for John
Ruskin (b.1819–d.1900), quality architecture was tied not to a rationalizing or methodic spirit, but
somewhat to the man behind architecture. The vision is stated in The Seven Lamps of Architecture (1849),
where historically the logic of the structure had nothing to do with it, and although he appreciated
the truth in materials, he saw it more in terms of honesty with oneself, with history, or the crafts, and
not of reason. For Ruskin, the interpretation that the Gothic had been primarily the result of a ra-
tionalizing approach was a far too simple story, and thus the developments of the epoch signified a
decline, a drift from the virtues of former architectures: “We want no new style of architecture... The forms
of architecture already known are good enough for us, and far better than any of us”272. Architecture was thus not
to be redefined as if everything was wrong with what had brought it to that point. Anyhow, despite
Ruskin’s plea, as we now know, the modernists that followed would be particularly keen of Viollet-
le-Duc’s rationalizing appeal.
3.3.2 SPACE, TIME AND NETWORK
Semper had left behind the Vitruvian archetypal view, instead relating architecture with an evolu-
tionary view that relates with the materials and the crafts. However, he did not went so far as to
distinguish the internal order, from an external order of the building elements. Some years later, Adolf
Loos (b.1870–d.1933) would promote the internal space to a class of its own, addressing the elements
that typically find their place within an architectural encasing: “The architect’s general task is to provide a
warm and livable space. Carpets are warm and livable. He decides for this reason to spread out one carpet on the floor
and to hang up four to form the walls. But you cannot build a house out of carpets. Both the carpet on the floor and the
tapestry on the wall require a structural frame to hold them in the correct place. To invent his frame is the architect’s
second task”273. Semper had referred to origins of the tectonic of the exterior through the covering mem-
brane made of weaving and wickerwork. Loos used similar elements—the textiles and carpets—to
imply an internal tectonic, thus also a spatial terminology in the discourse.
It would be from both a seemingly rationalizing spirit, and a spatial understanding of architecture,
its motions and shapes, that Le Corbusier would establish his five points, the pilotis, free plan, free façade,
fenêtre en longueur (horizontal window), and roof gardens. With it, he added both a spatial understanding
of the architectural form, with the spirit of a machine age. Indeed, a free plan or façade, provided by
an independence from the main structure, are only conceivable through an underlying abstract spatial
understanding. Moreover, these ascribe to a mechanical sphere where, ideally, constructive parts have
the freedom of a modulor-regulated grid or the like to find their place in architectural works, or where
the roof gardens help providing fresh air and rest for the workers of a machine-enacted society.
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Finally, these follow a rationalistic tone, where the functioning of the different elements implies a
certain degree of independence in relation to the others, each following its own idiosyncrasies.
The posterior supports theory, by John Habraken274 (1972), would clear possible formal misconcep-
tions to which a literal understanding of Le Corbusier’s five principles could lead on to, liberating it
to a purely methodological sphere with no constraining aprioristic imagery, such as the fenêtre en lon-
gueur. Le Corbusier himself would implicitly make a self-critic in his later works as, for instance, Ron-
champ had little or nothing to do with the five principles. Anyhow, Habraken sets a fundamental
distinction between support (e.g. base building) and infill (e.g. interior fit-out), where on each are as-
signed different levels of expertise and responsibility on the different hierarchies and times of the
elements composing the building. The distinction is fundamentally methodological, not constrained
to any sort of aprioristic imagery, which although lacking a concretization, conversely contributes to
its free interpretation, easing its adaptation to different contexts. Anyhow, the fundamental contri-
bution of the support and infill perspective of the supports theory seems to be that of the introduction of
a new temporal perspective. That is, a perspective of a timescale awareness on the understanding of
the architectural form, regarding it not as a stagnant, crystalized entity, but as a process that has
different parts to it, that can change in different moments, and so forth. Indeed, the categories that
had been previously put forward by different authors did not suffice to frame, for instance, the count-
less technical apparatus required in contemporary buildings, and which often deeply constraint the
architectural possibilities.
In that sense, the concept of shearing layers, coined by an English architect, Francis Duffy275, in his
Measuring Building Performance, first published in 1993, would bring a new insight. In brief, the concept
of shearing layers entails a particular approach to a discrete idea of systems in architecture, referring to
elements that are interrelated, but whose underlying idea is that they can be seamlessly detached. The
space-time context, scale or modes in which this detachment occurs will vary in each considered
system. The concept has since notoriously been further developed by Stewart Brand in his How Build-
ings Learn: What Happens After they are Built (1995)276. A more recent approach, conducted by the Dutch
architect, Bernard Leupen277, in his Frame and Generic Space (2006), expanded its scope. The underlying
conceptualization finds a very close match in software development.
In architecture, the core idea in a shearing layers conception is that buildings are ought to be con-
ceived bearing in mind that they are composed by different elements (or layers) that have different life
spans. As in nature, there are processes operating in different timescales, and therefore the trades of
energy, matter or information is meager, scarce or non-existent between them—a geological era has
little or no relation with an ant colony, although both are part of the natural world. Adopting this
concept that can be called of hierarchical ecosystem278 to buildings, Brand demonstrated that traditional
buildings were more adaptable because they allowed more freedom to its layers, for instance, with
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faster layers (e.g. services) not blocked by slower ones (e.g. structure). We could assume that the hierar-
chical positioning of these layers is straightforwardly definable with elements such as those of the
structure preceding elements such as those of the services or partitions, and so forth. However, even if in
material or constructive terms that aprioristically makes sense in most cases, that is not necessarily an
absolute rule, not at least from a conceptual point of view, and hence it matters to understand how
these categories can mingle.
For a start, the underlying principle of Habraken’s support/infill terminology is generic, and implies
a binary distinction that follows a reciprocity and complementarity logic rather than hierarchical, thus
leaving plenty of room for interpretation. Habraken further develops the theme, decisively contrib-
uting to clarify how we may understand the placement (hierarchical or not) of the different spatial or
constructive elements or components279. From an analysis of the house type, Habraken establishes
three main categories which can be easily generalizable to other architectural types: as a spatial organi-
zation, as a physical system, or as a stylistic way. It could be argued that these categories resemble a certain
Vitruvian inspiration, and accordingly we could relate the spatial organization with utilitas, the physical
system with firmitas, or the stylistic way with venustas. However, on the core of Habraken’s proposal
stands that these categories can be discretely analyzed and developed, and that is fundamentally di-
vergent from a Vitruvian way where is foremost stressed a kin—i.e. sculptural or objectual, univocal or
interdependent—nature of the architectural form.
If setting these categories hierarchically, the spatial organization in most cases would likely be as-
sumed as the most important, as it is more intimately related to our behavior. Indeed, we may observe
technological evolution without it affecting much the main patterns in which we take hold of space.
In second place, it would probably most commonly come the physical system. The physical system is not
only about the materials being used, or how they are put together, but also as how types of physical
parts are chosen (e.g. columns, walls, and furniture with certain characteristics) and how they are
related and distributed in space, therefore on how the types of physical elements are prioritized. In
third place, the stylistic way, which acts in a thinner level. It is about how certain characteristics can be
inculcated (e.g. a certain color, material, texture) which are not depending of a spatial or of a
physical organization, but nonetheless can affect the modes in which they can be thought of in the
first place, as well as the perception of it.
However, if we observe cases such as the traditional Japanese house, in which spaces appear in
succession, or are enclosed, then we realize that the main characteristics of a physical system or of a
stylistic system can be kept while transforming the spatial system. In another known example, in classical
Greece, the columns (a known physical architectural entity) were in marble, but as in what Semper
describes as Stoffwechsel, mutatis mutandis, Palladio’s classical columns were often made of brick and
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plaster. Here stand two physical entities, which are seemingly the same, with similar spatial and struc-
tural attributes and even with a similar appearance, but which are indeed different in their materials
and technologies. Here, the stylistic system precedes the physical system, and thus we can call to evidence
Semper’s Stoffwechsel.
Thus, we can acknowledge that although a certain hierarchy may be established between elements
of a discrete analysis, the same hierarchy, even if it typically fits, will not necessarily follow the same
logic in different circumstances, and hence a stylistic system may instead precede a spatial system, and so
forth. Therefore, that opens up room for an analytical understanding of the different systems where
precedencies cannot be aprioristically set, since they are not absolute, yet relative to the object of
analysis. Instead, they can be understood more from a horizontal perspective, which is not necessarily
hierarchical, but more of a network kind. Hence, the intricacy of relations between different, discre-
tized elements can acquire more complex contours than what could be assumed at first sight with a
slow vs fast layer understanding, as proposed by Brand.
As of its application, a discrete, networked way of observing the architectural design provides a
conceptual frame in which design no longer needs to be unique or repetitive. This can make even
more sense when observing the modernist housing production, where typological repetition was of-
ten a means and uniformity was often a result. At least theoretically, that opens rooms to make use
of the subtleties of the types, instead of limiting it to some sort of typological repetition. Accordingly,
instead of uniformity, we can work with similarity and thus enact difference, avoiding rigidity or
monotony when it is unwanted. When a large production is required, we may work first with the
essential typological elements that are shared by every unit, leaving enough blank canvas for posterior
decisions. As Habraken refers, “the result of such an approach can be very rich and varied, and yet systematic and
efficient to build. (…) It may be evident that this layering approach is only possible when a type is clearly understood
and analyzed in its formal organization”280.
3.3.3 SYSTEMS AND SHEARING LAYERS
Semper referred to four elements, and introduced the key concept of Stoffwechsel. To this, Loos
added an implied spatial consideration with an internal category. From the 1960’s onwards the supports
theory, by Habraken, stood out as a proposal for giving inhabitants a meaningful participative role in
the design process. By the 1990’s, Francis Duffy, developed a categorization system, dividing the
building in three layers: shell (e.g. structure and enclosing), services (e.g. piping and wiring systems,
elevators, and so on) and scenery (e.g. internal subdivision and finish)281. Stewart Brand, whose work
broadly reveals a great concern in sustainability issues in building construction, developed a similar,
yet expanded, system of categories, distinguishing building into site, structure, skin, services, space plan and
stuff (i.e. non-architectural and/or decorative elements such as wallpaper or furniture)282. Bernard
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Leupen, whose work reveals a great concern with spatial-constructive flexibility and adaptability is-
sues (i.e. what he calls changeability, which comprises alterability, positive or negative extendibility, and
polyvalence) devised a system, that included both Duffy’s and Brand’s concepts, using the categories of
structure, skin, scenery, services, and access283. Broadly, all of these conceptualizations are implied in a shear-
ing layers perspective, founded in a discrete acknowledgement of the architectural form.
As of the terminology, a layer can be regarded as a particular kind of system, which is autonomous
in itself, that may or not be combined with others, which stands on its own or requires at least another
to be conceivable. As a self-sustaining combined or standalone entity (i.e. needing no additional other
to be conceivable) a layer can be considered as what Leupen calls a frame, which can also be considered
as another kind of system. By acquiring the condition of frame, the elements that constitute it may
acquire the ability to relate with others without losing their inner relations, which will be, in Leupen’s
terminology, via processes of disconnection, excision and articulation. The ways these can be handled de-
pend not only on the philosophy that is thought of to be implemented, but also on the characteristics
of the materials in use—e.g. whether if it is used fluid or dry processes of linking construction
elements—the effort that their morphing requires, and so on. As had been subscribed in Habraken’s non-
-hierarchical understanding of his spatial, physical and stylistic systems, in the essence of Leupen’s
approach, even the seemingly lowered ranked items, such as furniture—included in scenery—can
constitute a frame for the remaining. Therefore, in architectural terms, the frame is related to the
specific, encompassing elements that determine the building for a long time. The existence of a
frame thus enables what Leupen calls of a generic space, which is an open-ended and unspecified
kind of space. Nevertheless, implicitly or explicitly, in the ordinary practice it prevails a
hierarchical approach that is typically closer to Stewart Brand’s shearing layers division, from
seemingly slower to faster, between site, structure, skin, services, space plan and stuff.
Leupen’s approach can be particularly useful in the analysis of aspects related to flexibility and
changeability, as its referred dialectics determinism-changeability, dwelling-permanence, are of relevance in the
discussion of the housing problem and the sustainability problematics. As the author recalls “ultimately
the frame concept is about generating freedom”. The column frees the wall, as the scenery can free the space,
or the skin frees the skeleton and the scenery, each with its own potentials and freedoms within the generic
space determined by the frame. This freedom is personified by the possibility of changeability, which
can only be enabled if there is a disconnection between the frame and the changeable. In this sense, the
shearing layers located in the generic space belong to the changeable284.
An issue with shearing layers is that if it is misapprehended on which layer an element belongs, it
may turn out that the building becomes very difficult to use. For instance, when applying a service layer
within the structure, for instance in an HVAC, it may turn out that in case of air regulations change
that it will become obsolete and the entire building would have to be remade. Indeed, shearing layers
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are difficult to get right and thus should not be addressed lightly. That was notoriously the case of
the Nakagin Capsule Tower (1972), by Kisho Kurokawa, which was specifically designed to withstand
the problem of varying rates of change by having replaceable living components attached to a per-
manent core. The capsules were to be updated as technology and style demanded, but in the end they
never were. In the end, it stood out the conceptual value of the proposal, as well as its imagery, which
although fake was nonetheless efficient in the transmission of its [conceptual] purpose.
The construction industry has long been using the notion of construction systems, which can
somewhat be described as assortments of more or less intertwining material parts, which share com-
mon constructive purposes. The purpose may be specialized to a certain say function—e.g. kitchen
modules—as a constructive occurrence independent of other constructive elements or can conversely
be thought of as a more or less long chain of interdependent constructive occurrences, where the
change in one may affect all the others. Likewise, most cars produced by the automotive industry can
be described as the result of a collection of parts, each with a specific function—e.g. engine, clutch,
transmission, suspension, differential, wheels, and so on—that can be as well used in the production
of other cars, or as with a more or less intensive use of proprietary, single-of use of certain compo-
nents in some other cars. With interdependence, the issue is that when changing a single element, the
remaining elements of such a kin structure follow in cascade. Evidently, the specialization of produc-
tion methods typically works in favor of discrete and not of continuity modes. As result, even if
integrated, the product inescapably becomes the goal, and the notion of a purely kin architectural en-
tity—where e.g. everything can be designed within the building—becomes economically impractical,
no more than a romanticized idea.
With the thus unavoidable, de-romanticized notion of product, the difficult balance of the shearing
layers is not only an issue of articulation between different layers or technology advancements, but
also an issue that is intimately related with the theme of consumerism. It is undoubtful that a discrete
approach, implied in a shearing layers perspective, brings a methodological insight on the alterity dimen-
sions of architectural space, enabling a frame of though from where to develop flexibility, adaptability
or polyvalence prospects in the architectural form. Moreover, it contributes to clarify potential bonds
between the spatial and the physical spheres of architectural production in a context of a (post)in-
dustrial, digitally enacted, globalized world, seemingly immersed by the idea of product.
Anyhow, with the speed in which technology evolves in our world, effects such as product obso-
lescence must also be taken into account. A clear case occurs with the so-called programmed obsolescence, a
strategy often applied (or implied) by companies in consumer products, which affects the way prod-
ucts may or may not be not developed and used, and that is propelled by factors that may be way beyond
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the technical knowledge, such as fashion or publicity in general. Treating buildings as mere consump-
tive products may prove non-viable economically. Certainly, their typical share in families’ budget is
not neglectable, and their effect on global resources consumption is certainly not ignorable.
To bypass or mitigate such sort of issues, at least in theory, it would be better to acquire things
that last long, that are more durable, more reliable. However, the variables involved are more complex
than that, often involving social, cultural or economical dynamics that are not straightforwardly gen-
eralizable285. In general, to acquire things that apparently may last longer could be assumed as a good
principle. However, that is also often related to expensive items, those that most cannot afford. On
the other hand, a consumerist perspective also tells us that the urge to consume, propelled by fashion,
publicity and the like, eventually makes these things to be replaced not only because they reach the
material end-of-life, but also because they reach their social/cultural end-of-life. This indicates that
the personal shearing layers do not line up with the lifespan of the products. Furthermore, it is also
likely that it suddenly comes up an improved version of that amazing object that was carefully selected
to last a lifetime—in the end, programmed or not, obsolescence has many ways to show its presence.
Moreover, if we try to keep things for the sake of simplicity of function, it is plausible for an unex-
pected development to occur, as seemingly coupled functions can become uncoupled in no time, or
vice versa. On the other hand, if we try to keep functions completely separated all the time, the risk
may be to spend too much time managing systems just to ensure basic work. Moreover, the more
complex is the product and/or its components, the more likely will be for maintenance costs to rise
up, and so forth. If in many consumer products these issues may fall under the radar, or are easily
relativized, when we talk about buildings, they acquire completely different proportions, in the least
because their relative financial weight in the consumers’ pocket is typically much bigger. Pondering
these factors altogether, from an architectural design perspective, there is no such thing as a best
approach in this matter—whether more of kin, or more of discrete, more or less robust, more or less
expensive, as in every other architectural approach, design options must be carefully considered and
contextualized.
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109
II (Pre)Fabricating
Architecture
There was once a barber. Some say that he lived in Seville. Wherever he lived, all of the men in this town either
shaved themselves or were shaved by the barber. And the barber only shaved the men who did not shave themselves. Did
the barber shave himself? Some sets, such as the set of all teacups, are not members of themselves. Other sets, such as
the set of all non-teacups, are members of themselves. Call the set of all sets that are not members of themselves ‘R’. If
R is a member of itself, then by definition it must not be a member of itself. Similarly, if R is not a member of itself,
then by definition it must be a member of itself.
“From this I conclude that under certain circumstances a definable collection does not form a totality”.
—Russell’s paradox (following proposition by Bertrand Russell, 1901)
A forma é um mal da matéria. [“Form is an evil of matter.”]
—in Falta (forma), album Comum (1998), Três Tristes Tigres,
lyrics by Regina Guimarães and Ana Deus
When you explain a ‘why?’, you have to be in some framework that you allow something to be true, otherwise you are
perpetually asking why… If you try to follow anything up, you go deeper and deeper in various directions… You could
either say, I am satisfied with the answer, you could go on asking questions… When explaining electromagnetism or gravity
I can go thoroughly technical, but in an early level I just have to tell you is just one of the things that you have to take as
an element in the world… I cannot explain it in terms of anything else that is familiar to you, otherwise when you would
start making questions over it, then I would be in trouble; I would have to cheat, and eventually I would be cheating very
badly… For a successful technology, reality must take precedence over public relations for nature cannot be fooled.
—Richard Feynman, apropos his participation on the Challenger Disaster Committee
Believe me, that was a happy age, before the days of architects, before the days of builders.
—Seneca (c. 5 BC – AD 65), Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales (Volume 1) Epistle xc
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1 A PREFABRICATION TERMINOLOGY
1.1 (Post)industrial architectural production
Architecture is produced on the bond of a design sphere (mental) with a physical sphere (material),
established via a constructive sphere (executive). The experience of a space thus engaged, is apprehended
by the senses, through aspects such as scale, contrast, color, texture, heat or cold, which result from
spatial, constructive or material options taken during the design stage286. The construction bonds a
represented spatial intention to a perceptible reality, as successive layers of structures bond the ele-
ments of form. Throughout, the option to use a material or component instead of another implies
not only addressing certain mental/executive purposes (functional, aesthetical, structural, and so forth),
which both unleash and confine the experience potential, but also to address certain place related con-
straints. In the latter, on a broader level, we can include aspects derived from social, cultural, eco-
nomic, or environmental contexts, and on a stricter (executive) level the availability, or ease of deploy-
ment of construction elements, different durability or maintenance aspects in agreement with the
materials in use, and so forth.
The modern materials and technologies contributed to enrich the vocabulary of constructive pos-
sibilities, while progressively detaching it from stricter place features. In pre-industrial times, the ma-
teriality, and its effect on form, had been more constrained to local idiosyncrasies. For instance, the
dimensions of construction elements were in the least limited by their availability—in wood, limited
to the available tree sizes, or in stone, by the availability of the intended batch in quarries, and so
forth. Furthermore, size, weight, density, hardness or other properties had to be considered for han-
dling, shaping, transport or, finally, the in-situ erection. In an industrialized world, many of these
aspects could seemingly be eased or bypassed. Ever since, the path has been towards an apparent
progress of the dematerialization of production relations, which has been further increased with the
acceleration of the processes of globalization. With it, the tangibility of materials, and their implied
production relations, can somewhat be reduced to an immaterial form of capital, of which in last
resource a physical sphere may give place to a virtual, intangible sphere. With it, aspects of a place
domain are no longer necessarily a constraint, yet it is the capital that symbolically becomes the limit
for what and how architecture is produced. Nonetheless, the analogy of the place constraints remains
largely valid to illustrate the intricacy of the multi-dimensional relations of architectural production,
as denoted by the conventional materials and the archetypal forms in architectural history.
The archetypal Greek temple is plausibly based on a wood construction type translated to stone.
However, stone’s properties are different, with positive or negative yields which must be pondered.
For instance, stone has the potential to last longer when exposed to the elements, but it does not
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support the beam’s bending moment as flexibly as wood potentially does. Using a material instead of
another can conduct to different construction principles, but also to different design philosophies.
For instance, a stone beam may be able to support more weight for the same span than a wood beam,
but, consequently, the supporting columns need to be more robust to support the added weight of
the entire system. In the least, the resulting form will have a different appearance than if it had been
made in wood. Anyhow, a comparison between different constructive systems extends beyond their
spatial features and dimensioning in correlation to material or structural properties. In the least, these
depend on a balance between intentionality and the possibilities to deliver it, between a purpose and
a technological context. For instance, the columns of the Egyptian Luxor Temple (~1500-1200BC)
have such a density that altogether seem like a solid mass. The effect is incomparably lighter in the
Parthenon (~447BC), where, due to the visual density of its components, from far sight it seems like
an impenetrable volume, whereas in a closer sight it becomes permeable, creating a transitional flu-
idity towards the interior.
If the constructive type derived from the Greek temple had known span limitations, with the
constructive philosophy introduced through the Rome Pantheon (current building: 113-125 AD), spans
could thereon be significantly expanded. The constructive principle lays in a dome geometry, where
the iconic innovation is to mimic the compression principles of the arch onto a circular area, instead
of a rectangular area in plan. From the top of the cylindrical wall base, an ingenious box-like form-
work enabled the curvature of the dome to be built level by level, using a non-reinforced precursor
ancestor of today’s concrete. All compressive forces are discharged to the cylindrical base, which
transmits the loads vertically to the ground. Yet, in a way, we could regard cylinder base and dome as
two constructively independent elements. Indeed, the cylinder-shaped walls are self-supporting,
which makes it structurally independent from the dome. Conversely, we can conjecture that the dome
could have been laid in a different support, say in a column and architrave system, instead of a mass-
like wall. Thus, in the Rome Pantheon it can be said that the dome and its support are structurally
discrete.
In the Middle Ages, the archetypal Gothic mode of building would bring a different insight, with
emphasis given to light and verticality. To achieve it, an ingenious use of its ogival arches, ribbed
vaults and flying buttresses replaced the solid walls as structural elements. Unlike in the semi-circular
Roman and Romanesque vaults, the archetypal Gothic vault channels the weight of the building elements
onto bearing piers, or columns, at a steep angle, enabling it to be raised higher. In the structural
schemata, supporting weight was channeled to bearing shafts with less outward thrust than what a
semicircular vault would have required, hence resulting in less weighty walls. The flying buttresses
contributed in an overall visual weight loss. Instead of a mass supporting directly gravity, a complex,
ingenious skeleton of support and counter support enabled thinner, while higher elements. The diet
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also allowed walls to be freed from structure, letting more light to come in. All of it achieved with
roughly the same materials that the Greeks or the Romans had available287.
Throughout the ages, ingenuity alone successively increased the knowledge of construction ma-
terials and processes, thereby expanding the spectrum of architectural possibilities. When machines
became a pervasive part of our world, the process acquired greater proportions. That was ignited in
the early days of the Industrial Revolution, when high quality iron became widely available due to the
devising of new techniques of ironwork in the foundries. Cast iron, then wrought iron, and finally
steel introduced new possibilities, in an iterated improvement of machines and technologies, which,
in time, would also impact the building construction. The technical characteristics of these materials,
their production methods, size and weight, bolting, welding or other joining methods, and so forth,
called for new ways of planning and erecting the constructions. For instance, the characteristics of
steel lead to a very short tolerance for corrections in-situ, and in this sense, it was not as moldable as
masonry or concrete (the typical fluid bonded materials), or even wood. Its use can comparably be
as precise as wood construction, yet more difficult to handle manually, since simple adjustments of
parts in-situ are a lot harder to make. It thus called for factory-precision methods, and hence the way
towards prefabrication was wide open288. Its precision inherently demanded an improved calculus and
dimensioning, which enabled the reduction of structural sections and increase of spans, thus contrib-
uting to establish new architectural quality standards. With the rise of reinforced concrete technology,
the universe of possibilities would further increase.
Aside the exceptional architectural landmarks, in the history of building construction, most build-
ings have been erected with comparably less sophisticated materials or technologies, in wood, brick
or stone, or also of earth or debris. Generally, these have followed an economic sense by using readily
available materials and the like, making use of known technologies that have slowly, and solidly,
evolved in time. Following gravity, the wall initially had both a structural and spatial function, and
later would be freed from a supporting role. With the introduction of steel or reinforced concrete the
material proportion of bearing elements significantly decreased, allowing increased possibilities as
well as the potential for a more affordable approach, somewhat democratizing the principle. Anyhow,
there seems to be a dynamic halt between an instructed architectural sphere and a wise vernacular sphere
and/or an advanced industrial sphere. There are the needed, casual, ordinary, or evolutionary practices,
but there is also the product, accounted, measured, predicted, automated or marketed, and finally,
there is architecture in-between. The dialectics finds its first prescribers in modernism, but has been
approached ever since. Indeed, the vernacular, as the industrial forms and methods have often been
depicted as ideal for certain practices supposedly or in fact attempting to incorporate their spirit289.
Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret’s praise to both the machine and the vernacular, testimonies it: “We
must find and apply new methods, clear methods, allowing us to work out useful plans for the home, lending themselves
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naturally to standardization, industrialization, Taylorization (mass production). If our diagnosis of the sheer inade-
quacy of traditional methods were not more than enough in itself to impel us to look for new solutions, the history of
architecture (our own past, or sometimes even the present in other climates) would show us that other methods of house
construction exist or have existed which are infinitely more flexible, more deeply and richly architectural than those made
popular by what is taught in the schools”290. A mechanistic ethos would nonetheless have a more visible
impact.
Unlike in the Parthenon, whose technology only allowed compression strengths, with the
evolution of construction technologies, architects have progressively been allowed more liberty. To
an architecture liberated from the bearing wall, it added that technologies such as the reinforced
concrete were relatively cheaper and easier to handle. Referencing to the Dom-Ino concept,
formalizing it into a single-family house, Le Corbusier’s Maison Citrohan (1920), a play of words with
the car brand Citroën, was clearly stating that houses can be standardized as cars are—the “machine à
habiter”. In the referential Toward a New Architecture (1923), Le Corbusier writes: “if we eliminate from
our hearths and minds all dead concepts in regard to the house and look at the question from a critical and objective
point of view, we shall arrive at the ‘House-Machine’, the mass production house, healthy (and morally so too) and
beautiful in the same way that the working tools and instruments which accompany our existence are beautiful”291.
Following the machine narrative, later on, the Villa Savoye (1928-31) would arise as a modernist
archetype, where, conceptually, the vertical elements—façade, stairs, pilotis, or the thin curved wall in
the ground floor—are discretized from the plan. However, the executive application of the mental in-
tents is not full-proof. In fact, although the elements are depicted as components of a machine, they
are materially and formally bounded. The house is an autonomous object, just like a car, but the
parallel of the machine stops there. Indeed, one cannot imagine replacing one of its parts by some
different other, and so forth. In this perspective, the Dom-Ino was another incongruous example,
which could not be industrially (re)producible as it was conceptualized292. Nevertheless, given its
simplicity, it endured a great potential for replication or appropriation. In that sense, and in that sense
only, it was in line with the epithet it proclaimed. Indeed, notwithstanding the historical value of the
narrative per se, and circumstances in which these examples were produced, on today’s standards the
most resembling artifact to a machine in Le Corbusier’s buildings was the automobiles he often (and
strategically) placed in the photos of his buildings as a means for propaganda of his ideas.
With heavy, wall-based structural construction, historically the issue has largely been where to
make the openings, and the Gothic proved that the wall could be liberated from the structure. With
concrete, steel or other manufactured materials, appropriating and expanding some of the techno-
logical virtues of natural materials such as wood or stone, the issue shifts, as the structures become
independent of the other material functions of the building. Filtering light or access becomes no
longer a core concern, as such can be solved in latter stages, either passively (i.e. constructively), or
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actively (i.e. technologically), with wiring, piping, and so forth, giving the services or the like a relevance
of its own. Complexity of buildings increases, opening room for different construction elements to
gain a potential of excision, thus becoming more prone to be part of the design frame since early
stages, and making design itself more and more a discrete matter, requiring numerous specialized
fields. According to different discrete philosophies, for instance, façades can be regarded as screens,
internal walls as movable elements, or even the main structure can be though-off to easy dismantling
for when buildings end-up their useful life. Different discrete philosophies also endure different po-
tential types of forms. With automation, buildings become more and more an assembly of discrete
components and, with the aid of digital tools—helping to design and organize the constructions or
to technologically enable the construction of once impossible forms—the idea of endless possibilities,
as brought about by capital over place, is apparently reinforced.
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1.2 An evolutionary view of lightweight dry construction practices
A certain story suggests that a Chicago carpenter, George W. Snow, invented the balloon frame in
1832, revolutionizing the construction practice in the USA. However, facts show that this was not
exactly a revolutionary idea, nor that it was invented by Snow. Instead, it is more likely the result of
a simplification of the timber frame principles throughout the years. It is part of a major arch of a
continuous quest which contextually attempts to achieve economies in construction while delivering
quality, accomplished by making use of interrelated principles such as reduction (e.g. of material,
waste or labor), speed (e.g. through mechanization) or efficiency (e.g. through quality control). These
come from an ancient lineage from where contemporary frame systems also find their roots.
Timber construction is an ancient mode of building whose records can be found since the Neo-
lithic. It can generally be described as a method for creating structures typically using heavy, squared-
off and fitted and joined timber. Such probably came from a handcrafted way of making things out
of logs and tree trunks without the aid of mechanical means, but with all sorts of hand-powered tools
such as axes, adzes, draw knives, or auger drill bits. With these, in the old days, woodwork was slowly
and laboriously shaped by building artisans, which in the more isolated milieus were also often their
very dwellers293. Unlike in wall-supported constructions, in such methods, since bearing forces are
transmitted to posts, the interior can be spatially released. The number of posts ultimately depends
on the available span dimensions, which is constrained by the characteristics of the available wood—
type of wood, drying mode, length, section, and so forth.
A more sophisticated version of such methods is what would become known as timber frame—also
known as half-timber or post and beam, among other regional variations. These are structures typically
made of sawmilled wooden posts, beams and braces, connected through pins, wedges and grooves.
The space between the wooden elements is filled by mortar and stone or brick, which are left visible
or covered by materials such as plastered wattle and daub, weatherboarding, or tiles. Such infill has
no structural function, is mostly weather proofing, hence alternatively it may be left empty and the
structure can simply be covered with wood planks or boards.
Such sort of method was developed in many parts of the world, such as medieval Europe and
ancient Japan. Because of its varied occurrence, crossing many different periods and places, there are
many different labels naming historic framing styles. For instance, in Brazil, a famous example be-
came known as enxaimel. In Portugal, a famous example is found in the gaiola pombalina294. Such label-
ling usually has to do with local specificities surrounding the system, such as climate or seismic con-
ditions, informing the type of foundations, beam intersections, roof frame details, joints, decorative
modes, and so on. In several of these cases, the outside of the structural wood elements is left exposed
showing both frame and infill, becoming a distinctive decorative feature, leaving plaster, brick or
stone visible. In a late Middle Ages example, such approach with the use of plaster became known in
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Germany as fachwerk. In the same period, in England, a somewhat similar system became known as
Tudor style.
It was used throughout Europe, tendentiously more in northern and/or rainier areas, with more
abundance of wood supply, such as in Scandinavian countries, certain areas of France, Poland, Swit-
zerland, and so on. In the southern and/or drier European areas, such raw material availability was
not so profuse and whether conditions to allow a permanent outdoor use were not so favorable. In
these areas, ordinary construction typically relayed more on the use of structural supporting walls,
using robust walls of stone or of mixed stone, mortar, rumble and other aggregates, adobe construc-
tion, and so forth. To combine such mixes, and according to the type of constructive case, techniques
using clay, lime or others in hydrated mixes were used as bonding elements. Exception in such sys-
tems could occur in roof structures, typically using wood elements and occasional large-section wood
logs tying supporting walls and used as support for wood floors, and the like, resting on the large
walls, or intermediate wood posts in the case of larger spans. In many of these, iron-cast elements
were used where available to reinforce and provide enhanced lateral stability in the connections. In
others, such as in the traditional Japanese wood construction, the intricacy of the joints would be the
only elements bonding the different parts, allowing a greater flexibility to better withstand seismic
motion.
The difference between the walls, using hydrated elements, and the remaining, using wood and
steel elements would arguably contribute to the arousal of a popular distinction between what is
commonly called dry construction and wet construction. The case of the Iberian Peninsula is peculiar, as
historically there is a clear evidence of advanced knowledge of woodwork, which was applied in naval
construction295, but where the frame never became generalized in common construction, although
used in some very specific cases—e.g. the vernacular fisherman’s settlement of Palheiros da Tocha, in
Cantanhede, Portugal. Such is expressive of the causalities of the raw material availability in the pro-
gress of common construction practices, their intrinsic implications in the formulation of a construc-
tion culture, and even of the formulation of an architectural culture, on the modes in which forms
are understood and reformulated over and over.
American pioneers brought the know-how of ancient construction practices from their home-
lands into a land which had abundant forest resources. On the late 1500’s, in Colonial America, and
particularly New England, the abundance of wood and the English tradition of building made the
timber frame house popular. Entire towns were built with such structure. During the colonial period
(independence is declared in 1776) and onwards, carpenters would devise a simplification of the timber
frame to allow for faster construction with materials of standardized dimensions. On the mid 1600’s,
carpenters in Virginia devised a method for rapid construction of their buildings, decisively develop-
ing the timber frame into a system using smaller sections and hence lighter wood parts296.
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The balloon frame evolved slowly over the course of the nineteenth century. It resulted from modest
shifts in the practice of many carpenters over time. That resulted in a widespread typifying of con-
struction elements, which would endure until the late 1940’s as a common method in the USA. Typ-
ically, a 1×4in (2.5×10.2cm) board, called a ledger, was nailed into vertical timber members, called
studs, which ran continuously to the height of the building. The studs, typically 2×4in (5.1×10.2cm)
or 2×6in (5.1×15.3cm) and spaced in 16in (40.6cm) centers, were notched to accommodate the
ledger. The second-floor joists were also notched and then hooked onto the ledger. The joists were
then nailed to the studs. The studs extended from the base sill up to the top plate and support inter-
mediate floor joists and the roof rafters or trusses to a height of up to two floors.
The idea was not original. As the carpenters in seventeenth-century Virginia had done, they em-
ployed a similar method when confronted with pressures to build rapidly. However, the balloon frame
had the edge of having lightweight and compact studs, making the parts easier to transport and handle
in the worksite, which also made houses more prone to be built without skilled labor. Additionally,
with the industrialization of several skills and technologies, such as the industrially manufactured steel
nails or a myriad of manufactured steel joints in the 19th century, alleviating the task of connecting
wood members, the entire building process could increasingly be speeded up. By such characteristics,
the balloon frame eloquently depicts the moment in which industrialization enters the domain of hous-
ing construction. The methods would evolve to other forms of structural wood construction, such
as the platform frame, or even with a technological shift, by applying analogous principles in steel con-
struction, as it is the case with the contemporary use of cold-formed steel (CFS) profiles297.
Eventually, the old balloon frame developed in the USA would reveal disadvantages, such as the
requirement for long wood members, making supply more difficult and expensive, or the tendency
of inadequately treated wood to shrink and/or warp over time, making construction flaws to more
easily arise over time when using long wood members. Nevertheless, the great disadvantage that has
ultimately lead its usage to an end, was that the path of fire along the studs had to be obstructed with
fire stoppers, otherwise making it an authentic box of matches, as the great Chicago fire in 1871 has
dramatically exemplified. Consequently, in the late 1940’s the early balloon frame method was banned
by many building codes in the USA. In wood construction, this has lead the method to be largely
replaced by the platform frame. More recently, with the replacement of wood with CFS profiles, with
different fire safety issues, the ballon frame setup has been having a change to comeback in some
circumstances.
Unlike in the balloon frame, in the platform frame the walls (or stud bays) are story-height. The floors
(or joist bays) are laid independently. This non-dependency of elements sets a new construction phi-
losophy, enabling different architectural possibilities. Since it is laid floor by floor, the total building
height is no longer constrained by limitations in the material dimensions. Instead, the height becomes
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limited by the very material properties, cross-section or bracing methods. Yet it is not limitless. Given
the intrinsic lightweight principles, which lead to a minimization of cross-sections, typically a platform
frame can generate up to four levels, twice as much as with the balloon frame. The non-dependency of
elements is also reflected in the roof structure, where the spans are freed, since no longer necessarily
constrained by a bracing function to the building-height studs. Such often leads to a preference on
the use of trusses, which are more prone to ex-situ works and by that ensuring better quality while
reducing the typically longer and messier in-situ labor. As in balloon frame, the spatial gaps between the
structural members usually allow space for placement of installations, and the window and door
openings dispose of a great degree of freedom, if not coinciding with eventual toughened bracing
areas which can often be used to improve lateral stability.
Whether in wood or steel, the ballon frame and the platform frame have become two widespread
building techniques, making it now an aged-old tradition. In its inceptions, timber frame was grounded
on a premise of local material availability, provided by abundance of wood from nearby forests, and
ballon frame and platform frame followed. That explains why its use became so profuse in places where
timber is plentifully available, such as Scandinavia, the USA or Canada. Technological development
took it further, and as different methods and techniques evolved, so did the systems. These systems
currently no longer depend on a particular availability of material or of its characteristics. With glob-
alization, in a way these have become information and knowledge of construction possibilities. As
this constructive knowledge is mastered and further defied by introducing new challenges, whether
spatial, technological or material, architecture gains news possibilities. Besides, given the general char-
acteristics that can be recognized in such systems, namely a great potential in ex-situ production,
given the likely lightweight, which eases transportability and maneuverability, and the potential for
dry connections, improving speed of works, these kinds of systems are often designated as prefabri-
cation systems. However, such terminology may not be entirely accurate, raising the need for further
clarification.
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1.3 Towards a prefabrication definition
With the barber paradox, Bertrand Russell implies that no definition will ever be total. Yet, unlike
in pure logics, in the case of linguistics, self-reference or a truth predicate is allowed, since, in it,
representational principles are also implicitly valued. Addressing consistency is more a matter of
logics than of linguistics, but there is a necessary presence of a certain generalization degree at each
level of analysis for the handling of any matter to be possible298. Hence, in the least, an awareness of
the implied weaknesses should be present when undertaking a definition. Added to these difficulties,
the term prefabrication is surrounded of biases, making it harder to reach more consensual grounds.
As opposed to a general idea that the constructive practices are something that evolves in time, the
notion of prefabrication has arguably aroused linked to a notion of providing fast, immediate solutions where
a patient, evolving place transaction of materials and skills was not possible or not so economical. That is
only conceivable in a post-industrial frame, when it became more feasible to produce some constructive
elements away, in factory. Nevertheless, earlier related examples can be found far back. Laugier’s mythical
hut was made of trunks and leaves collected in nature which would be transported and/or prepared in a
place that could differ from the final assembly location. Saudi-Arabian, Mongolian or American Indian
hunter-gatherer societies made transportable huts299. Ancient romans had amazingly effective building
systems. Anyhow, that does not necessarily mean these examples can be considered as prefabrication, not at
least by our current technological state, which raises another difficulty in its definition, because it makes it
context-dependent—i.e., a notion that changes, as technological state-of-the-art does.
For ages, man has built homes piece-by-piece, dealing with the irregularity of nature, labor quality,
and so on. In such approach, as materials arrive to the construction site, they can often be stored out-
doors, exposed to the elements, and that may present more vulnerability to delays, price
fluctuations, and the like. The notion of prefabrication is often presented in contrast to these practices, in
which in the very least is implied a transfer of a certain degree of the work from the final building site
to a different location. Although many things have evolved since a pre-industrial era, in most places
throughout the world, the construction industry currently still relies a lot on in-situ manual labor
[complement with: Annex, II.1 Outline and challenges of the housing and the construction
sector in Europe]. It adds that the construction industry is still often stated as backwards in relation
with others, as the auto-motive, shipbuilding or aerospace industries, with which has classically been
compared with, and which still is frequently referred as embedded in a sort of fascination on aspects
of these300. The praise carries the promise of more efficient construction modes, with faster, easier,
better controlled processes, where economies of scale may be more effectively attained, and so forth.
Although the term prefabrication is pervasive in the construction industry, it is often expressed in
common language with a negative connotation301. Various factors contribute to such negativity, as it is
still the case with a certain stigma in public opinion on post-war prefabs. However, such negativity is
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not generalized, nor it happens with the same presumptions in each of the main geographical groups
where it recognizably has been having a more advanced implementation, namely in North America,
Japan and some European countries [complement with: Annex, II.2 Prefabrication of houses: A
historical and socio-cultural survey]. Nonetheless, the term is also often positively related with pro-
duction features—e.g. mass-production, standardization, specialization or organization—interfering in
construction processes—e.g. quality, time, cost, or building safety. With it, there can also be an assump-
tion of generally improved production conditions that might be reflected in the speed (e.g. less days to
completion), economy (e.g. overall gains in efficiency of construction processes and sub-processes re-
flected on the budget), social (e.g. improved working conditions) or environmental performances (e.g.
less material waste). In that sense, plausibly there are gains in overall construction quality comparatively
with solutions that are more dependent on in-situ works, although that may not be always true. Anyhow,
architectural arguments can easily be relegated to a secondary plan, submerged by overwhelming techno-
logical apparatus or simply by mighty business as usual tendencies.
It matters to distinguish prefabrication from the industrialization of construction practices, alt-
hough these can partially coincide. Industrialization is a reality in construction and such is of no
exclusivity in what can be called prefabrication. With bigger or smaller component size and complexity
when it comes to assembly in a building’s final location, a great deal of the materials in use nowadays
is industrially produced. Even in some of the so-called traditional methods, where archetypally mate-
rials are, unit by unit, prepared and/or assembled in-situ, age-old practices can be expanded, making
use of by bigger components to speed up site assembly—e.g. the case of bricklaying, where the use
of industrially panelized brick walls can occur instead of laying brick-by-brick. Worldwide exceptions
to a conspicuous use of industrialized materials in building construction may only be found in those
rare and special cases where age-old manual techniques still have some local impact—e.g. the case of
Berber houses in some Moroccan zones, still built with ancient adobe technology. Nonetheless, these
necessarily make use of tools or transport and deployment machinery that was not available in a pre-
industrial world. Inevitably, the vast majority of the current practice must combine both industrially
and/or remotely produced elements (ex-situ) with local works (in-situ)—Table 1 gives a general idea
of the implementation of ex-situ works in different areas of the building industry.
Type of Building Level of ex-situ work (%)
Rationalized housing 25-35
Industrial building site processes 20-30
Standard ready-built (reinforced concrete, steel, timber) 40-60
Ready-built housing (lightweight panel system) 50-80
Modular units/sanitary blocks (reinforced concrete, steel, timber) 60-90
Mobile modular units (steel, timber) 95-100
Automobiles (for purposes of comparison) 100
Table 1. Level of ex-situ work per type of building, adapted from Bock (2006)302.
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As industrial practices and, with it, transportation methods evolved, so did the notion of con-
struction component, which can furthermore be related with a discrete understanding of the building
construction processes. Not only it became possible to produce some elements more and better, it
made more sense to assemble them in increasingly more sophisticated components. In cases, these
components gather different elements brought (or not) from different manufacturing facilities. In
other circumstances, these are single elements of incredible complexity, which are only possible to
produce in factory-controlled environments. In many situations, components have grown so small
and/or so pervasive, such as an electrical plug, a door handle, flushing toilet, or a gas boiler, that we
may hardly realize them as components. In other cases, components have grown so big and complex
that almost entire rooms or houses are produced ex-situ, sometimes requiring exceptional transpor-
tation methods to in-situ deployment or, as in the American mobile homes, built on their own chassis
to be transported as such on the road.
It is hard to find coherent nomenclature in literature dealing with prefabrication. Although not
necessarily with the same meaning, the use of terminology such as offsite fabrication, industrialized con-
struction, site assembly, among others, is seldom used alternatively to prefabrication. There are probably
good reasons for that, given that it is a term that can be associated with different types of construc-
tion, which often are mistakeable, such as construction using predominantly linear principles (e.g. kit-
of-parts), planar principles (e.g. panelized construction), or volumetric principles (e.g. modular construc-
tion). Anyhow, these or other related distinctions are not straightforward to establish. For instance,
in cases where some name prefabrication, others may call it of systems construction—in prefabrication, the
linguistic association may easily be lain in a more direct bond between a design purpose and its con-
struction; conversely, we can regard a systems construction as independent of the design (although nec-
essarily influencing it), that is, the same system can be used for different constructions with different
purposes and designs. What is clear though in a prefabrication terminology is that there is an unequiv-
ocal relation between the idea of industrial development and the notion of constructive component,
which adds to a preexistent idea of constructive system. Moreover, these terminologies occur more
in a constructive sphere and not so much on a social or spatial sphere of the built environment.
Thus, we believe that prefabrication must generally be accepted as a catchall term—i.e., adequate
for a generic description, yet useless for a more precise development. On the plus side, due to its
large possible scopes, its generalization can facilitate the communication processes surrounding it.
However, in the least that raises the need to set its boundaries in relation to a subject or approach,
but also to properly outline other terms that may be mistaken with it. For the latter, if we observe a
few renowned dictionaries, a common lexical field arises from the diverse definitions303, with a recur-
rence in words such as construction, assembly, fabricate, manufacture, components, sections, parts, standardization.
That denotes there is an action occurring in space that is related with the idea of organizing and
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building something. Moreover, there is a recurrence in the idea that there is some sort of process
preceding a deployment on a final location, that is, it is set through a temporal notion (e.g. in expres-
sions such as in advance, in factory, on site). From here, some preliminary conclusions on a definition
could be taken, but another question arises as to the up to date validity of the dictionary entries. For
instance, in Webster’s case, the definition was first recorded in 1932 and has not been changed since.
Meanwhile, technology has progressed, yet the word apparently has not, and in that sense, it may be
reasonable to think it can mean something different today. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the evolv-
ing context, the meaning of the word has essentially been kept304. Besides, since the first dictionary
entry has only been recorded in 1932, that indicates a relative historical novelty of the term, and thus
of an increased potential difficulty in a clear-cut definition.
By word formation reasons, the closest word in its lexical relatives is fabrication305, which is sugges-
tive of some way of elaborating materials with desired properties by using different techniques306.
Assembling307, which is a closely related word, can easily be understood as means to join together308.
Fabrication can also be defined as providing the elements that are to be assembled together. These def-
initions are obviously interrelated and precedence of one in relation to the other is often dubious.
There is also the issue of hierarchy, that is, on how each stage of assembly can be defined and limit
each sub-stage, which in turn leads to where fabrication and assembly start and end in relation to
each other. The latter is a looping issue, as the boundaries between the means to fabricate and the
means to assemble are not always clear. Anyhow, there is an implied subscription of a space-time no-
tion, given if there is a certain stage, it implicitly means there is some other stage preceding or suc-
ceeding it—the prefix pre309, agglutinated with fabrication is, if not more, a reminder of such. Therefore,
prefabrication310 places the activity of fabrication before some reference point in time311. Although not
consensual, the term prefabrication indicates a space-time reference to the overall processes of
fabrication and assembly, and thus can be described as the putting together of all or part of an artifact in
some place other than its final location312. From here on it is a matter of degree, although not free of
ambiguity, as if applied to every factory-made product the term would eventually lose its
meaning313. Following a British terminological tradition, Gibb314 apparently solves this question by
naming it something different—i.e., off-site fabrication—but that also reduces its scope. For our
purposes, in this regard we find suitable to distinguish between in-situ and ex-situ processes within a
broader prefabrication terminology. As we will later observe, these also unambiguously fit the related
conception of modularity. Another problem with this space-time definition is that it can seamlessly
be adopted for different notions, as in industrialized construction or as in a definition of component, thus
potentially generating other ambiguities.
The industrialization of construction products should not be mistaken with prefabrication, alt-
hough the themes can often mingle. Construction industrialization results of a continuous progress
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made in the industry of intermediary construction products (i.e. those products that, when brought
together, may or may not make part of a building). On the other hand, prefabrication can be regarded
from the whole of the building and be thereon deconstructed into (or reconstructed through) its
different systems and elements (components, sub-components, and so forth). Prefabrication should
also not be mistaken as strictly the result of the hypothetical reduction of a building to a manufactured
product. As far as we see it, it should be understood by the taking in action of the diversity of the
building’s morphology and its relations and for the comprehension of the conception processes that
give it shape. A building process cannot be reduced to an assembly sequence, as if it was a mere and
unequivocal spreadsheet—in the least, the building construction is intrinsically exposed to more im-
ponderables when compared with finished products exiting a controlled industrial assembly line.
Construction is ought to adapt, or to be though off in terms of a wider set of risks and constraints,
such as technology, site, weather, transport, and so forth, not to mention legal or regulatory aspects
that can be present since early stages in the design. Therefore, a typical industrial product cannot be
strictly compared with a building product. For instance, there is no packaging for a house, the package
is the house, which makes it a very different kind of product—nevertheless, in business terms it can
be considered as so, as in a real-estate product. Foremost, there is necessarily an issue of scope and/or
scale, but also of perception.
Indeed, technically, there is no possible consensus on a straightforward definition of prefabrication,
and that in least indicates there is a relevant matter of [subjective] perception involved. If speaking,
for instance, on prefabrication of houses or on prefabrication of bridges, it is a peaceful thing to say that
different subjects are being mentioned, yet distinction might not be so easy in other cases. The two
involve different scopes, notions, scales, skills, detailing levels, and so forth—in houses, we can com-
monly refer to prefabrication of houses; in bridges, the terminology can be, e.g., prefabrication of elements for
bridge construction, instead of prefabrication of bridges, hence implying that prefabrication is assumed to be
a part on a bigger process, not the whole process, as in houses. The same occurs in multi-story apart-
ment buildings, where it is common to say that they have, e.g., prefabricated façades, or prefabricated mod-
ular components, although the building itself is not usually taken as prefabricated. Exceptions in specific
literature are rare in this kind of buildings, nevertheless they can be found, as it is the case with the
Murray Groove apartments in London (1999-2000), by Cartwright and Pickard.
It thus follows that prefabrication is not a technical or scientific notion, but more a notion depend-
able on a certain agenda, or on how a building product is set to be sold, that is, on a public perception
and how that perception is built up, with what intents, and so forth. In a way, and only if it matters
for its promoter, we would also add that the closer the building is to a bondable entity, such as a
packaged consumer product, the more likely it is for it to be called prefabricated. Likewise, a analogous
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reasoning could inversely be applied to the multi-apartment, speculative real estate with no particu-
larly perceptible use of construction components. Indeed, their essential difference in marketing
terms is virtually inexistent. In any case, it is clear that architecture is not necessarily a core business in
these specific perspectives.
In houses, and particularly often in detached houses, the term is typically assumed as describing a
whole, even if it is known that it is not totally so. This notion of meaning attributed to a whole instead
of a stage of it, as it occurs in the notion of off-site fabrication, gets higher relevance when we think that
prefabrication is frequently denoted in opposition to the so-called traditional construction. However,
when referring to traditional construction we may also be meaning many different things, e.g.: to a
specific enrooted technique; designating a certain vernacular type; or generally to a process we take
for long established or that simply we are somewhat used to. Prefabrication can too mean many differ-
ent things315. If in some of its uses, the term vernacular can be evocative of traditional316, analogously,
prefabrication can be regarded as evocative of an architecture conveying a sort of feeling of vanguard
related, cutting-edge (or so seeming) engineering or industrial practices. Regardless a greater or lesser
propagandistic tone associated, the vanguard image it may convey can have a powerful appeal. How-
ever, that may well backfire, symptomatizing an enrooted social suspicion related with biased past
examples. Anyhow, prefabrication also renders an appeal, derived from a certain functionalist discourse,
to notions such as efficiency and economy, associated with a better work environment and qualitative
control via enhanced planning in the design, construction, costs, and so forth. These do not neces-
sarily need to be regarded as cutting-edge, or as if alien-like relatively to ordinary practices.
As palimpsest, knowledge and technology are iteratively devised, recursively summed and ques-
tioned in time. In the cases where its use is more reluctant, it should make sense to regard the poten-
tials of prefabrication, incorporating it in current practices. Such does not occur overnight. It implies
an entourage at the pervasive level of a constructive culture, and well-coordinated approaches from
design to construction actors. At this level, prefabrication is already well established in the practices of
places such as the USA, Japan or Scandinavian countries. In those places where such culture is not
so vividly present, the approaches most likely require an extra effort in research, development and
overall dialogue among players. In one case or the other, mitigation of social acceptability suspicion
should likely be a major concern, as the low-quality examples throughout history have stigmatized
the very term. In architectural practice, it is our belief that to overcome such suspicion, high-quality
in design should interdependently correspond to high-quality in constructive solutions. Ethically in
the least, both should in all cases be a permanent concern.
Trying to reach a consensus in a prefabrication terminology is a task that most likely will reveal
unfruitful, as the methods to classify often seem to be as varied as the purposes of those making the
classifications317. For instance, the client is probably interested in size and price, along with style or
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the like; the builder with productive quality, efficiency, revenues, and so on; and the architect will be
concerned with design issues, such as the geometry of the building, functional organization, spatial
qualities, and so forth. Being a general notion, prefabrication can be adjusted to the specific cases, with
conventions of their own, in relation with the overall process that is under development.
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2 FROM THE MODERNIST INDUSTRIAL PARADIGMS
TO A NETWORKED REALITY
2.1 A business reality
Shipbuilding, aerospace and specially the automotive industry are perhaps the more direct inheri-
tors of the coal and iron based Industrial Revolution times. Following mechanophiles such as the
motorized suburban Frank Lloyd Wright, or the functional urban Le Corbusier, in the Modernist period
these industries have often been discursively implied, whether symbolically/culturally or by their
state-of-the-art production and management practices, as ways that architects should regard atten-
tively. Hitherto, the literature related with prefabrication, and/or with systems construction, fre-
quently borrows elements from these318.
That hardly comes as a surprise, since the history of prefabricated construction, and generally, the
technological evolution of construction processes has long been inextricably related with the devel-
opment of other industries or businesses319. Attesting it, there are illustrious examples, such as the
Portuguese Gaiola Pombalina building system, which was plausibly based in shipbuilding methods. In
any case, it must not be forgotten that the building industry has its peculiarities that differ from those
of other industries. That necessarily restricts attempts for a direct comparison, limiting the taking of
early assumptions.
Several reasons contribute for the terminologies, processes or practices used in industrial produc-
tion and management to be ahead of those of the construction industry320. As a general decisive
factor, that can be credited to their tendency of concentration of capital, which results in more re-
sources available for R&D, marketing, and so forth. Moreover, unlike what it often occurs in the
construction industry, these commonly follow product-driven philosophies, where capital availability
has a vital effect in the engagement of the entire productive fabric to converge towards the underlying
goals.
Classically, this has led to conspicuous replication-engaged philosophies and methods. These arise
as a natural consequence of unraveling efforts to attain economies of scale, by optimizing processes,
reducing inefficiencies, self-regulating batch sizes, and so forth. Anyhow, currently the repetitive ste-
reotypes of the production machine are very different from what they have been in the past. That
can be illustrated by the IT’s propelled tendencies towards the integration of a higher range of con-
sumer choice, seemingly increasing variability of outputs through mass-customization strategies and
the like. Anyway, notwithstanding the divergence in philosophy or the improved tools or technolog-
ical state, the replication-engaged processes are still in the bare bone of most production processes
around a globalized world.
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The purpose of achieving more effective, scalable modes of production is deeply engaged in grad-
ually attempt to achieve more with less, which corresponds to an idea of progress and development
where economy is prime, often at expense of the social and/or environmental spheres of a sustaina-
bility equation. From the standpoint of the underlying economic processes, there certainly are many
similarities between these industries. In any case, there are also differences worth noting between
their sizes and characteristics.
As shown in Table 2, contemporarily the greatest of these is beyond doubt the automotive indus-
try. Analyzing figures collected from the 2014 Forbes Global 2000321 list, excluding the banking indus-
try (in first place) and the oil industry (in second), the automotive industry had the most companies
on top. Focusing in the more traditional hard industries’ companies (i.e. construction, shipbuilding,
aerospace or machinery), the sum of the auto industry top 10 companies’ was head-to-head with the
remaining top 10 combined. In other words, this means that 50 companies among these other hard
industries moved a business that was roughly equivalent to the business moved by the top 10 com-
panies in the automotive industry. This portrays the difference in the business scales, and not least
gives an idea of the plausible difficulty in establishing a comparison, or extracting sound features on
fair grounds.
Top 10 Companies’ Summed Sales* Profits* Assets* Market Value*
Construction Services 596.9 17.653 751.8 256.3
Construction Materials 218.7 8.019 328.4 179.8
Aerospace and Defense 369.8 23.161 451.9 424.7
Shipbuilding** 152.074 1.962 126.7 32.7
Heavy Equipment*** 231.1 15.17 326.8 246.5
Previous Combined**** 1568.57 65.965 1985.6 1140
Auto and Truck Manufacturers 1507.7 78.8 2101.3 859.6
* In USA$ Billion. ** Including Conglomerates, which also include aerospace, defense, energy, and so on. Excluding the ‘Profits’, ‘Assets’
and ‘Market’ of the Forbes’ 2000 unlisted - that is, the bottom 6 of Top 10 companies, anyhow of little relevance for the overall picture.
*** Excluding Conglomerates that are included in Shipbuilding. **** For comparison purposes.
Table 2. Sum of Top 10 Companies by industry in 2014, based on Forbes Global 2000 list.
Notwithstanding their differences, a bit all over, similar production features can be recognized
among the diverse sectors. Henry Ford’s iconic linear assembly has long been replaced by the pro-
duction of integrated modules, each composed by innumerous parts provided by different suppliers.
From the initial assembly line, companies have gradually begun to use third-party manufacturers, not
just as source of parts, but also for fabrication of subassemblies. Managers, designers or process
engineers began to realize the advantage of fragmenting products, and developing them in modules,
or sets of parts, where each module can be composed of many parts, preassembled off the main
assembly plant, in an adjoining or nearby facility, or at a remote location.
Although each case is a case, the general argument is that when these parts are fabricated into
components before arrival at the point of final assembly, gains can be made in quality, features, or
performance, while reductions can be achieved in cost and time of fabrication. The philosophy of
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the process of making, from design to production thus tends to follow a parallel, networked logic,
instead of a linear, gravity-like process motion, where the collective intelligence is put at work in
collaborative processes towards integrated component construction.
Our times are not those of the modernist age, when the comparison notably first arouse, and the
production philosophies and methods have evolved to unprecedented sophistication. Notwithstand-
ing, in many ways, it is our belief that the automotive, shipbuilding or aerospace industries are still
largely valid as references for an assessment. Particularly, when comparing with other relevant indus-
tries such as the software, hardware, or services industries, the trio still seems to be the closest to
establish a more useful evaluation. Surely, each with their own idiosyncrasies, surrounded of different
challenges, and thus with potential of arising a variety of inputs towards the construction industry
and/or the architectural production.
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2.2 Notes from the automotive industry
In the modular and parallel assembly of car production, the supply chain is consolidated and
hierarchically organized into a chain of tier suppliers, delivering modules for arrival at the OEM (orig-
inal equipment manufacturer), the company that makes the final product for the consumer marketplace
and thus bears a brand or multiple brand’s name. For instance, Volkswagen, Chrysler and Toyota are
OEM companies that manufacture cars, and Apple, Sony or Samsung can be regarded as consumer
electronics OEMs. The OEMs are, so to say, the companies that are on top of the food chain, and
straight below is the so-labelled tier-1 companies, which are the direct and major modules suppliers
to the OEMs, followed by tier-2, tier-3, or even tier-4 companies322.
This product-focused ecosystem, hardwired to build successfully higher (i.e. bigger and/or more
complex) levels of components, until reaching the final product ready to deliver to the consumer,
requires transversally fine-tuned processes. With a modular functioning of the production methods,
and a clarification of the interfaces in the final installation (e.g. with use of fewer joints, or following
strict, practical rules of assembly), more precise tolerances can be attained throughout. Moreover,
there can be an improvement of working conditions, with less accumulation of parts in the final
assembly area, thus easing the entire process and minimizing the risk of flaws.
Furthermore, with the fragmentation into modules build up by different tiers, there are more
entities assuming primary responsibility for their quality and in-time delivery than in a classical com-
mand-and-control method of construction, thus contributing to streamline production and improve
overall quality. Moreover, since production and accountability are spread across numerous players,
focusing in design, engineering or systems’ management (also known as product architecture) is key
for a successful integration of the various contributions.
Following a fast-paced technological evolution, with the IT’s of our information age, parallelism
can be implemented and manageable up to scales unthinkable until just a very few years ago. The
focus on process integration, through the adding or improvement of processes and/or technologies
such as digital modelling, virtual testing, fast prototyping, supply-chain management, or corporate in-
house connectivity with vehicle platforms and the like, have enabled this industry to reduce even
more the concept-to-market period. In the mid-1990s, a concept-to-market period could typically
take 52-58 months, whereas in the mid-2000s it was estimated easily taking 32-38 months (about 40%
less in a decade)323. Speeding up the process has been a key focus for the automotive industry, and
that means billions in savings. Henry Ford’s linear paradigm, which we can symbolically ascribe to a
motion of gravity and hierarchy, no longer dictates all processes. In a way, gravity has given place to
the virtual, and its counterpart hierarchy has given place to the network.
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From design to manufacture, every part, right down to the tiniest element, such as a screw, can
be defined and digitally controlled on a process sheet that details all features and installation proce-
dures. The entire process is poised to be controlled electronically through direct links among all par-
ticipants, from the OEM to the suppliers (tier-1, tier-2, and so forth), and at last installed on the final
assembly line. Quality control procedures help to insure minimization of flaws. For instance, discrete
components are typically coded to enable instant tracking and to ensure that each is installed in cor-
rect positioning in the proper module or vehicle. Each module comes to the final assembly complete
and ready to quickly be attached to the vehicle under construction. The various modules produced
in parallel and trackable throughout the entire process, contribute to a drastic reduction of the overall
time-to-market for the complete car. Moreover, these also enable client’s customization options to
be seamlessly integrated in the process, as well as ease of component tracking for future maintenance
purposes of repair or replacement.
By optimizing the entire production chain, the time and total cost of labor required to install
modules at the point of final assembly are poised to be dramatically reduced, as are the overall quan-
tities and costs of material, and the total production time and cost of the final product. Additionally,
from a suspension mechanism or an electrical socket, to a transmission or a differential system, an
alternator, a chassis or an engine, or a set of several of these, through the concept of platforms, some
modules are shared between different vehicle models of the same brand, or of different automotive
brands or even brand holders, further contributing to the production economies324.
These sharing processes also reflect a reality where, in a way and in many levels, the main differ-
ences between the end products may lay in what is more directly visible or tangible (e.g. bodywork,
dashboard, alloy wheels), than in what lays beneath (e.g. chassis, engine, transmission, differential).
Likewise, it is a reality where, aside the performance factors, a mix of aesthetics or tradition/meme
carrying brand status plays a major role. Consciously or subconsciously this affects the feel of a car,
aside its material quality or other more or less objective characteristics, with repercussions in the
perception mechanisms forming the value, price-point, and so forth.
As we have mentioned, the codification procedures are key for a seamless integration of produc-
tion processes in this industry. For that matter, aside following international standardization and/or
certification schemes, the very companies often develop their own norms—from the material prop-
erties, to classification of construction elements, from screws fixation force or pistons tolerance specs
to larger modules’ joint tolerances, construction or management procedures, labor rules, and so forth.
Additionally, regional or country specific aspects are also considered, from driver’s seat on left or
right, to CO2 or NOx exhaustion norms, and so on, and thus though of to seamlessly be modularly
integrated in the production. Management procedures, controlling and accounting, are thus key to
keep these organizations well-oiled.
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These procedures, engaged in the cogwheel of attaining ever-greater economic efficiency, reduc-
ing costs and increasing value to maximize revenues and the like, are obviously not exclusive of the
automotive industry. For instance, in retail, companies such as Amazon or IKEA are well-known by
the large public for their tight and detailed control. This are evident in Amazon’s logistic procedures,
or in IKEA’s precise number of coded construction elements that are packed with their products.
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2.3 Notes from the aerospace industry
As automobiles, commercial aircrafts are also the product of a highly efficient cooperation across
a company’s global supply and manufacturing chains, often built upon decades of innovation in the
field. Design and production of a car or of a jetliner pretty much go through analogous steps in terms
of modular fabrication. However, the jetliner’s larger scale, added to the highly demanding air-safety
requirements, make it a very different product, starting in the very organizational philosophy. Indeed,
whereas in the automotive industry, the production and responsibility can more easily be fragmented
into the different tier suppliers, in the aircraft industry, control typically stays closer to the hands of
the main company, more in a command-and-control fashion.
In cars, tier-1 suppliers are typically specialized in a certain kind of component, thus following
more of a performance approach, which is set by the OEM. That is, using their specialized expertise,
the tier-1 supplier conforms its product to the OEM’s design requirements, established in terms of
performance goals, which include form factors (e.g. spatial/geometric characteristics, materials, joint
locations, and so on) and function factors (e.g. structural, mechanical or electrical characteristics, and
so on). In airplane production, given the nature and scale of the product, a performance approach
cohabits with a detailing approach, where the different plants supplying the components for the entire
airplane typically work in vertical integration under direct control of the main company, in constant
dialogue with their design and engineering teams325.
Thus, the concept of tier does not make so much sense here, since design and control is exerted
throughout the entire line by the main company, without so much of fragmentation to third parties.
Nonetheless, there are exceptions in particular dedicated components, such as jet engines, as it occurs
with General Electric or Rolls-Royce, two well-known major aircraft engine manufacturers, with supply
contracts with multiple aircraft manufacturing companies. Anyhow, the diverse individual plants un-
der control of the main aircraft construction company, each typically specialize in certain parts of the
aircraft and/or in the final assembly.
Companies such as the European Airbus, the American Boeing or Lockheed Martin, are the top play-
ers in the industry326. Within their own business, these companies follow a philosophy of global co-
operation that begins in the very design and engineering. For instance, Airbus327 relies on a network
of facilities for design and engineering that spread throughout Europe, North America, India or
China. Their headquarters in Toulouse, France, gathers competencies such as architecture integration,
general design, structural design and computation, integration tests and systems, and propulsion,
whereas, their facility in Filton, UK, produces and gathers design, engineering and support duties for
wings, fuel systems and landing gear. To meet continued sturdy demand, and achieve high perfor-
mance levels, in 2013, Airbus implemented a new production organization, focusing in further inte-
134
gration, full cross-functional alignment and even more teamwork in production activities. Structur-
ally, the organization empowers each Airbus plant responsible for the corresponding components it
manufactures, although there is a support by the overall design and engineering network to the day-
to-day challenges. In the parallel assembly of airplanes, components sizes’ create logistical issues that
the automotive industry typically does not face328. Regional synergies seem to be of importance for
the company’s business strategy, both in terms of the economies of production costs, as of market
implementation and visibility. Attesting it are the current final assembly line plants, which spread
across several continents329.
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2.4 Notes from the shipbuilding industry
The shipbuilding industry has too been modernizing over the past years, aided by the incorpora-
tion of digital tools that help integrating different stages of design and production. Shipbuilding pro-
duction has long been following modular principles of construction. However, the heavy weight and
large dimension of its parts, potentially the most extreme of any of these three industries, makes it a
special case. Shipbuilding greatly relies in the brute force of cutting and welding of heavy steel ele-
ments, with much of the work occurring manually (even if machine-aided), in-situ or in shop, alt-
hough with some parts produced in more controlled environments with support of CAM methods.
There are also some highly-specialized parts, such as engines, propellers, or control mechanisms,
which are typically supplied by third parties.
Companies such as Caterpillar or MAN build heavy machinery and aside their own brand products,
they also supply as third parties for ship construction330. This sort of companies is part of a grander
ecosystem of businesses that we can relate with metal forgery and machining, spanning multiple areas,
from auto or truck construction, to aircrafts or ships, as is the case of Rolls Royce, which produces
cars, but also jet engines or maritime engines. The businesses of maritime building companies are
also usually diversified, some of them moving through all sort of areas, in industrial conglomerate
business structures, as is the case with the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries (MHI), the largest of its kind,
which works in areas such as aerospace, defense, energy, shipbuilding, and so forth. Finally, their
procurement is of a very different character than for instance that of the automotive industry.
The process of shipbuilding is very variable, facing all sorts of challenges, anyhow requiring robust
production facilities. Indeed, ship construction can vary immensely according with the ship’s dimen-
sions and/or characteristics. Smaller ships can almost entirely be assembled in a welding shop, and
subsequently moved to a paint section, and thereon to the water. In large vessels, a great deal of the
building blocks can arrive fully furnished to the final assembly site, which can typically be an outdoor
dry dock, facing weather conditions. Smaller or larger, a vessel construction is typically grounded.
This, allied to the variability of construction cases, makes it an industry that in this sense resembles
more a building construction, than a car or airplane construction.
Given the dimensions and the often-tight schedules, several specialized construction teams may
be working simultaneously in different parts of the ship. Moreover, the dimensions and heavy weight
of both the block modules, and the ships themselves, demands the brute force of the shipyards’
gigantic cranes and, if required, a transportation of parts through large specialized ships or land car-
riers. Given these intrinsic logistic limitations in maneuverability and transportability, the implemen-
tation of motioned and/or automated production lines is pretty much inhibited from a certain com-
ponent scale onwards, and parallel production has more implementation constrains.
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Generally, the building parts in ship construction are bulkier than in car or airplane, which makes
its production harder to delocalize to external suppliers. Nonetheless, parallel production can be
made possible overseas, and not only within a single shipyard. That is the case with the twenty
Maersk’s Triple E container ships contracted for construction in 2011 to the Hyundai Heavy Industries -
Daewoo Shipbuilding & Marine Engineering (HHI-DSME). Despite the enormous size of the ship, the
biggest of its kind, it is built with pinpoint precision, involving a massive international effort, from
the design and engineering team, to the contractor teams and shipbuilding supervision331.
South Korea has become the current world’s leading nation in shipbuilding, with several major
companies operating from their shores. As most of the companies in the industry, the HHI’s activi-
ties, the largest of its kind after MHI conglomerate, are not limited to ship construction, ranging to
other areas of heavy machinery. Among other things, they too produce engines and propellers, as
well as some of the equipment to move heavy stuff, such as forklifts, cranes, and so forth. As the
world’s biggest facility of its kind, with about 90 ships produced a year (one each 4 days), there are
permanent concerns on the bottlenecks of the panel block assembly lines due to the limited facilities
and equipment, the increase of construction demand or the simultaneous production of various types
of ships.
Aiming at obtaining a continuous flow production system, they thus constantly seek ways to mit-
igate bottlenecks, for instance, by minimizing incompatibilities in the labor days required by different
parts, aiming at related components to be produced just-in-time on the construction sequence. Even
with a well-oiled IT’s implementation, with automation, CNC cutting, CAD, CAM, and the like, the
production process is nonetheless labor intensive. Therefore, a great effort must be set in addressing
labor related issues, such as work safety or even in providing workers accommodation, for which
they have even created a subsidiary housing division. Another major concern has to do with the
integration of the diverse digital systems. Moreover, there is also concern set on the customers follow
up, for which they have a maintenance and technical support division. Finally, there is an underlying
synergetic philosophy pervading the company’s initiatives.
As other companies in the field, HHI strives to increase their competitive edge in engineering,
and they aim it through innovation. In 2015, a team of over 1,400 designers developed a more effec-
tive economical and eco-friendly ship design, responding to market changes and client demand, de-
signing and engineering new ships for deep-sea environment in particular. In order to meet demand-
ing quality and performance standards, they implemented a thoroughly quality management system
for quality inspection of every manufacturing process. Apparently, the key to the performance im-
provement has been to aim towards a seamless, instantly updated information of the diverse concur-
ring processes that directly or indirectly are implied in shipbuilding332.
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2.5 Comparison and challenges towards housing production
Modernist mass house production gave answers that soon would be criticized. The techno-opti-
mistic posture of some prominent figures, lead to appeals for architecture to proceed along a path
with a closer regard to the industrial way. Nonetheless, comparisons with global industries such as the
automotive, shipbuilding and aerospace, regarding their benchmark practices, although long observed
and revisited from time to time333, have several aspects that can be questioned.
Mass produced housing systems, developed to satisfy urgent housing needs, such as some post-
war entrepreneurships, was typically limited in terms of spatial flexibility and technical refinement. It
testifies a core difference between the automotive mass production and the analogous application to
produce dwelling units. As Kenneth Frampton wrote, “[it has become clear] that the large amounts of capital
necessary for the refinement of the automobile, from prototype to production stage, only becomes readily available because
of the guaranteed marketability of the car as indispensable means of private transport. On the other hand unlike the
automobile, that amortizes rapidly, the residential fabric, despite its seeming repetition, has a non-consumerist charac-
ter”334. Indeed, the aspects of the financial architecture and its derived manifestations, is a core issue
that should be present when comparing both realities. Additionally, in housing there is an attachment
to a specific location, which can raise questions when considering the house as a product, whether
the comparison is established with products of a greater (e.g. automobiles) or lesser (e.g. ships) con-
sumerism degree.
Indeed, the classical comparison, between house production and the industrial production para-
digms, is not entirely fair thus it must be carefully considered. For instance, doing the exercise the
other way around, it is difficult to imagine, for instance, how a car would be produced like a house335.
For a start, there are issues related with the expected average lifespan, since it is hard to picture how
a car can normally last more than 50 years as a house probably would. Typical house related questions,
such as maintenance, how it could be altered and/or resized by the user, or easily expanded to take
more people, are certainly very different.
There is also a design issue, since cars take over 30 months to design, which ordinarily is simply
not a bearable practice to proceed with a house design. It is also difficult to imagine how a car could
be repainted or redecorated inside when owners get bored with the color, or how it could accommo-
date a wheelchair without significant modification, or even how it could look totally different from
the other cars on the market at the same type and budget level. Finally, how could its business logic
be sustained without the benefit of a consumerist cogwheel of built-in obsolescence, which also feeds
the automotive industry, starting in Henry Ford’s philosophy of a car for everyone (beginning in its
own workers), and ending in more sophisticated marketing schemes, from rentals to lease plans, fleet
supply contracts to clientele companies, and so forth. Real-estate businesses can also be fiercely ag-
gressive, anyhow the milieu is very different.
138
Buildings are made from many components, but these have different characteristics than those of
other industries. Compared with others, most building industry components are relatively simple, not
requiring a special technical sophistication in the in-situ works. Other industries are more likely to
have complex components and sub-components, with specific differences in function and form, as
it is the case of the engines in cars or airplanes. The organizational methods are too very different. It
adds that the players in the automotive industry are typically much bigger when compared with most
of the construction market players, with the bulk of the market composed of SMEs. The fact is that
the automotive industry spends far more money on R&D than the building industry, which will in-
evitably reflect in the overall product quality and how that quality is managed and controlled, all the
way from final assembly line to the diverse suppliers in the supply chain. Indeed, when producing
units to the thousands, factors such as quality control acquire a determinant importance, since a flaw
signifies tremendous losses to the OEM.
On the other hand, the building industry has completely different opportunities, because the rel-
ative simplicity of building components allows a much greater diversity of outputs, which can be
reflected in the appearance of the final product. Such apparent simplicity is also what ultimately em-
powers what can be called the culture of the home, that is, of taking care of the matters with the own
hands, adapting spaces to different uses, decorating and the like, or through the non-particularly
complex technical services of others.
Although most components in building construction are relatively simple when compared with
the complexity of others, the reality is that the supply of buildings can be more difficult. Moreover,
for instance, in the automotive industry, although there are relatively complex components in differ-
ent kinds of car models, of the same or of different brands, the essential parts can be pretty much
the same. That, allied to a streamlined referencing of parts eases the ability to proceed with compo-
nent substitution when needed, sometimes in a much more effective way than in housing. The num-
bered car parts are not only an effective mode for quality control, but also an invaluable source of
tracking for replacement. Comparably, often when substitution of building components is required
it is hard to find an exact replacer, although similar, but not exact ones may be available. Often
product development or market trends render products obsolete in just a few years or, in other cases,
companies simply cease to exist. For that matter, again, we need to recall that the bulk in the con-
struction industry are SME’s, more prone to financial risk, although even bigger ones are not at all
immune. On the one hand, the general simplicity of building components makes it more prone for
repairing purposes. On the other hand, it can make it harder for replacement purposes.
Alongside with more effective production methods, boosted by IT’s or more effective transpor-
tation methods, we have also been witnessing a concordant decline of craft, with repercussions in
quality and cost. It is clear that with a decline of craft, quality and quantity are going to be achieved
139
by ever more rationalized and/or mechanized means, and where a focus must be put on systems’
management. It also seems clear that no matter how these will evolve, that knowledge integration will
increasingly become a core issue for architectural production336.
Meanwhile, several aspects of the industrial production can be borrowed to the architectural house
production. For instance, making use of a philosophy of costumer first, following notions of econ-
omy and value demand, or making use of a communal patchwork philosophy, sharing design and
responsibilities among the different parts involved. Moreover, the disciplines integration, as in pro-
cess engineering, is a crucial issue, to which IT’s have a decisive say. Using new kinds of design
regulating systems, through supply chain management, increased logistic performance, or segmented
quality control, are possible successful ways to conquer such integration. Additionally, it can be rele-
vant to implement information and simulation systems, such as online customer-oriented architec-
tural survey to inform virtual simulation and general cost assessment. Finally, all this can benefit of
integration with parametric design tools of Building Information Modelling (BIM), Bill of Materials (BOM)
or Manufacturing Bill of Materials (MBOM), improving terrain integration, precise material definition,
cost assessment, or generally the design workflow, while speeding up linkage to production. Further-
more, lean production, mass customization, digital fabrication, material advancements, or addressing
sustainability issues, among others337, can be looked as allies towards the evolution of the architectural
production paradigms, where an awareness of technology should cohabit with an attention to the
socio-cultural needs, redefining the quality of housing and living environment, locally and globally.
140
141
3 PREFABRICATION AND VARIABILITY
3.1 Logistics and output vectors
In prefabrication, it is primarily implied a distinction between locations where the building prod-
ucts are manufactured (i.e., ex-situ practices), and their assembly on the building site (i.e., in-situ
practices). Logistics is the cement binding the two spheres, and is thus key for running any kind of
building construction (prefab or not) smoothly and efficiently. Good logistic practices can bring pos-
itive impacts in several domains of architectural production, namely in aspects related with the output
vectors of cost, time, quality and scope (Table 3). It is not only an issue of construction management,
but an issue that should start with the very design.
Cost Capital cost (administrative, project fees, construction, financing, marketing, etc.)
Maintenance cost
Time Designing and planning time
Speed and duration of construction
Speed of response to client’s needs
Quality Design reliability and durability
Design innovation
Subjective (aesthetical, spatial, impact in people, etc.)
Scope Functionality (suitability for the intended needs, in program intents, subjective qualities, etc.)
Sustainability (economic viability, socio-cultural integration, environmental adequacy, etc.)
Life-cycle behavior (suitability for the intended lifespan, flexibility, adaptability, etc.)
Table 3. A selection of output vectors.
Factory quality control levels are extremely hard, if not impossible, to attain in-situ with the same
standards, namely because of the effects that non-dry construction processes can have in a convenient
solidarization, finishing or waterproofing of the parts. Conversely, certain craft-depending qualities
cannot be met in factory with the same standard as in-situ practices. Higher or lesser industrialized
construction environments have different qualities, but also pose different challenges.
In less industrialized construction environments, logistic pressure mainly occurs in the coordina-
tion of the integrated in-situ works, where things can get messy, often dealing simultaneously with
raw materials, transportation, work coordination, besides weather conditions, and so forth. Com-
pared to more industrialized environments, the management of the construction process has more
dependencies, meaning that the mishandling of a single variable, can have downstream negative im-
pacts in the output vectors. For instance, a delay in a craft can affect the integration of other works
downstream, which may not be available for an alternative scheduling when ideally needed. On the
other hand, more industrialized construction environments are more prone to alleviate in-situ logistic
142
pressure, fragmenting it elsewhere, thus contributing to attain potential gains in the output vectors.
As direct consequence, comparatively there is a reduction of dependencies which carries many po-
tential benefits. For instance, if reducing construction to the closest as possible of an assembly pro-
cess, in-situ works can almost entirely be conducted by the same group of people, specialized in
assembly, since more demanding specific crafts would be circumscribed upstream.
Optimizing the separation of a building into its individual building elements, so that transportation
can be optimized from ex-situ to in-situ, can be a decisive contribution to attain good logistic practices.
Nonetheless logistic pressure will always be there, whether in higher or lesser industrialized environ-
ments, since components should anyway be delivered in the appropriate timings to avoid unnecessary
time waste (e.g. arriving late, hence delaying the construction), or space waste (e.g. requiring unnecessary
and expensive allocation of storage area). Especially on construction relaying on components in a
greater degree, logistics must be precisely coordinated with the pace of the final assembly. Broadly, the
higher degree of ex-situ work, the greater the influence of adequate logistics practices in what respects
deployment aspects, i.e. in transportability and assembly. Furthermore, components can have all differ-
ent kinds of sizes, shapes and/or complexity, the concurrent factors affecting construction logistics.
For instance, in urban areas, particularly in the denser ones, additional constrains may arise due to traffic
limitations, width of streets, or even trees, electrical or communication poles and cables, and so forth.
Indeed, transport optimization is one of the key aspects of good logistics practices and may even
influence design options, if costs are to be kept tightly under control. The conditions under which
the building elements are to be transported is a factor that can seriously restrict the units’ size, as
allowed transport dimensions should not be exceeded, otherwise requiring special transportation per-
mit and/or more expensive transportation fees. Whatever the sort of transportation (e.g. truck, rail,
boat, or even helicopter or airplane), it is imperative that the building elements are properly secured
during transport and protected against possible damage en route, which may add some constraints to
the transported unit characteristics. Normally, individual units can be combined to produce reasona-
ble transport loads, optimizing the carrying338. For long-distance deliveries rail and sea transport can
be economical solutions, but it should be remembered that the last stage of delivery to site must
generally be made by truck. In that sense, multi-purposed carrying, such as containers or pallets are
often a packaging device to consider, constraining dimensional considerations [complement with:
Annex, II.3 Logistic Notes].
After transportation and arrival to site, to erect a building based on prefabricated elements, what
mostly needs to be carried out on the building site is assembling and fitting. This includes hoisting,
positioning, adjusting, connecting and waterproofing. Building work can thus become an assembly
process, comparable with a factory production chain, although in different terms. For buildings made
up of ex-situ built elements, the development of a jointing and connecting technique that guarantees
143
fast and simple assembly is of primal importance, as it is its exact coordination in time. Following
gravity, the in-situ assembly of a building is typically a story by story horizontal process. To make
sure everything is in clockwork, the position of the individual building elements should ideally be
included in the design process. Additionally, the position, size and weight of the building elements
are decisive in selecting the hoisting equipment339. To simplify positioning and to avoid later adjust-
ment on site, the building elements should have reference and fitting surfaces, and additional equip-
ment such as assembly and fitting guides can be helpful.
Another major competitive issue in construction is the weight of labor hours. Moving labor from
site to factory per se does not guarantee better overall output vectors. Construction requires labor
hours, and these will occur whether in-situ or ex-situ. Nevertheless, it is clear that ex-situ work is
more prone to labor replacement/assistance by machines, automation processes, and the like. How-
ever, to increase automation requires an investment that involves substantial risks, which the pro-
ducer may not be ready to assume. Moreover, as complexity and/or volume of components increases,
it fades the cost-benefit of the implementation of automation processes, or even from the transport-
ability of the construction elements. For instance, in Japan, where there is a great implementation of
automation in house producing factories, their implementation is nonetheless low when compared
with the automotive industry. Additionally, logistical difficulties in transport and site deployment also
indicate that there must be a pondered balance between the degrees of automation ex-situ, and com-
ponents’ complexity, which in business language is often described through the notion of batch-
size340. Overall, this seems to point to potentially more gains in producing building elements that can
feasibly be transported and require little finishing in-situ. However, some works are simply better
done in-situ, namely water proofing or generally external finishing’s, otherwise increasing the risk of
appearance of future construction pathologies, and so forth.
In terms of production, broadly it seems reasonable to aspire replacing in-situ for ex-situ works,
potentiating mechanization and/or releasing some types of logistic pressure. However, that may not
suffice on its own. For instance, if variability is intended, tailor-made production cannot be entirely
excluded. Partially manufactured products, or standardized manufactured products, require further pro-
cessing in-situ, such as cutting, sawing or drilling, before they are ready to final assembly. To avoid it or
reduce it, these ideally ought to be delivered in project-specific modes. Since stocking comes with a
cost, the key is getting as close as possible to make just-in-time products. Thus, this will tend to pressure
the delivering of project-specific elements and the accomplishing of a good logistical performance. An-
yhow, there is no use to integrate efficient or economic construction practices if basic quality cannot be
assured. Moving the construction process to a factory environment is not an end-in-itself. However, a
conscious use of its potentialities can contribute towards a better overall behavior of the output vectors.
144
3.2 Mass-production and mass-customization
The well-known concept of mass-production (MP) marks an era in the modern age where ma-
chines indelibly settle in our lives, helping us to produce more with less human labor. In more recent
times, it has been witnessed the arousal of the concept of mass-customization (MC). Industrial pro-
duction processes, necessarily subjected to a business logic, traditionally have two main ways com-
binable to attain the desired profits: through economies of scale, producing large quantities at a rela-
tively small price to maximize revenues; or through innovation, offering new products and thus
creating new markets to obtain their revenues. With MC, is added a concomitant third way, which
can essentially be described as attempting to address the client as directly as possible.
In a saturated market as it is the global market, competition is fierce, and an edge can only be
achieved by setting difference from competitors. In that respect, it is worth observing the classical
psychological theory of Abraham Maslow, which sets a hierarchy of human needs, often illustrated
in a pyramidal form341 (Figure 4).
Figure 4.
Maslow's hierarchy of human needs.
Early Henry Ford’s assembly line followed a linear logic that was not limited to the production philosophy
per se, but was subjected to a broader reflex of an understanding of the market as a linear system, exploiting
the similarities between customers. However, people have different wishes and needs. Thus, at least theoret-
ically, it makes sense to address the differences between people, instead of their similarities. Maslow’s is a
humanistic logic of stimuli and reinforcements, or of unconscious instinctual impulses, whereas the produc-
tion logic is one of mechanical forces. In a way, the market is where both these spheres meet. Hence, following
an analogous hierarchical logic, from a marketing and advertising perspective it is on the upper levels of the
pyramid that it is more worth to target the consumer, because it is there that most differentiation will theo-
retically be obtained. To attain it, the logic of competitors can no longer single-handedly be that of MP’s
product push, where goods are produced in scale no matter what the end client is. Instead, a market pull strategy
should be aspired, that is, ideally targeting consumers individually, from their seemingly needs and aspirations,
which in practice will often work more in mixed push/pull way342.
145
With the arousal of the informational age, the pull logic became possible to address on a larger
scale, since handling control of complex networked systems became somewhat an easier task. With
it, it has aroused the concept of MC, coined by B. J. Pine II, in 1993343 [complement with: Annex,
II.4 Mass-customization notes]. The MC, although settling on the same purposes of large produc-
tion scales, is embedded of different purposes. Both MP and MC concepts are originally derived from
the business language, aiming towards reducing production costs through the enactment of large
production scales, yet the latter additionally seeks to answer the need that the industry has in deliver-
ing a diversified offer, targeting consumers in the most possibly direct fashion, enacting a seeming
variety of outputs. Likewise, in the construction industry, the concept can be related with the purpose
of delivering a range of formal or spatial outputs while ideally maintaining the same level of costs of
large-scale production methods. However, business practice has shown that the implementation of a
MC concept must be cautiously addressed and might not always be the best way forward.
A key issue among companies operating in saturated markets is whether their yields can be kept
when supplying customized products. As in any basic business strategy, there is an immanent issue of
costs and revenues. Although with different logics and logistics, both MP and MC can have an im-
portant weight in this equation. Apparently, in a traditional scaled production, logistic costs will be more
dissipated than in a customized production. That inevitably pressures the efficiency of the production
chain. On the other hand, the logic of the client can be hard to predict. The client is tuned with the
product via a process where choices must be made. It is a process of psychological nature, where desires
or aspirations can arise from authentic need, but also be (un)consciously inculcated, where marketing
may have a decisive role, or where may arise related issues of fashion, consumerism, and the like.
When choice is engaged, and thus the production sphere meets the client sphere, from a produc-
tion management perspective, we can translate it in terms of the order penetration point (OPP)344. As
illustrated in Table 4, the OPP refers to the point in the production chain where the customer is
engaged in his choice process, or equivalently, where customers’ orders are accepted by the manu-
facturer, and can broadly be set in four different categories, make-to-stock345 (broadly equivalent to
MP), assemble-to-order346, make-to-order347, or engineer-to-order348 (the highest MC rank), to which corre-
spond different logistical frames and different customization potentials.
>>production scale >>
Postponement
Strategy
Stage of Manufacture
Design Fabrication Final Assembly Shipment
Make-to-stock >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> OPP >>>>>>>>>>>>>
Assemble-to-Order >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> OPP >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Make-to-Order >>>>>>>>>>>>> OPP >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Engineer-to-Order OPP>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Table 4. OPP postponement strategies.
146
Another essential issue facing companies is whether overall productive performance, including
economy and quality criteria, can be maintained when the products are customized. Again, logistics
plays a major role in costs, which in large-scale industries delivering customized products can be so
high, that at first hand traditional products will always be more competitive. Thus, it is natural that
businesses seek different approaches to reverse the hazardous trends of logistic complexity. Anyhow,
inefficiencies are not exclusive of logistic practices, nor of companies that offer product customiza-
tion. On the other hand, while a concern on the economies is paramount, competitiveness cannot be
attained without a strong focus on quality, and certainly not disregarding the relationship with the
client.
In management terms, it seems that the way to go from MP to MC must start by transversally
eliminating inefficiencies and waste in the entire process from factory to delivery. Indeed, any MC
strategy is necessarily ought to be settled on lean thinking (LT) approaches349, a business jargon for
strategies that aim at an optimization of the production and delivery processes, crossing the entire
production chain to produce better and more with less. Built on the Toyota Production System (TPS)
basis, LT350 is a business methodology that fundamentally seeks to ways to mitigate muda351, a Japa-
nese word that roughly means waste and can refer to any human related process that absorbs resources
without creating value. Thus, in a LT approach, every muda that uses resources for any objective other
than the creation of value to the end-customer is targeted for elimination. LT thus settles on the
continuous processes of improvement and is centered in the preservation of value with less work, by
means of more efficient and optimized processes, waste reduction, empirical methods for decision
making other than uncritical acceptance of pre-established ideas. This way, using LT processes, busi-
nesses can be set to provide ways to do more with less and less, with the aim of providing the clients
what they want.
From an architectural point of view, the Miesian aesthetical statement of “less is more” can here be
regarded under an economical flagship, transformed into more with less. The difference is far from
subtle. Indeed, it can raise fundamental questions on production and on architectural design, as the
natural, sustainable ways, of making in the exact right measure (of aspirations, needs, resources, and so
forth) becomes a clearer understatement. We should not forget these concepts derive from a business
language, and for that matter, more with less means more with less human effort, less equipment, less
time, less space, or even less quality. To our belief, these aspects should not only be regarded only
quantitatively, but also qualitatively. Moreover, we must not forget that in architecture there is a wider
range of concerns involved, located beyond a typical business perspective.
The critical starting point for LT is value, which can only be defined by the client, and which is
only meaningful when expressed in terms of a specific product which meets the client’s needs at a
certain price and time. The value is made by the producer, and from the client’s perspective, in brief,
147
this is why producers exist. However, often the investor pressure and the financial mind-set of the man-
agement and administration precede the basic realities of specifying and creating value for the client.
Thus, there is the issue of the vectors of value, and of who specifies this and that for what, and so
forth.
As in a LT philosophy, in MC continuous improvement is a requirement. However, unlike LT, in
MC are also required quite different organizational structures, different values, management and sys-
tems roles, learning methods and especially ways of relating with the client. The product and its
development are not commanding, but instead the client’s desires and demands. Therefore, is not
just about being better and working better as a team with a common purpose. From a developer’s
perspective, it is also about accepting the unpredictable nature of the client, considering him as an
opportunity, not an obstacle. Thus, it is about getting the best possible method to relate every partic-
ipant within the context and the circumstances of each case. In architecture, this should not be news,
as most of the times the architect answers directly to the client’s demands. However, given the nature
of the architectural production, this is normally made case by case, without a methodology of the
kind required by a large productive structure.
The additional requirements of MC in relation to LT have been illustrated in several circum-
stances, namely in the Toyota case. Indeed, despite the TPS success, and as any other competitive
company on the path innovation and success, at a certain point, Toyota aspired for more, and thus
attempted to follow a MC path. The company’s vast experience, and the valuable, and acclaimed
background, were indicators that the approach had everything to succeed. However, results would
prove disappointing, and the obvious consequence was to remake the adopted MC philosophy352. In
the least, this can be viewed as a warning sign on the difficulties to introduce MC in any business.
148
3.3 Notes towards variability in prefabrication of houses
Figure 5.
Customization vs standardization.
If we consider a simplified scheme as shown in Figure 5, moving from the less customized to the
most customized product, and differentiating three stages of this movement onto the categories pro-
duction, semi-custom and custom, then we would find these in the intersection of an inverse movement
from more industrialized, to less industrialized approaches. Translating it to a typical house produc-
tion approach, this means that as the industrialization level decreases in each of these, the customi-
zation level, design flexibility and, consequently the cost and overall construction time increase. In a
MC implementation, we would ideally be able to invert this logic, thus increasing industrialization
level while increasing the customization level.
We could also scale MC in terms of OPP, which in a traditional client-architect relation will be at
its lowest level, with the least postponement occurring, and where everything is possible within the
constraints (budget, location, and so forth). It follows an equivalent of an engineer-to-order fashion,
where production concerns only arise afterward, typically with a contractor hired to follow the design
specifications. Conversely, in a purely speculative design, the postponement reaches its highest de-
gree, in a make-to-stock relation typical of MP.
Finally, we can also observe an MC process through the relations established by the main active
forces participating in the construction, considering the client, the designer and producer. Depending
on the sophistication, there would be other possible subdivisions, with intervenient acting in more
specific roles, e.g. in the designer sphere, architects or engineers can be included, or in the producer
sphere, we can name the developer, (sub)contractor, and perhaps it could also be included the mar-
keting sphere, and so forth. From the point of view of architectural production, the client-architect
relationship likely corresponds to the least design constraints and more production variables, whereas
the client-producer possibly to the most design constraints coming both from design and production
demands, and finally the architect-producer to a stronger focus in production optimization. When we
149
A
ctors Client
Producer
Designer
Constraints General
Political
Regulatory/Legal
Bureaucratic
Economical/Financial
Socio-cultural
Environmental
Project
Urban
A
rchitectural
Structural
Thermal
Services and their weight (Electrical, Plumbing, HVAC, etc.)
A
coustic
Sustainability
Construction
Technological environment
A
vailability and quality of builders
A
vailability of materia
l
s, components or equipment, etc.
Labor cost / Productivity
Project Type
Size
Flexibility
A
daptabilit
y
Complexity
Discreteness
Integration of different design expertise
Integration of design and construction
Construction methods
Degree of innovative technology involvement
A
esthetics
Table 5. A selection of factors with potential greater impact in the architectural production.
start mixing the actors, in a threefold client-designer-producer relationship, we get into a sort of grey
area, where MC strategies may act and less traditional design modes of action take place.
Regardless the approach, several circumstances can arise from the timespan going from the client
decision to build a house to the point where it is concluded, making it harder to establish a predictable
outcome, for instance from the budget point of view. Among the changing factors, it can be included
imponderables, such as natural hazards or political/regulatory changes, but not least important, the
client may simply change opinion. The latter risk is perhaps the most difficult, if not virtually impos-
sible to assess353 (Table 5).
The purpose of variability in a more or less systematized, more or less prefabricated building
conception is naturally related with a need to meet the clients’ desires while maintaining a certain
effectiveness of the building production methods. It is unlikely that clients ask for everything to
change during construction. However, in a fiercely competitive market, where a prospective buyer
has multiple options to choose from, the developer must be ready to implement changes when re-
quested, and in this sense, a discrete approach to design and construction is mandatory.
Production in the building industry follows both ex-situ and in-situ practices. In a normal scenario
in other industries, site works would correspond to the final assembly stage in an OPP chart. How-
ever, even in highly industrialized construction, final assembly in building construction typically has
a great overall weight, with very particular dynamics, and with a site-related unpredictability that is
150
necessarily greater than in a factory final assembly mode. Furthermore, clients often change decisions
during the site construction. Thus, ultimately, it could even make sense to distinguish two related
OPPs in the building construction process, one before and another during the site works.
At first hand, one may think that if the OPP would be exclusively conducted in factory, then the
only change for the client to participate in the choice process would be in the design stage. However,
many of the construction industry components have a remarkable degree of project independence,
assuring greater freedom. In some, not only with the looks, but also with the very dimensions can be
easily adaptable to a sudden change in requirements through relatively inexpensive processes of cut-
ting, drilling, and so forth. Among the project independent components that in principle may allow
a broader range of freedom, in different finishing and/or with adjustable sizes, we can find e.g. the
windows (e.g. frames, glasses), kitchen equipment (e.g. furniture, appliances), door components (e.g.
door, handles, hinges), sanitary equipment (e.g. in ceramic or plastic, taps), or electrical terminals (e.g.
switches, sockets, sensors).
Anyhow, some systems will inevitably have a deeper constraining impact than others. We can
even easily change the sanitary equipment, but normally it will be a lot harder to change the piping
where the sanitary equipment connects, not to mention the primary structure or the foundations. To
enable the shifting of options in-situ requires investment in discrete elements, and that depends on
several factors, such as the cost, the state of technology, the willingness of developers to take risks,
the strategy adopted by the different participants in the building process, the project size, or more or
less clear aesthetical intentions/expectations. Moreover, the nature of the construction industry po-
tentially allows the consumer a greater range of options than in ordinary industrially made products.
Finally, the variability intents must take in consideration the client’s options that are to be allowed to
be produced ex-situ or in-situ.
To increase variability, certain OPP postponement strategies can be implemented, not necessarily
requiring greatly sophisticated processes or techniques. Acting on a grander volumetric level, pressure
is set on the design to meet eventual layout changes without burdening the production of construc-
tion parts. The morphological variability that acts on a larger volumetric level can be obtained with
relative ease by hardwiring similarity principles in the design, which will act primarily at a typological
level, but that necessarily will have implications in more detailed construction levels. For instance, by
repeating a standardized product using straightforward geometric operations—e.g. rotating or trans-
lating—a considerable spatial variability can be attained with relative reduction of production im-
pacts—by retaining an object’s symmetry, production gains scale, while outputs can attain variability.
Furthermore, the use of such operators eases the CAD generation of variants, with gains in design
productivity, to which may be added the use of systematized detailing or even the handling of design
libraries and the like. By hardwiring morphological variability through simple geometric operators,
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designers can act on a grander-scale postponement, enabling customers’ decisions to a later-stage,
while also theoretically enabling to comply with local regulations beforehand.
In lower levels of constructive action, both in new buildings and refurbishment market, variability
range of outputs can also be increased without considerable extra efforts, by considering vectors of
action such as the standardization of connections, while allowing dimensional flexibility, and the def-
inition of the scope in which a layout can vary. In certain cases, stock products can themselves pro-
vide variability, serving postponement intents. For instance, in a façade, a catalogue of components
with different dimensions can suffice to attain a reasonable number of variables by exclusively making
use of standardized components, and thus can work on its own as an effective strategy. If to do this,
we add flexible automated production (e.g. through CNC or 3D printing) or flexible dimension prod-
ucts (e.g. cutting window frame to desired size), we can drastically increase the overall variability
without significant extra burden, while keeping the production postponement in later stages. If the
plausibly more sophisticated (and likely more expensive) flexible automated production is not possi-
ble to implement, then variability intents can, in the least, be attained through a balanced mix of
standard and custom-made components through the other previously referred strategies that essen-
tially rely on principles of similarity.
Piping and wiring systems have increasingly become the major constraints of the design options.
For aesthetical, technical or even legal reasons, the flexible solutions employed in the industrial or
commercial buildings are typically less feasible and/or too expensive to implement in ordinary house
construction. In industrial or commercial buildings, flexible solutions can typically be attained by the
greater ceiling heights, which are normally both a legal requisite and an effective need. Moreover,
depending on the requirements and/or design philosophy, these can go from fully visible—typically
of easier maintenance—to concealed installations through suspended ceilings or raised floors. In
house construction, these strategies are simply harder to attain.
It can also be added to this discussion the issue of the energy efficiency in buildings, particularly
the unavoidable fact of the consequences that poor or non-existent passive design strategies can bring
to the installations, increasing their spatial weight, further constraining the design options. Indeed,
the growing energy efficiency requirements in buildings increases pressure in this particular, and it
may not be easy to take properly informed design decisions. For instance, it is generally accepted that
considerable energy savings can be achieved through airtight construction, using materials with good
insulation characteristics. However, this can too have its inconveniences, which can be particularly
more noticeable in low-thermal mass constructions, requiring temperature and ventilation control
equipment. If applied in house construction, such equipment can too reach a remarkable complexity,
comparable to what occurs in other building types (e.g. commercial or industrial). Although there are
already quite remarkable advances in electronic and digital integration through domotic devices, with
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sophisticated protocols and the like, the fact is that the user is not always willing/financially capable
to adopt them. These not only can have considerable associated costs that simply may not present
visible yields, but also the user can be suspicious of more complex paraphernalia. A typical conscious
user may likely want things to be kept ease, and the more complex piping or wiring becomes, the
likely the customer will be suspicious that it will be harder to maintain or repair in the long run.
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4 MODULARITY
4.1 A modularity context
Modules and modularity terminology has been profusely established354, namely among production
and manufacturing management355 or mechanical engineering356 circles, but we can also find some
of its founding concepts developed in architectural literature357. Its generalization can be assigned to
discrete mathematics358, which deals with discontinuous objects, often characterized by integers (e.g.
logic, set theory, combinatorics, probability, graph theory, Boolean algebra), in opposition to contin-
uous processes, with objects that vary ‘smoothly’, dealing with real or complex numbers (e.g. calculus,
analysis, linear algebra).
In its applied dimension in construction processes, modularity is often taken as key towards effi-
cient, industrially-driven construction practices. In a broad sense, it reflects an aim to use resources
efficiently when several tasks pend for a solution, or a series of products are to be produced. It can
be regarded as a structuring principle in service of an enhanced clarity, complexity reduction, flexi-
bility enablement, or by facilitating the implementation of parallel work and independent problem-
solving. In a customization context, modularization thus comes as a requisite towards attaining vari-
ability while rationalizing production. In the design of complex products, it is a key concept, namely
in mapping functional and physical components of a product, as well as its interactions and depend-
encies359. It can be applied in the areas of product design, in production management, or as a con-
ceptual resource towards design.
Depending on the scope, a module can be referred to as many different things. In architecture, it
has traditionally been associated with spatial coordination aspects, such as in so-called modular coordi-
nation or modular grids. In building construction, a module is also often referred to as component. In this
field, the component terminology can be relevant insofar as it avoids eventual connotations with so-
called modular construction, which has been typically associated with construction using larger volu-
metric units, often with the size of an entire room. In a broader sense of construction, from building
cars or ships to mechatronics, and so forth, the word component is also commonly used.
For many of our arguments here, particularly those dealing with a physical notion of modules and
modularity, we can regard component as a distinct region of a product, i.e., a discrete physical part or
sub-assembly. In this sense, the use of a component terminology may help to disambiguate the notion
of module, and we can use instead a component modularity terminology, where moreover it is implied
that there can be different degrees of modularity. In non-physical notions, such as in software, mod-
ules are typically used from an unambiguously discrete perspective, thus the notion of module may
probably be what best fits in those cases.
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4.2 Defining modules and modularity
4.2.1 A SYSTEM’S PERSPECTIVE
Architecture’s scope and architectural production modes are typically distinct in many ways from
product manufacturing, which can raise difficulties when using concepts from this literature. Any-
how, some of the analogies occur in aspects such as those we have addressed in the taxonomical
landscapes chapter, through notions such as system, type or by acknowledging discrete vs kin perspec-
tives. Also from there, we have that notions comparable to modularity, such as system or type, are intrin-
sically relative. That is, they depend on the scope or scale of observation.
Furthermore, as we have earlier described, we can characterize a system by S={t, a, r, e}, with ‘S’
standing for system; ‘t’ for things, ‘a’ for attributes; ‘r’ for relations; and ‘e’ for environment. This is also what
essentially occurs in modularity, with exception for a few shifts in the terminology, where things are
equivalent to modules (or components), attributes to functional elements, and relations portrayed in the notion
of interface. Also from a systems perspective, we can regard modularity as a continuum describing the
degree to which we can separate and rejoin the components of a system.
For clarity purposes (see Figure 6), here we can convention the scope as a product, which is set
under a production-chain, and is the outcome of a work process within a given scope. In a different
scope, a product can be regarded as a module of a different product, and so forth. Two or more modules
combined form a product, which can be an outcome on its own or be a part of a product set (i.e. the
system, which can be a product/design system). Finally, if we theoretically removed the scope pre-condi-
tion, we could say that a module or a product are conceptually equivalent, and thus tautological. In
practice, the scope must always be there as a pre-condition, or primary constraint of the scrutiny.
Figure 6.
Modularity.
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4.2.2 TYPES OF MODULARITY
Modularity has been typified in five different approaches:
(a) Sectional—when different components of a modular architecture can connect in any arbitrary
way, as long as if connected to one another through standard interfaces. A classic example are the
Lego blocks. In building construction, that can be the case with standardized office partitions, ranging
from open-spaces to different configurations of partitioned spaces.
(b) Component Swapping/Sharing—the component swapping is when different product variants, within
the same product-set, are created by combining a basic module with alternative components. A classic
example can be an assortment of different cases (colored, textured, and so forth) that fit in a specific
mobile-phone. In building construction, an example can be two houses distinguished only by their
external coating. On the other hand, component sharing is when different product variants are created
by sharing a basic component with different modules. It is thus complementary to component swap-
ping, the difference standing in how a basic product, component or module are defined in a specific
situation. A classic example can be automotive wheels, batteries or engines. In building construction,
an example can be a standardized door used in different houses.
(c) Cut-to-Fit—when one or more standard components are used with a variety of additional com-
ponents. A classic example can be when two standard connectors can be used in different cable lengths.
In building construction, an example can be hinges and handles combined in cut-to-fit windows.
(d) Bus—it is when a module can be matched with a range of basic components, allowing their
location and number to vary. A classic example is the computer hardware architecture, where moth-
erboard slots allow the attachment of a range of different interface compatible components. In building
construction, one example can be lowering the ceiling or elevating the floor, thus creating a bus where
Figure 7.
Types of modular architecture.
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different infrastructures can be implemented and thus also easing the change/addition of different
terminals (lights, HVAC equipment, sensors, and so forth).
(e) Mix—when a product results from different components that cannot be returned to their original
state after being assembled together, that is, it occurs when there is a mix of substances. A typical
example is color mixing. In non-dry building construction methods, it has a very common occurrence.
It is in the extreme of what can be considered modularity, once assembled it is permanently coupled.
4.2.3 FUNCTIONAL MAPPING
As shown in Figure 8, modules can broadly be described by two main characteristics: a self-contained
functionality and an interface. The self-contained functionality is what is in the component, what is it supposed
to do within the considered scope. The interface is what enables interaction, or relational engagement
between different modules. Both the self-contained functionality and interface require a certain degree of
correspondence between a physical and a functional realm, as well as an establishment of interactions
between modules. That is, a mapping must occur between these two spheres.
Figure 8.
Module.
If we define a function as what describes what a product does360, unlike what are its physical
features, we can regard it in terms of functional elements and of a map (or set) of these in a function element
of a higher degree (see Figure 9). For instance, at a most general level of abstraction the function set
for a house might be a single functional element—e.g. provide a place to live. In more detail, the function
set may be specified as consisting of a broader set of functional elements, such as: protect from the
weather elements, provide thermal, air, light or visual comfort, but also establish an urban relation,
and so forth. Each of these outcomes (the functional elements) in a scale, can be the starting point of a
new function set. As we increase detail, the function set symbolizes more assumptions about the physical
working principles on which the product is based. Because of it, two products that at a higher set
level do the same, may have different function elements when detailed.
In the final step, we need to map the functional elements to the physical components of the product.
Following a similar logic, we can observe a discrete physical product as a set of at least one physical
component. The set of physical components is what implements the functional elements to the product. In
other words, the set of physical components, corresponds to the last functional set stage within the considered
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Figure 9.
Example of a functional mapping of a window, from function set to a component mapping.
scope (see Figure 9). Throughout the process, we can map sets in a one-to-one, one-to-many or many-
to-one fashion. A one-to-one means a direct correspondence, thus meaning a strict component modular-
ity within the considered scope (e.g. motion mechanism on Figure 9). Conversely, a one-to-many or many-
to-one (we can also name both together as non-one-to-one) indicates a certain dependency, making com-
ponents non-strictly modular within the considered scope (e.g. locking mechanism on Figure 9). A func-
tion set can thus also be viewed as a non-one-to-one mapping process.
4.2.4 INTERFACES
In a physical module is not enough to consider geometrical, mechanical or material characteristics
alone, as it typically occurs, particularly with the first two, in the field of modular coordination361, or
as observed in several traditions in the architectural field, as the Japanese tatami, based on the ken
measure362. Indeed, generically the relations between modules can be described in terms of space (e.g.
geometry, positioning), forces (e.g. mechanical, structural), material, energy (e.g. electrical current, heat)
and/or information (e.g. radio waves), often with several of these simultaneously. An interface can thus be
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Figure 10.
Interfaces in a graph representation.
Figure 11.
Example of a light switch modularity.
viewed as a set of at least one physical part that is integral to the module, where each physical part in the
set establishes at least one of these relations. Moreover, depending on the characteristics, an interface can
be described in terms of input and output, and these can have different degrees of activity.
For instance, a light switch establishes a spatial/mechanical relation with its physical support on
the wall, but also an energy relation with the wires that connect with it, and eventually also an infor-
mation relation if too connected to a home automation system. The input or output activities in relation
to the spatial/mechanical support is of rare or irrelevant occurrence, hence of static interface. On the
other hand, it is designed for switching on/off, which are relations of an input/output type. Indeed,
within the scope of an analysis, the module’s interface can be several physical and functional things
simultaneously. In this sense, complex products can typically be regarded as a network of components
that shares interfaces in order to function as a whole363, which makes the handling of interfaces a key
issue in the establishing of a modular architecture or in managing modularity.
As we have stated, interfaces may involve different kinds of connections. For instance, a wireless
router does not establish a mechanical connection with a computer. Anyhow, it is essential to assure
compatibility in the interfaces of the set of components that are to be related with one another. That can
be achieved by establishing standard protocols, which may be developed with Universal intents, as in
the ISO (International Organization for Standardization) standards cases, or for instance developed internally
within a company product-line, although in that case it may not necessarily follow an external standard.
At first hand, many building construction components seem to have little or no relevant consid-
erations to be made in regard to input or output, as they stand still in space, mechanically attached to one
another, with adirectional (or static) relations. Anyway, external inputs such air for ventilation, or as solar light
and heat can have a profound influence in design considerations. For instance, in deciding glass areas, or the
use of architectural passive shading elements. At a services level, this becomes more evident, for instance in
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respect to the placement of air input for sanitary ventilation, or the inputs/outputs of a water heating cycle
in a home, and so forth. In any case, regardless input/output features, even for bulkier parts of the cons-
truction, establishing clear interfaces is key to proactively solar light and heat can have a profound influence
in design considerations. For instance, in deciding safeguard modularity implementation where intended.
4.2.5 COUPLING AND DECOUPLING
A module (e.g. a door handle) can be described as a relative property of a product (e.g. a window),
and this conversely as a module of another product (e.g. a house). In this sense, a module is opposed
to an integral structure, meaning that in it, only a fraction of the entire functions of a product will be
implemented. On the other hand, in the product, the functionality is integral regarding the product’s
scope as so-considered.
When a product results from a modular architecture, it is equivalent to say that it occurs a one-to-
one mapping from functional elements in the function set to the physical elements of the product, and thus
that decoupled interfaces are established between components—i.e. a discrete approach. Conversely, in
an integral product architecture it is included a complex, non one-to-one mapping, where coupled inter-
faces are established—i.e. a kin (or continuous) approach. Finally, again, whether the mapping is more
kin or more discrete, that is, whether functional elements map in one or more channels, ultimately depends
on the scope of the approach.
Ultimately, considering the universe of manufactured parts, any component can be mapped to a one-
to-one precision considering components stripped down to each individual part—call it i part. Broadly,
of the i parts establishes a one-to-one mapping between these components and their functional set, then
the product displays the one-to-one characteristic of modularity364.
Two components are coupled if a change in one requires the other to change in order not to affect
the product functionality. The mapping possibilities for this scenario are non-one-to-one. In a decoupled
Figure 12. Unlike in a decoupled interface (b), in a coupled interface (a) a change in A implies a change in B and vice-versa.
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scenario, the mapping will be one-to-one. However, since components have an interface, theoretically
they would always have to be coupled to a certain degree, since a change in one interface will imply a
change in the other interface, thus in the components from where the interfaces emanate from in the
first place. In practice, this may only become relevant as the interface gains complexity. As this com-
plexity increases, the coupling vs decoupling distinction becomes useless, since there will always be some
degree of dependency between the elements. Indeed, we can simply regard the decoupling as the special
case of coupling where we can attain a strict modularity, as so considered from a given scope.
4.2.6 MEASURES OF MODULARITY
The modular architecture can be defined on how the combinations of different modules are set
for a certain purpose in a modularity development context. In literature, the notion arguably starts
with Alexander365, in a description of the design process that involves the discretization of designs
into minimally coupled groups. Meanwhile, the concept has been further developed to a perspective
where complex systems can be viewed as hierarchical structures made up of quasi decomposable
systems, such that strong interfaces occur within systems and weak interfaces occur across systems366.
The latter seems to be consistent with the notions of mapping functional and physical structures, as
with the underlying rationale in measuring modularity.
In general, products are hardly strictly modular or integral. Instead, it is more correct to say that
they display more or less modularity than comparative ones. Likewise, some construction compo-
nents are more clearly acknowledgeable as modules than others. It thus also matters to observe how
modularity can be measured, capturing modular architecture in terms of components dependencies.
The decoupling of components offers a preliminary insight, in which the more decoupled the component
of a product or system, the more modular will be the product or system. This integrates the one-to-one
or non-one-to-one mapping concepts. However, when developing complex products, this relatively sim-
ple and useful notions may fail short.
Literature in this particular has borrowed concepts from other fields, namely from social networks
theory and graph theory. From it, it is essentially retained the concept of centrality, which aims to identify
the most important actors in a social network based on their social interactions. Eventually the con-
cept has converged in three types of centrality: degree, closeness and betweeness367. The graph theory has
contributed towards a synthesis of the network aspects, providing a common ground to represent
network attributes and mathematical structures with which these can be measured (Figure 13)368.
Extending the graph rationale to a product decomposition, the component modularity can be
defined as the level of independence of a component in relation to other components in a product.
That is, we can assume that the more connected to other components, the more dependent, thus
integral it is (Figure 14b). Conversely, the more disconnected a component is, the more modular it is
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Figure 13. Graph fundamentals.
(Figure 14c). This is fundamentally consistent with the notion of functional mapping. We can further
generalize it through a star graph (e.g. Figure 14b), where we can assume that the more connected
and/or central the components are, (1) the more direct connectivity to all others, (2) the closest to all
others, and (3) the more in between to any two others it will be. This generalization has been useful
because components are not only directly connected to others, but their dependencies may propagate
(via unidirectional or bidirectional bonds) to other distant components via intermediary components, or
they can serve as intermediaries connecting others.
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Figure 14. Graph representation of a hypothetical product decomposition and isolated observation of two of its sub-components.
Building up on these concepts, literature has defined component modularity threefold, in terms
of: design dependencies, degree modularity and bridge modularity369. The design dependencies have been defined
in terms of types (spatial, structural, material, energy, and information), and in terms of strength, that
is, the direct bonds intermediating a component i and a component j, on which i depends on for
functionality. The correlated degree modularity of a component is established by its dependencies, con-
sidering both direction and strength. The degree modularity in a component i, will be a normalized
measure, based on the inverse of the sum of the number of other components that i depends on for
functionality (in-degree), with the number of other components that depend on the i component for
functioning (out-degree). The minimum value will occur when a component has strong dependencies
with all other components in the product. The maximum when it is not connected with any other.
The distance modularity has been defined in relation to the distance a component i is from all other
components in the product, where the more distant a component is from the others, the more its
design dependencies must propagate, and thus the more modular the component is. Formally, it is
proportional to the sum of the geodesics of the component with all the other components. Thus, in
its simplest form depends on the direction but not the strength of the dependencies. A high value
means that the component is far from the others, thus more modular.
As to the bridge modularity, it has been defined in terms of the integral degree of a component in
relation to the connections it establishes with other integral components. The greater the number of
links to other integral components, the likely more integral the component is, thus less modular,
and vice-versa. Therefore, even if a component has few links to other components, if the others have
a very low modularity, the component modularity is also expected to be low.
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These are complementary approaches, which require different insights, and can help analyze dif-
ferent issues. Nonetheless, both share an underlying argument that components are more modular,
the more independent they are from other components and vice-versa.
4.2.7 AN EXAMPLE
As we have seen, when analyzing component modularity, we have to observe not only the types
of bonds (spatial, structural, material, energy, information) but also their relative strengths. Analyti-
cally, we can start by addressing the product-scope needs as potential constraints on all product com-
ponents, thus assuring these are found in the functional mapping definitions. In design terms, we can
not only depart from previously known constraints, but also embed eventual new product-scope
needs within a virtual mapping, thus establishing different constraints towards design and develop-
ment of the product.
The first step in a modular analysis is to attain a functional description of the elements within the
scope. In our main example, a product window (Figure 15), we can begin by describing what are its
main functions, from where we could conclude: (1) separating interior from exterior, while letting
light through, and (2) may open/close. This means that, to some degree, it must somewhat be a
water/air/thermal/acoustic barrier, while facilitating light exchange. Moreover, it means it should
imply a motion and a motion locking device.
The first is a consideration that emanates from spatial aspects, namely from the interior/exterior
distinction, whereas the second is essentially mechanical. The first kind inevitably leads to a multidi-
mensional description of the module abilities to meet some physical and material properties. How-
ever, since those considerations affect all components, it would be inconclusive, thus irrelevant for a
modular analysis. Thus, the approach should not be posed as on what components can do, because
they intrinsically may do many things simultaneously, but on what are the truly structing functions of
each component, stripped of all other functions that could not be assigned without these. That is, the
approach should start by hierarchizing the possible functions of each component within the module,
through a functional mapping (Figure 9).
In the next step, we can begin to describe how the relations between components are established
(Figure 16). The first thing we can observe in a higher scope is that in the components of our product
follow a cycle pattern, thus indicating a chain dependency of the diverse parts. We can also observe
that the window is physically linked with its close environment (a11-wall and a12-floor), and has variable
environment conditions (inputs) in the actions that can lead to the opening or closing of the window
(rotate the a8-handle, push pull the a8-handle or push/pull the b2-movable sheet). The relations that the
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Figure 15. The module window example-case.
Figure 16. A graph representation of two different levels of functional components of a window.
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window establishes with these two environment sets is what primarily defines its interface features as
a module within a higher product-scope (e.g. a house).
When we zoom in, lowering the scope, we see that the a3-frame b in the b2-movable sheet establishes
numerous connections in a kind of separate island, aside the main cycle. The island indicates an
independence of the other b2-movable sheet components in relation to the main function of the mod-
ule—indeed, the window could open/close just with the frame and nothing more. On the other hand,
the numerous connections established with a3-frame b indicates a certain integrality of this component
and/or a higher relevance within the overall system-window.
Anyhow, regarding the window from a product perspective, we see that we can reduce its obser-
vation to a main relation with its direct physical environment, thus making it strictly modular. In the
previous example of the light switch (Figure 11), regarding its direct environment, we could observe
that it was modular from a spatial/mechanical/material point of view, but integral from an energy
and from an information point of view.
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4.3 Notes on modularity and architectural production
4.3.1 MODULAR KNOWLEDGEABILITY
The evolution of non-physical modules, namely in software, has contributed to expand the ho-
rizons of the conceptions of modularity in physical elements. In software architecture, modularization
is key for program development, since each program is typically made up of one or more modules,
written in a certain language. Each may contain several routines, and may be developed inde-
pendently, easing testing, debugging, and so forth. As modules, these can be assembled in the final
program, but may also be re-assembled in other programs.
This dematerialization of the concept pushes forward the physical notion of modularity as self-
contained functional units, their mapping and so forth. Indeed, the setting of a physical module can
lay in its knowledgeability, rather than in its physical concretion370. This is, for instance, what occurs
when reusing or recycling specifications from a former module, or, as in software development, when
the known functionality of a certain module is used towards a different purpose or product than the
original. On a broader perspective, thinking of a production-chain, in a way, this intellectual reuse blurs
the limits between knowledgeability and a ‘traditional’ conception of module as a physical thing, ren-
dering it closer to an evolutionary view of the technological development, built of successive incre-
mental improvements.
On a stricter perspective of knowledgeability, we can consider a knowledge module as a precedency
of a physical module. That is the case with CAD, numerical or any other specification or representation
of a constructive component. These abstract representations can be reused if the component is reused
in the product (e.g. a building), or eventually in a different product of the product-set—e.g. a virtual
module in a mass-customization product development. Additionally, the knowledge of the product-
set can be seen as module itself, in which specifications are products made by combinations of self-
contained functional units. That can be the case of structural, thermal, acoustic or other projects
within an architectural coordination.
4.3.2 MODULARITY AND VARIABILITY
As we have implied, modularization is driven by an aim to create variety (customize) while ration-
alizing production. Variety ought to be an output of customer choice, not an end in itself. However,
there are numerous aspects to take into consideration. The customer will certainly want the best
constructive quality and desired aesthetics that the available money can buy. However, choice pro-
cesses often enter a gray area which can be hard to keep track. As demonstrated by the paradox of
choice, having too many options to choose from can be highly counterproductive.
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Some of the potential inefficiencies may be proactively avoided by following an insightful modular
approach. For instance, it makes sense to discard right from the start useless external variety, that is,
the choices in which the customer will not likely be interested in. Moreover, it also makes sense to
tackle internal variety, that is, cost generating variations (e.g. materials, processes, solutions) with no
added value to the customer. In the least, this is necessary because as components grow in diversity,
logistics can get complex, harder to manage efficiently, and eventually causing more losses than ben-
efits.
Too much or unnecessary information make harder any choice process. Thus, in a context of
offering product variability, the modular architecture should take in consideration the client’s require-
ments, grouping them in sets of variety with simplified information. In each set the variants can then
be detailed. Finally, the information that is made available should be clear and concise, and focusing
on the variety that can be useful to the client.
Within the context of variability in a rationalized production, some rule-of-thumb tools can be
used to minimize potential logistic complexity derived of choice processes. One way to do this is by
implementing principles of similarity across the entire process—e.g. by standardizing, reusing re-
sources, or simply implement geometrical symmetries371 whenever possible. In this perspective, it
also makes sense to integrate previous modular knowledgeability, thus not only avoiding unnecessary
work, starting over and over from scratch, but also making work potentially faster, more productive
and with better quality. Moreover, by opting for departing from proven solutions, the associated risks
can be reduced.
Another effective way to attain rationalized solutions in this context is to transversally implement
complexity reduction strategies in the overall process. That includes breaking down elements in inde-
pendent units, enabling parallel work, distributing tasks, enhancing planning, or separate testing.
Moreover, since discretized elements are more easily grasped, that will improve the handling and
overall understanding of the elements by the people participating in the process. Architecture requires
a knowledge of a wide variety of solutions, with often too much information to reliably be handled
via cognition. Thus, attaining a greater clarity should be a permanent concern. Discretization, classi-
fication, hierarchization or decomposition are all aspects prone for incorporation in a modular sphere,
contributing to reduce complexity while keeping up with the client’s requirements.
4.3.3 CHANGE AND OBSOLESCENCE
One of the main aspects the modular architecture is closely bounded with is to the ease in which
change can be implemented. In modular terms, the least change in a product means a change in at
least one component. Modular architecture specifies which functional elements within a product are
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constrained by a certain component, and which component should change in order to alter a func-
tional element of the product in an intended way. In that sense, strict modularity entails a discrete
perspective in which change can occur with independence. Conversely, integrality entails a kin per-
spective in which a change in an element can produce effects in every element.
Within the life-cycle of a product, we can recognize various types of change motives:
(a) Obsolescence, which can include upgrade (as technology and/or the user needs change, e.g. replace
incandescent by LED lights) and wear (when features deteriorate, e.g. a broken hinge).
(c) Adaptation, when products are subjected to an environment change (e.g. converting an old
house to be fully accessible when occupants have special needs).
(b) Add-ons, when products are featured as a base unit for user adding components (e.g. desktop
computers).
(e) Consumption, when products use consumables (e.g. a water filter).
(f) Flexibility/Adaptability in use, when products exhibit diverse competences (e.g. hardwired flexi-
ble partitioning in office spaces), or have a though-of potentiality to convert towards accommodating
diverse competences (e.g. an open-space).
Most of these can simply be related with designed product characteristics (add-ons, consumption,
flexibility/adaptability in use). Unlike adaptability, which implies design considerations, the case of adap-
tation refers no non-previously though-of environmental changes which normally occur on larger
time-spans, corresponding to unknown or unpredictable circumstances at the time the product was
developed. Therefore, adaptation is out of a design or product management scope. Finally, we have
the obsolescence, which is somewhere in between. Indeed, although some obsolescence aspects may be out
the design or management prediction ability or competences, others are foreseeable, thus requiring
action to be taken, otherwise potentially incurring in several risk factors.
Indeed, among these, obsolescence is perhaps the case that raises the most questions related with
the designer and producer responsibility. Certainly, it can have a major impact on firms of all sizes
and sectors, affecting all sorts of products, and eventually upon various stages of the product’s lifecy-
cle. It thus may lead to potential high-costs, such as expensive replacement of parts or repair works,
or even the need to redesign or requalify. This can harm not only profitability, but also firm’s com-
petitive edge or reputation. In a perfect storm, it can even affect firm’s very survival. Nevertheless,
obsolescence is unavoidable, the producer knows it, and the client also does.
To attain a successful new product development two critical goals must be accomplished, that is,
to meet customer needs and minimize time-to-market. However, strategies to accommodate both
can often be conflictual, often clashing in obsolescence-related issues372. Indeed, more than the
awareness of obsolescence by both the producer and the client, the issues arise mostly in function of
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falling in meeting certain expectations. That is true about performance, as it is about obsolescence
expectations.
Downstream, there are several reactive ways to manage and mitigate obsolescence. Namely, can-
nibalizing parts from product returns, getting alternate (form, function and fit) replacement from the
original or a different manufacturer, finding the closest equivalent replacement part or procuring in
the after-market. Also, mainly for those parts with expected shorter lifespan, it can be useful to make
a lifetime stock, or buy parts in bulk and stock them in inventory for future needs, particularly when
knowing that products or parts may be discontinued. There are also more sophisticated reactive strat-
egies, such as reverse engineering, which may not always be possible to implement.
Upstream, prior to a market stage, it should be established a pro-active and/or tactical manage-
ment of obsolescence as a key way to mitigate associated risks. Among these, in one extreme, partic-
ularly in relative lower value products, it can be included a so-called programmed obsolescence, par-
ticularly in those products where a higher pace of technological development is verified or in those
products more depending on trends, which makes them more likely disposable in a relatively short
term. On the other extreme, particularly in relative higher value products, it can be included product
follow up strategies, customer assistance, and so forth.
Obviously, company’s business plans differ, as they target markets, and thus their obsolescence
strategies. For instance, a consumer hardware OEM will likely be more prone to consider obsoles-
cence as a business as usual strategy. Conversely, an electronic hardware supplier for aerospace sys-
tems will certainly regard obsolescence from a longer-term perspective. In that sense, it is worth
mentioning a sentence attributed to Bill Gates, where he states: “The only big companies that succeed will
be those that obsolete their own products before someone else does”373. Regardless a debatable liberalist ideology,
the statement is nonetheless enlightening.
In a management context, obsolescence can also be seen as a way to make modularly conscious
sourcing decisions. In OEM’s, in those components with a high-modularity/high-obsolescence pro-
file it can make more sense to focus on outsourcing, particularly if the technology is not completely
aligned with the business core development. On the other extreme, in a low-modularity/low-obso-
lescence profile, components are weak outsourcing candidates, and simultaneously may be critical for
service and warranty issues. In a low-modularity/high-obsolescence component profile, it can be
positive to keep a technological edge in these parts, as well as making in-house production and/or
establishing strong supplier relations. Finally, in a high-modularity/low-obsolescence component
profile, it is when parts are the strongest candidates for outsourcing, and are not likely relevant for
warranty or service issues374.
When we cross different degrees of modularity with different degrees of expected obsolescence,
we can get a panorama of what a business focus should be in each circumstance. We can thus retain
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what the design efforts should concentrate on to maximize overall performance. Although not always
wise or feasible, keeping products with a high degree of modularity enables the designers to test on
components that may have greater potential for influencing the performance, and thus the value of
the system.
4.3.4 IMPLEMENTING A MODULAR ARCHITECTURE
In design terms, the idea of going modular can be appealing, but in practice there are essential
limitations to the design that should be overcome. Making a modular product is extremely difficult,
because modularity adds a new series of requirements and constraints. The interface can take up
space and resources that otherwise would not be there, at least not so prominently. Every com-
ponent must be tested with every other in every possible configuration to ensure that they all
function together. Although some testing can be done virtually, with the aid of IT’s, nonetheless
this means that testing and eventual certification are onerous, with a significant weight in develop-
ment costs.
Moreover, to be market competitive, products must offer comparable output vectors (cost, time,
quality, scope) at comparable price points. In the least, eventual design gains must acceptably trade-
-off with eventual losses, such as with pondering in adding flexibility for replacement of parts, or
considering end-of-life or upgrade scenarios. The case of Google’s failed Project Ara, set to develop a
modular phone, showcased many of these issues. For companies, ultimately the difficulty is to
meet an attractive price point while they remain solvent throughout the process. In the worst-case
scenario, the danger is to end up with a monstrous and expensive Frankenstein that, despite the
qualities, no one wants to love.
Products may be designed and fabricated without ever explicitly considering many of modularity’s
notions. However, if the modular architecture is integrated during development, that does not typi-
cally occur in early stages. Indeed, it usually happens after the design and the basic technological
principles are established. However, while it is of key relevance, there is no such thing as an optimum
modular architecture in all cases.
The task of bringing together a modular system is immense and likely very difficult. It is commonly
hard to devise modules that are satisfactorily universal to be applied in a system and not only in one
single product. Thus, some advantages of modularity can fade, namely when variability is introduced.
Thus, in some cases, best option can be not to modularize, but instead to make dedicated, integral
products.
Table 6 synthesizes some of these concerns, advancing possible strategies in product development
to implement modular or integral architectures.
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Concept
Development
> Design > Detailed >
Design
Test >
and Refinement
Choose technological
working principles
Set performance
targets
Define desired
features and variety
Choose architectural
approach
Discrete Approach
System Architect
as Team Leader
Map functional
elements to components
Define interface
standards and protocols
Component design
proceeds in parallel
Monitoring of components
relative to interface standards
and performance targets
Design performed by
‘supplier-like’ entities
Component testing can
be done independently
Effort focused on checking
for unanticipated coupling
and interactions
Required performance changes
localized to a few components
Kin Approach
System Integrator
as Team Leader
Emphasis on overall
system-level performance targets
Division of product into
a few integrated systems
Assignment of subsystems
to multi-disciplinary teams
Constant interaction required to
evaluate performance and to man-
age implications of design changes
Component designers
are all ‘on the core team’
Component tests must
be done simultaneously
Effort focused on tuning
the overall system
Required performance changes
propagate to many components
Table 6. Differences in product development according to architectural approach, based on K. Ulrich (1995).
At a design level, pursuing modularity may be simply pursuing its knowledgeability, integrating it
in thought processes. With the progressive use of its concepts, modularity can well become intuitive,
informing design decisions on whether following one direction instead of the other. A simple exam-
ple illustrates this idea (Figure 17). In the development processes of the modular AHP house design
that we will later be detailing, architects had though-of an underlying grid for structural purposes.
However, when it became the moment to build a prototype, decisions were taken in order to make
some exceptions to the grid’s inherent rigidity. Namely, that occurred in establishing openings in the
façade that could enter in conflict with the most sensitive structural points of the modules’ structure
as envisioned in the design conception, that is, in their corners. The idea beneath was to prove that
the constructive system could endure to go off rule if ever required. In the end, it proved feasible
constructively, but not without evident structural exceptions which naturally redound in increased
costs.
Within a structural scope, both modules departed from a structural independence standpoint in
relation to the other. The action of opening m1 or m2 would cause no change in that condition.
However, the action of making an opening that occurs in the two simultaneously implies a change in
their initial modular terms within a structural scope. This meant adding dependencies, rendering in-
tegral an otherwise discrete structural approach. It is quite a simple case, and its more sophisticated
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Figure 17.
A simple case of modular application.
representation in a graph was not required to take a design decision ahead. However, here it serves
the methodological purpose of explaining what is occurring in modular terms.
In the multi-dimensional decision process of a design development often decisions are analo-
gously simple. On its own, more than using more or less sophisticated tools to assess each problem
as moving ahead in the design, modular knowledgeability may help in making design decisions. It is
not a matter of getting it right or wrong, as options on the table may all be correct from a design
point of view. It is a matter of making design decisions more consciously.
A certain tendency or architectural authorship, can inhibit architects to regard their buildings as
products, and more like works of art. However, the fact is that the reality of architectural production
is rarely able to exclude the usage of manufactured products in their works. Certainly, not everyone
has to go modular. However, a modular insight may benefit professionals and architectural produc-
tion down the way.
4.3.5 MODULARITY AND ARCHITECTURAL FORM
Architects may typically desire to have the possibility of disposing of a diversified array of solu-
tions. However, modularity often falls in the accusation of restricting the possibilities that are at an
architect’s disposal. Nonetheless, it is also known that highly complex shapes may be defined by
modular arrangements. Mies van der Rohe employed a module of 24x33in for the Farnsworth house.
Alvar Aalto reportedly said: “my module is the millimeter”. Indeed, ultimately it is all a matter of degree.
In the shapes found in nature, say a rock shaped by the elements, the form devising processes can
be described from a mathematical continuity perspective, meaning that the possibilities of arrange-
ments given an initial condition are infinite. The generalization375 can straightforwardly be given by
laying out a line segment with a given length l, where l ≠ 0, and figuring out how many possibilities
there are of dividing that line in smaller segments (Figure 18a). Then, repeating the process with one
of the remaining two segments, and subsequently the same with one of the remaining three, and so
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Figure 18.
A one-dimensional generalization of form processes: (a) continuous (kin), i.e. dividing the length l sequentially, starting in one;
(b,c,d) discontinuous (discrete), assembling segments given by s(i) to form length l, in (b) i goes from 1 to n, in (c) a case of arrangements
of (b), and in (d) with i always equal to 1.
forth. In each step, there is an infinite number of possibilities. The original segment can analogously
be of any scale and/or dimension, thus corresponding to a certain shape, for instance describing what
happens to the stone when exposed to the elements.
However, in artificial forms, or even in some living forms found in nature where patterns can be
grasped, we can aspire to a description from a discontinuous perspective. We can also straightfor-
wardly generalize it, but now instead of dividing a segment, we will be assembling one. Meaning, that
instead of dividing, using real numbers, we will be adding positive integers. Thus, consider any arbi-
trary segment given by s(i), where i is the label of any given segment s in a finite universe of n segments,
where i is never repeated, and that the sum of all the segments considered equals the length l, where
l ≠ 0 (Figure 18b). In these circumstances, the possible arrangements that we have can be given by
n!=1*2*3*…*(n-1)*n (Figure 18c). For instance, when we have 6 distinct segments, then the possible
outputs are 6!=720. If i was always the same, then the possible arrangements would be only 1, since
1!=1 (Figure 18d). Moreover, since all segments would be equal, the way to assemble them would be
irrelevant.
In practice, as we shrink in modules size, increasing the n number of modules, in the limit we can
approach a continuous form devising process. However, there is a substantial difference between
both approaches. In one case, we are devising a form, shaping it as we move on, as a sculptor casts a
form. On the other, we are assuming a pre-existing form, and we can approach it with more detail as
we move on. The first we can relate with an abstract design sense. The latter has much more to do
with a practical design sense, underlyingly constrained by the ability of a physical construction. Alt-
hough also dealing with the first in early stages, the architectural production primarily depends on
the latter. Indeed, a millimeter is nonetheless a module.
For instance, we could also characterize great historical architectures, such as the Classical or
Gothic, within a certain sense of modularly, given the repetition of elements such as columns, win-
dows or bays. These have internal substructures, with decorative elements such as fluting or triglyphs.
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Even in flatter zones, we can observe these qualities, for instance by the stereotomic given by the
joints of even the smaller building elements. The appearance perceptually results from a balance be-
tween various layers and scales of substructures. The greatest the number of discontinuities, the
higher the visual density, the lesser, the flatter. Finally, one can argue that this may seem dubious
when we recall a classic distinction between dry and fluid bonded construction. However, fluid bonds
can too be scrutinized modularly in respect to their properties and relative weight and properties for
a mix modularity. It all comes down to the scope.
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5 A PRACTICAL CASE:
THE AFFORDABLE HOUSES PROJECT
5.1 Background
The housing problem is a permanent and transversal issue that has been crossing mankind’s his-
tory. Its continuous reappearance is signaled from multiple sources, varying on socio-cultural, eco-
nomic or environmental conditions, and of which the related constructive or architectural aspects are
just a small part. Contemporarily, the housing problem can be easily identifiable in those places where
endemic misery is a reality. It is also straightforwardly detectable in those developing countries where
the rapid economic growth, coupled with a significant demographic pressure in urban areas, among
other aspects, ostensibly calls for housing to meet adequate quality levels [complement with: Annex,
IV.4 Housing, a global issue].
With different shades, the problem is also resilient in wealthier nations. For instance, in some
European countries there is a huge demand for the replacement of ageing housing stock not meeting
minimum standards. In consolidated urban areas, these typically fall on renewal or refurbishment
practices, but in places where there is more land availability, as typically are the urban outskirts, or in
rural areas, new construction also often takes place. In parallel, as the built environment processes
unfold, the generality of the construction sector, with few exceptions, remains one of the least indus-
trialized activities. Moreover, as history has been demonstrating, factors such as economic con-
straints, or a fast pace culture of consumption, increasingly demand more efficient construction prac-
tices while keeping up with quality-delivery standards.
Stirred up from the Portuguese reality, this sort of concerns was at the core of a housing concept
focusing in affordable and efficient steel-based construction methods. The concept was developed
under the Affordable Houses Project (AHP)376, a research and design initiative launched in January 2009,
which came up in the context of an international taskforce, promoted by the ArcelorMittal company
and under the International Scientific Networks in Steel Construction (ISNSC). The origins of the current
thesis can be traced back to the research undertaken within the scope of the AHP, and has largely
evolved around some of the perplexities which it arose.
Following the ISNSC scope, the project primary involved civil engineering expertise in the field
of steel structures. Altogether there were eight participating universities, coming from Brazil (São
Paulo University), China (Tongji University), Czech Republic (Czech Technical University in Prague), India
(IIT Bombay), Poland (Rzeszow University of Technology), Portugal (University of Coimbra), Romania (The
‘Politehnica’ University of Timisoara) and Sweden (Lulea University). As set by the promoter, the purpose
was to develop innovative affordable houses, adapted to each of the different national contexts of
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the participants. Each national group developed its work independently and results were presented
and discussed in two general meetings.
With investigators primarily linked to the University of Coimbra (UC) and/or the Institute for Sustain-
ability and Innovation in Structural Engineering (ISISE) research unit, the Portuguese group was formed
with cross-disciplinary concerns. It gathered mostly architects and engineers, the latter with diverse
expertise (structural, thermal, acoustic, fire safety, sustainability assessment, and so forth)377. Despite
the diversified contributions, architectural research would assume a key role in the group, as the
approach primarily focused in establishing a solid conceptual ground over spatial and constructive
issues, thus anchoring the subsequent developments of the different specialized domains378.
Concordant to the initiative’s scope, the main lines of AHP’s preliminary brief can be summed up
to the idea of affordability, while making an intensive use of steel. The remaining typical features
outlining a design development, namely target market, building typology, house program, architec-
tural solution, constructive technology, and so forth, had to be formulated by each of the national
design teams from an analysis of their local realities. Providing an answer to these was scheduled for
delivery on two project phases, each culminating in a general meeting joining the various national
representatives. In the first stage of the project, what was called for was a portrait of the country’s
socio-economic and construction contexts, as well as a preliminary design proposal. In the second
stage, the debate took place mostly over a detailed design, with its components thoroughly described.
The main elements mapping the two stages can be summed up in the topics presented in Table 7.
As the work progressed, eventually some of these topics acquired more relevance, and some oth-
ers were further added to complement the findings. The info retrieved from the first group of topics
would be key to set the design foundations. Regarding the contribution towards the design proposal,
such info can be divided in to two main areas. Firstly, a statistical analysis broadly characterizing the
Portuguese territory in terms of its geographic, economic, or demographic dimensions, contributing
to set the target market and the house program formulation. Secondly, a technical analysis, assessing
structural, thermal or regulation issues, added by an observation of state of the art practices, contrib-
uting to establish a framework for the architectural and constructive features.
The second meeting, which fundamentally was set to discuss the thoroughly detailed designs,
signaled the conclusion of the international project, with its final call held in 2010. In the aftermath
of the AHP, the Portuguese prefab company Coolhaven was created in that same year. The company
took its first steps out of the AHP legacy, but in due time it would also develop its own designs,
following business’ opportunities. However, the symbolism of the AHP remained, as Coolhaven’s first
job was the construction of a full-scale AHP prototype. The prototype was a true proof-of-concept,
since it enabled a real-world testing of the typological and constructive ideas.
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STAGE 1 – DELIVERABLE 1
Socio-economic
evaluation
General description of the country
General description of the socio-geographic-economic conditions
Statistical data about the country, population, construction market
Description of the construction market
Traditional
housing concept
Geographical, geotechnical, structural, architectonical constrains
Overview of legislations and of the boundaries
Description of the traditional housing concept
Advantages and disadvantages of the traditional solutions
Cost of traditional housing concept
Innovative
concept
Technological state of the art
General description of the innovative process, solution, choices, etc.
Advantages and disadvantages
Innovative aspects
Review of the selected technical solutions
Preliminary architectural project
Preliminary structural project and other design features
Follow up General planning
Critical points and risk analysis
STAGE 2 – DELIVERABLE 2
Final design and detailed
description of the technical solutions
General description
Innovative aspects
Advantage, disadvantage, feasibility study
Detailed design
Architectural project
Structural, Thermal, Acoustics, Plumbing, and Electrical project
Quantity survey and bill of materials
Sustainability and life-cycle valuation
Achieved quality and performance assessment
Socio-economic assessment Economical evaluation
Comparison with traditional housing concept and material
Social advantages
Possible deployment, possibility for demonstration, etc.
Table 7. AHP main topics.
Meanwhile, the research work progressed on a further fine-tuning of the concepts, with new re-
search lines arising, and with the findings published in diverse scientific media. All in all, these would
contribute for the development and registration of a European patent on a modular construction method
for constructing dwellings—PE10792013(A1) 2013-10-25.
Hereon we will be describing the main features of the AHP design and its progression up to the
prototype construction. Additionally, we will be including related research that has since been devel-
oped apropos. More than a plain description, this is a critical observation over a process that is now
possible to analyze with greater detachment, and by it favoring a better acknowledgement of the
eventual methodological implications that can be extracted. Although there is a concern in presenting
the themes in a sequential and logical way, the description does not strictly follow the chronological
path of the findings in all its extension, but instead favors a conceptual clarification.
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5.2 Preliminary remarks on the affordability concept
Affordability is a relative concept, depending not only on a certain cost or value, but also on if
and how such cost can be met. The latter depends on factors such as capital availability, credit access
or financing mechanisms in general. In a prospective house buyer or tenant, these can be ultimately
linked to the subject’s income, the stability of such income, and so forth. Furthermore, affordability
is a context-sensitive concept, and hence there are different conceivable approaches towards it379.
Despite the intrinsic ambiguity, it may generally be acknowledged as aiming to somewhere in between
a low-end and a high-end market.
For a given territory, the analysis of the available statistical data can contribute to establish the
price point that an average family may pay for a house, and from there derive construction cost
benchmarks, potential target markets, or other relevant economic factors that have an upstream in-
fluence on the design. Informing the design with these boundaries is a critical task, as that is what
ultimately sets what can and cannot be done. Surely, the designer’s concerns will differ from those of
a real-estate promoter, contractor, or prospective buyer. Anyhow, at the least ethically, it should be
the designer’s duty to assure the envisioned design can be made with the available resources.
Notwithstanding, the final price tag of a building depends on multiple factors that far extend
architectural options, such as those concerning spatial-constructive features. To start with, it will be
depending in the variable land cost—i.e. the location380—which can directly or indirectly include
marketing mechanisms, publicity effects, social status, and the like. There are also commissions, in-
terests, additional speculative values, and so forth, that can be included. In the end, both the archi-
tectural and the location conditions are not dissociable.
When introducing innovative construction practices, such as in the AHP case, a hands-on way to
look at affordability from a designer’s perspective, is to make it comparatively, via construction area
cost. In this case, that means establishing an area cost benchmark (e.g. cost/m2) of an ordinary house
construction method, and from that reference working to attain spatial and material comparable pur-
poses. Given the social suspicion which undermines the public opinion on some innovative construc-
tive practices—as is utterly the case in a prefab—staying below such a threshold potentially also works
favorably in terms of the attractiveness of the design solution towards the public, and hence in its
potential marketability, salability, and so forth. In many ways, the cost/m2 is a much more practical
approach from a design standpoint, since it fundamentally focuses on construction cost, discarding
variables that can often be subjective or in the least harder to measure, adding unnecessary complexity
to the design problem, and typically often out of the designer’s control.
There is little that the designer can do within its deontological scope to lower the impact of the
variable land/location in the affordability equation, except optimizing the available space within the
given constraints. For such, strategies such as minimizing circulation areas or instigating to concepts
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such as flexibility or adaptability can be used. On the other hand, since affordability is a relative
concept, whoever may afford more expensive land will also likely afford more expensive construc-
tion, which again makes it hard to take useful generalizations in this matter. However, in those cases
where a design is developed from a speculative basis, as in the AHP, statistics should contribute to
inform the design381. This can lead to potentially more scalable solutions, helping to accomplish less
onerous costs, and benefiting marketability prospects, the first gate for the product’s success.
Statistically, in Portugal there is an oversupply of housing, with plentiful offer of multi-story apart-
ment buildings. Therefore, the AHP focused in the residential sector, which is more likely located in
suburban or rural areas, where land is typically cheaper. Figures disclosed that the dominant type in
the residential sector in Portugal was the three-bedroom house, and that this type is also quite often
intended as secondary or holidays’ house. Thus, adding to the affordability and marketability focuses,
this explains why, in an initial stage, the design program was targeted to a two-story, three-bedroom
residential house. In the Portuguese context, given the typical family structures and its evolution, as
well as a propensity for a second house market, this could then be regarded as a versatile typology.
Meanwhile, a severe economic crisis stroke the country, as well as the world economy. Some of
the data collected at AHP’s early stages may now be outdated. However, it is our belief that the
general principles are still sustainable, as they are laying in a relativist approach, grounded in abstract
design principles, which conceptually encompass different needs and requirements, as well as their
change over time. To a degree, this contradicts one of the initial purposes of the AHP promoter,
which was to find specificities in the regional contexts of each of the participant countries. Although
the design development took a different course in relation to these intents, these specificities indeed
exist, and decisively contributed for the research to follow this direction, and not another.
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5.3 The AHP design system
5.3.1 MAIN CONCEPTUAL LINES
In a first approach, the design was thought of in terms of a residential house design exploring the
potential of cold-formed steel structures382. Constructively, the preliminary goals were set in achieving
a better, or at least comparable building performance with what would typically be attained with
ordinary construction methods, and at a competitive construction speed and cost.
To attain good output vectors, the constructive goals had to be inexorably linked with the spatial
goals. The latter were essentially set in answering to different contemporary lifestyles. That meant
designing homes for different kinds of families and their evolution, and as places that could congre-
gate different uses, such as permanent or temporary work of the family members. Partly, this meant
questioning the rigidity of functionalist models, instead appealing to notions such as flexibility or
adaptability. To accomplish it, strategies such as endorsing typological variability, maintaining a cer-
tain open-endedness in the allocation of uses, or enabling future expansion/retraction of the con-
struction, were thought of as beneficial to incorporate in the design.
The analysis of the collected data initially led to set the housing program in a three-bedroom, two-
floor residential house. However, given the goals that had been established, it became obvious that
there could be more to the design than a limited one-of case. Instead, there could be multiple possible
dimensions and formalizations. As result, in coexistence with constructive principles, the design came
to be conceptualized as what can be called of a design system.
Central to the idea of a design system was the purpose to achieve variability within a limited set of
spatial-constructive components in a kind of rule-based system, grounded in modular principles.
Thus, the design would be provided with a potential scalability, quality and cost controlled produc-
tion, while enabling formal, material, size or cost variability to a prospective buyer. Instead of simple
box-like houses or the like, the purpose was to make it possible to devise a myriad of shapes and
configurations from a clear set of design components.
Additionally, to address the flexibility or adaptability aspects, the design system also came to be
conceptualized in terms of enabling ease of interior changes during building’s lifetime, as well as in
terms of an evolutionary matrix to allow eventual future volumetric growth or reduction. In time, the
design system also came to be thought of in terms of being adaptable to the multiple urban requirements
of residential dwellings—i.e. attached, semi-attached, semi-detached and detached scenarios (Figure
23). Finally, in a later stage, the design system was also considered in more generic terms so to also
include multistory buildings within its scope. Throughout the process different methodological con-
clusions have been extracted, which serve not only the purpose of the design system, but can be gener-
alized to diverse other realities.
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Since there can be strong fluctuations in land cost according with the location, and that may be a
strong constraint in a final building cost, several options were taken to lessen its weight in the design.
Straightforwardly, that meant that the design should be conceived to occupy the least possible plot
of land. To attain it, it made sense to implement as a core measure the minimization of the main
circulation space, to maximize useful areas, optimizing their ratio383. Thus, main circulation space was
designed to have a central location in the plan layout, starting with centralizing the entrance area and,
in the case of a second floor, locate the stairs within it. Finally, to minimize waste in vertical circulation
space, the system, as thought of for the residential sector, would be limited to a two-floor height, plus
an eventual basement. Nonetheless, if the two floors would not be required by a prospective buyer,
the system was also feasible in a single floor. The basement, which could be used as a garage and/or
storage, would be justifiable in those cases where terrain had a steeper, non-flat configuration. It
could thus work as a sort of foundation plateau, assuring a flat, dry and solid grounding, on top of
which the design system could seamlessly be implemented.
5.3.2 SETTING INITIAL MODULAR CONSTRAINTS
The construction was to be made of a steel structure. Given the higher prices of rolled steel,
option was to think the design in terms of the constructive potential offered by the relatively cheaper
cold-formed steel (CFS). Comparatively, CFS also has the edge of its lightweight, making it more prone
to handle and maneuver without requiring heavy machinery—theoretically, if provided with precut
parts, a two-man team with not much more than a screwdriver can do the job. When compared with
ordinary masonry or concrete construction, CFS is also more prone to production automation, and
likely has an edge in terms of reduction of environmental impact, lowering construction waste and
increasing recycling potential in a building’s life-cycle end (LCE) scenario. It also potentially simplifies
repair and maintenance—e.g. in infrastructures, for piping or wiring replacement, or in changing
interior materials.
In theory, CFS can also offer greater potential in terms of spatial flexibility, making it easier to
change internal walls, and eventually with the same occurring with the external walls, in a future case
of expansion/reduction of the building. Summing it all up, if properly devised, these factors may
contribute to assure an overall greater sustainable performance. Finally, since CFS enables construc-
tion up to four floors with ease, or even five floors in special cases, it was plentiful for the original
aim of two-floor residential typologies. In any case, given that in a great part of the Portuguese terri-
tory buildings do not exceed four or five floors height, such also did not exclude an eventual possi-
bility of devising multi-story from similar typological principles.
From the technological CFS choice, a preliminary structural study assessed optimized span dis-
tances of the structural elements. At this stage, it mattered to understand what would be a reasonable
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maximum span without compromising the structural behavior. One of the goals in mind was to
minimize the amount of steel in use to achieve a cost-effective solution, while enabling a sound con-
structive solution. Thus, whatever the structural outcome, it was also important for it to be a practical,
round figure, to simplify the assignment of standardized components to the construction. Thereby,
the structural basis was settled in a 60cm grid, with the entire design regulated from that basis.
The 60cm grid theoretically allowed a wide range of potentially useful discrete subdivisions or mul-
tiplications, which was conceptually a key intention so to avoid as much waste as possible in the con-
struction, thus improving its environmental performance. Its integer subdivisions can start from 1cm
or 2cm (e.g. for tiny-sized materials), 5cm (e.g. for small-sized materials), 10cm (e.g. for materials and
the bulk of internal walls), 15cm (e.g. for materials and some special internal walls), 20cm (e.g. for ma-
terials and some special internal walls) or 30cm (e.g. for materials, some dividing walls and external
walls).
Furthermore, if adding composed and/or multiple figures of 60cm, options increase. For instance,
it can swiftly be attained measures of 40cm (e.g. 3×40cm=120cm=2×60cm) or 50cm (e.g.
6×50cm=300cm=5×60cm). With 90cm (3×½60cm) it is for instance possible to fit kitchen bench
tops height. With 120cm (2×60cm) it was possible to attain the Portuguese legal minimum 110cm
for corridor width, plus enabling a 10cm tolerance for a wall or other, and fitting the 240×120cm
plasterboards’ or be close enough to the oriented stranded boards’ (OSB) of 244×122cm, thus theoreti-
cally minimizing potential waste in left overs after cutting the parts. With 240cm (4×60cm) it is at-
tained a typical room-height, and fit for the plasterboards’ or OSB’s.
This meant that the design system became supported in a dimensional coordination scheme. That
also included the heights for windows and façades (which followed a ½60cm regulation). In terms of
heights, the modules were also ruled by an economy principle, with the ceiling height established at
the Portuguese legal minimum of 2.4m, to which added 30cm slabs to a total of 2.7m between floors.
The windows were thought of to function at 30cm (½60cm) height increments, starting from the
maximum 2.4m case (Figure 19).
From these preliminary considerations, at least in theory, the construction could benefit of a
greater potential of economies of scale in production. Concomitantly, the option to use modular
dimensional principles assured an overall minimization of waste in construction materials, since it
eased the compliance of standardized, industrially produced materials and components to the design
instances casted from the design system.
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Figure 19. Example of initial section constraints.
5.3.3 THE ORIGINAL AHP DESIGN SYSTEM
The initial idea for the design system was to define a configuration that enabled a good functional
organization, over one/two floors, and with the possibility of changes over time. Resembling pieces
in the well-known tetris game, the proposal envisioned possible combinations within a limited number
of shapes. A 0.60m×0.60m dimensional unit (u) defined the minimum modular framework. A mod-
ule (m) of order u:(8, 7) (i.e. 4.8×4.2m), acted on the u grid, and a master-grid of order m:(2, 3) (i.e.
9.6×12.6m) on the m grid—where in any x:(v, u) the x denotes the grid order, described by the v and
u values, which are positive integers, respectively denoting the grid’s rows and columns. All alterna-
tives were compelled to this m:(2, 3) perimeter, including the possibility of expansion. Thus, the
maximum area of ground occupation considered for a single dwelling was limited to the total of the
six modules per floor (level) in a m:(2, 3) (Figure 20a).
Modules’ horizontal combinations defined each of the possible shapes formed under the m:(2, 3)
boundaries. Vertical combinations were anchored to a central module. For structural economy, ver-
tical combinations were limited to structural precedencies, meaning that a level 1 (i.e. first floor) shape
in its fullest occupation would be at most coincident with a level 0 (i.e. ground floor) shape. Exceptions
would require a different structural philosophy (e.g. cantilevering), or additional structural support—
which would be equivalent to more foundations in the level 0 (e.g. I2, L2, in Figure 20b–level 0). Con-
structively that meant having an extra module in level 0, even if not fully occupied. Within these
shapes, there could be layout variations, resulting in thousands of arrangements (Figure 21). To allo-
cate functions, each module within a shape bared a main space that was either a kitchen, a bedroom,
a living or a dining room. Exceptions occurred in central modules, assigned for entrance/stair-
case/toilet space. Secondary spaces, such as toilets or storages, were placed within the main spaces,
establishing a hierarchy of functional allocation. These principles guaranteed a balanced use of the
functional areas.
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Figure 20.
Grid (a) and combinations (b).
Figure 21
. Illustration of variations on the case of level 0 (0-1.1).
185
Figure 22
. Illustration of level -1 variations according to terrain adaptation scenarios.
Figure 23.
Illustration of urban adaptation scenarios (a, b, c, d), example case (e), and developed cases (f, g).
186
Figure 24. Illustration of an urban ensemble in detached scenarios, and showing different overhangs hypothesis.
A catalogue of layouts sharing similar principles was produced for each of the shapes, regarding a
two-floor scenario (e.g. in Figure 21). Topographical issues that could arise were depicted in a catalogue
of distinct basement configurations that absorb the several possible types of land differences (Figure
22). Diverse urban and soil occupancy situations, namely, (a) attached, (b) semi-attached, (c) semi-de-
tached, and (d) detached, were also addressed (Figure 23). In the first case, the suppression of at least
one of the modules per level (such as in the shape of an internal patio) was imperative to ensure proper
natural light and ventilation to every inhabited space. In a preliminary test case, the typological variants
were also induced to a collective house scenario, in which a simple case of a four-story apartment build-
ing was designed. Finally, given a preliminary thermal behavior assessment, different architectural solu-
tions, including diverse sized window heights and overhangs hypothesis were tested (Figure 24).
Overall, the typological rationale endured the added constraints, which could be understood as a
validation of the translation of the conceptual framework onto the design system. That was further
supported with the development of a more detailed design case384.
5.3.4 AN ILLUSTRATIVE DESIGN CASE
Considering the m:(2, 3) limits, a volumetric simulation was conducted to assess the validation of
the design in a more detailed version (Figure 25). Following the initial research, it was developed a
two-story, three-bedroom house typology. To optimize urban infrastructures and land plots, the
smaller dimension of the parcel is parallel to the street, and the major dimension is perpendicular.
Each floor has an L-shape, with the top shape superposing the bottom shape in a mirrored position.
187
Figure 25. Illustrative design case.
The house program includes a living and/or dining room, a kitchen, three toilets, a storage area
and a covered parking place. Social and private areas are vertically segregated. The level 0 contains the
social areas, while the level 1 has the bedrooms and other private areas. The program is suitable for a
family of four—e.g. a couple with two children—but it is also easily adaptable to other occupations.
The kitchen was placed closer to the street front, and designed to allow meals to be held within
it. In the central module is located the core distribution zone, where an entrance hall gives access to
the kitchen, a toilet, the staircase and the living/dining room. Adjacent to the living room, there is
the ability to set a small working space. Given the overlap of the two mirrored L-shapes, the level 1
provides a roof in the level 0 for car parking. Arriving to the level 1, there is a direct distribution to the
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spaces, minimizing circulation area, giving access to the bedrooms, toilet, and a master-bedroom with
private toilet.
To assess the adaptability, a few variations were tested over the same illustrative case. In level 0,
next to the living room, it is feasible to add/remove a small, informal office space, just by adding or
removing a wall (or shelf) and a door. In level 1, the two contiguous rooms can be transformed in a
single master bedroom by changing the door placement, resulting in a 3-room bedroom, with a toilet,
a primary space for the bed and a secondary space for either closet room or small home office. From
a similar design base, it was also tested if typologically the design could endure a growth in length,
increasing the area of the living room and of a bedroom, and if it could endure a different plot ori-
entation, with both hypothesis proven feasible385.
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5.4 Optimizing the design system
5.4.1 EXPANDING THE GRID
In this part of the work we aim at further clarifying the design system, instilling a deeper methodo-
logical insight. In that sense, we have further developed the initial object towards an optimization of
its modularity. By doing it, we have also expanded it to other domains, aiming at multi-dwelling
housing that could share similar principles. The latter necessarily incites to an expansion of the initial
grid. Indeed, considering the m:(2, 3) derived shapes, we could only achieve it in a limited number of
cases within the initial boundaries. However, with no further criteria, grid expansion can be limitless
(Figure 26), and thus more constraints are required than those that have initially been set forth.
We started by simplifying the rationale, discarding shape instances with shared similarities. For
example, in Figure 20, shapes C1, C2, C3 and C4 were condensed to a single C reference from where
the others derive. The m:(2, 3) shapes are thus released from their initial referential. Thus, excluding
isometries—i.e. geometric transformations that maintain the inner congruence of shape elements, as
are translation, mirror or rotation—the total number of horizontal combinations is in fact less (Figure
27) than what was considered in the AHP. Whereas in a real case the additional possibilities may be
relevant, given different solar positioning, views, and the like, in an isometric/topological sense these
are essentially equivalent.
The next simplification step was to reenact the modular essence of the shapes. The AHP limited
module’s combinations within a m:(2, 3) and to a single dwelling over a maximum of two levels. Yet,
a typology can exist in a shape that is different from these. For it to occur the modular order must
be bigger (i.e. the grid size must increase). With the same topology, for the m:(2, 3) it was initially
considered 10 possible derived shapes (Figure 27b), but many more are conceivable. For instance, if
it was a m:(4, 2), the number would boost to 24 possible shapes, in a m:(3, 3), it would be 36, and so
Figure 26.
Illustration of a virtually limitless expansion (no added constraints) of m:(2, 3) derived shapes.
190
Figure 27.
Initial m:(2, 3) derived shapes (a) and their essential members (b).
Figure 28.
Arrangements in (a) m:(4, 2) and (b) m:(3, 3) (left, in black), and some of their possible bi-part subdivisions using elements from
a m:(2, 3) (right, in white).
forth. Nevertheless, any of these 24 or 36 possibilities could be composed by combinations of the
previous m:(2, 3)—ultimately, if given no further limitations, any m:(v, u) could be reduced to a com-
bination of a single module (Figure 28).
To assure a comparable, equitable principle, which would not significantly distort the design system
principles, typological tests primarily focused in assessing the limits of combining m:(2, 3) shapes,
and variations within relatable constraints. If limiting the possible shapes to these (10 in total, or 11
if including a single module shape), but using a larger m:(v, u), theoretically we can maintain the same
typological principles. Yet, as we will later observe, different constraints arise—typological, construc-
tive, legal, and so forth—as well as new possibilities of juxtaposing and/or connecting the different
shapes.
191
Given that with bigger grids, shapes are more diverse (e.g. Figure 28), methodologically it can be
useful to establish a shape notation to unambiguously clarify descriptions. Indeed, when increasing
grid sizes, it is no longer feasible to label them in a shape suggestive fashion, as we have done under
a m:(2, 3), with L-shape, U-shape, T-shape, and so forth. Indeed, when grid size increases, and shapes
within get more complex, it is hard to keep track of what kind of shape is being addressed with this
method, and it can easily be equivocal. Thus, for some purposes, it is necessary to have a shape
notation, or codification procedure of some sort.
5.4.2 DEFINITIONS AND FORMALISMS OF MODULAR SHAPES
Figure 29.
Illustrating a matrix formalism through the description of a L-shape, and unfolding to topological and typological values, where
in (d) are added connections to establish a topological path, and in (e) topology is labeled with typological values via a set of externally
given base program rules. The subscript notation for m—in (d) and (e)— follows the conventional matrix notation, where in the comma
separated values the first indicates row and the second the column position in the matrix.
Existing mathematical notation provides the tools to disambiguate shape labelling (Figure 29).
With it, we could describe an L-shape through a matrix of order (2, 3), with the values and criteria of
the matrix order corresponding to what we have been describing for grid purposes—i.e. comma
separated values first indicating the number of rows and then of columns using positive integer val-
ues. Following this formalism, the matrix order can be extended as far as necessary, and in it straight-
forwardly acknowledge the module’s positions. From there, we may establish a direct bond between
the topology and the typology, that is, in assigning label values to each module, which establish the
guidelines or rules of their devising intents, for instance in functional or programmatic description,
and so forth. Although of far greater range, the method can be regarded as essentially analogous to
the graphical representation. It thus shares some of its qualities, but also some of its limitations,
particularly when attempting to denote it compactly, such as we do with an L-shape. Thus, a different
descriptive method may be necessary to complement the matrix description.
As in any modular construction, we must start by defining the modular scope. In our devised
descriptive method, a shape is a discrete set of one or more modules within a tridimensional grid of a
modular scope s, respectively with (u, v, w) relative coordinates, and through which is possible to
establish at least one continuous path, using orthogonal (i.e. horizontally/vertically through uv, uw or
vw) connections (Figure 30). In the higher s+1 scope, the coordinates will be absolute in respect to a
modular multi-shape assembly referential, that we can name (x, y, z). Alternatively, for the benefit of
congruence, we can name each respectively (us, vs, ws) and (us+1, vs+1, ws+1), or any of these generically
192
Figure 30.
Illustration of a modular shape definition via connectedness, in which in each case a discrete shape is defined by a continuous
color in a given modular rank. In (e), the expression i
s-1
stands for a modularly incremented distance (i) of a s-1 scope, which is thus
analogous with connectedness features in (f). In the AHP, the i
s-1
would be a modular denominator, corresponding to a dimension of the
modular unit u of 0,60×0,60m.
by (us+i, vs+i, ws+i), with i corresponding to any integer value (positive, negative or null), with the higher
scope corresponding to the absolute referential in the considered modular system. In our design, the
m description equivalates to an s, and the u to an s-1.
As shown in Table 8, and illustrated in Figure 31, we have devised a compact shape descriptive
formalism which can be used complementarily to the powerful matrix description. In it, from left to
right, we can first read the row, i.e. the position on the v axis. Then, in subscript, the columns that
occur in that row, i.e. the positions in the u axis. Finally, in superscript, the level (w) in which these are
contained, i.e. the positions on the w axis. All u, v or w values are integers, but with a difference
regarding w. The starting w is conventionally 0 (as for level 0) and can go either negative or positive.
Conversely, u or v are positive integers, since they refer to countable objects (there are no negative or
null modules). The full notation criteria are shown in Table 8 and illustrated in Figure 31.
To simplify, when there is only one level (i.e. one w unit) considered, or when it is irrelevant for
the analysis on whether w is implied, the corresponding notation can be suppressed (e.g. Figure 31d).
When there is more than one option to make the shape notation, it may be best to privilege the most
economical way—e.g. in Figure 31d, the [1:21:2] notation could have been written longer in [11:221:2]
or as an array of a single module, i.e. A22:[11]. Anyhow, formal option should be to use what is most
convenient in each case, which can also be privileging consistency, rather than economy. There are
several ways this notation could be presented without loss of content. For instance, instead of using
subscripts and superscripts, we could have used parenthesis, slashes, or other forms to distinguish
the different elements—e.g. writing [(1/1:2)(2/1)]w instead of [11:221]w. However, we found this way
economical, both in terms of the number of characters and line length used, and that it provided a
relatively better readability, particularly if making use of larger expressions, (e.g. Figure 31c in the b•c
description).
With this formalism, we can describe multiple modular shape stages: (a) a shape relatively, i.e.
through its inner modular-grid features based on its u, v coordinates, distributed in one or more w
levels of a modular scope s system; (b) a shape absolutely, e.g. through x, y and z coordinates of a multi-
shape, higher scope s+1 modular-grid system; (c) a shape relatively plus a translation operation (T) from
193
(a) shape-modules cases (b) notation e.g. (c) description of notation e.g.
Isolated s
a
=[v
u
]
w
row v, column u, level w
pair of isolated columns’ value s
b
=[v
g,h
]
w
row v, columns g and h, level w
interval of consecutive columns’ value [v
g:h
]
w
row v, columns from g to h, level w
interval of consecutive and isolated columns’ valu
e
[v
g:h,u
]
w
row v, columns from g to h and column u, level w
in two rows [v
u
p
g:u
]
w
row v, column u, and row p, columns from g to u, level w
isolated equal rows’ value [v,p
u
]
w
row v and p, column u, level w
interval of consecutive equal rows’ value [v:z
u
]
w
from row v to z, column u, level w
multi-level shape [v
u
p
g:u
]
w
,[v
u
]
w+1
, … row v, column u, and row p, columns from g to u, level w, and row v, columns from a to u, level
w
+1
isolated equal levels’ value [v
u
]
w,w+i
row v, column u, in levels w and w+i
interval of consecutive equal levels’ value [v
u
]
w:w+i
row v, column u, in levels w and w+i
translation T from a referential x, y, z T
a
:s
a
=
T
y
xz
:[v
u
]
w
shape a, translated T from a higher scope x, y, z referential
translation T in vector form T
a
:s
a
=v:[v
u
]
w
shape a, translated with a vector v
array distribution m, n, o of a shape A
a
:s
a
=
A
m
no
:[v
u
]
w
shape a, repeated in array A with m, n, o instances
two combined shapes s
a
•s
b
= [v
u
]
w
•[v
r,u
]
w
shape a and shape b
Table 8.
Shape notation.
Figure 31.
Notation application examples in a s:(2, 3) grid (a, b, c, and d) and in an expanded s+1:(2, 7) grid.
a given origin os+1 of a multi-shape system; (d) higher/lower-scope shape-compounding of any of the
former in any s+i (with i as any positive or negative integer), algebraically enabling modularly para-
metrized grids and/or an array of multi-shapes with different modular scales.
To complete the picture of operators, aside a T and an A, we could include a mirror (M) or
rotation (R) operator (Figure 32). Anyhow, for this we could generalize T as special displacement
cases of R, either as a theoretical R where the axis of rotation recedes to infinity, or as two consecutive
R operations over axis of rotation at finite distances and with 60º magnitude and inverse directions
each (Figure 32b). Moreover, as implied in our modular rationale, M can simply be the result of
swapping the locations of one or more modules within a shape, i.e. making exclusive use of T operations.
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Figure 32.
Illustration of a R (rotation) and T (translation) operations. In (a) R uses a simplified θe formalism, describing a unit vector e
(indicating the direction of an axis of rotation) and an angle θ (describing the magnitude of the rotation about the axis) to be applied in the
relative origin o
s
of a shape. In (b) is shown T as a special case of R.
Figure 33.
Illustration of a simultaneous use of R, T and A (array) operators to form a triangle-based grid (g) and a triangle-based shape (s
g
).
Although not developed in our case, R enables the tridimensional description of non-modular rela-
tions between different modular sets, or of modular elements that do not follow orthogonal connec-
tions as it occurs with triangular modules with tridimensional relations.
This notation may not be as intuitive as when describing shapes by labelling each with a resem-
bling letter. It certainly is not as intuitive as simply illustrating them, as is notorious in the example of
a triangular grid. Yet, it gains in clarity and precision, disambiguating the relative description of
shapes, whether they are simpler, or more intricate or complex, as well as their positioning within a
considered multi-shape referential. Whether using this formalism, or any other method, any clarifica-
tion can be a positive contribute to an applicability, for instance to keep track, compare and account
modular shape formations in digital aided developments. The latter are outside the direct scope of
our work. To our concern, this is essentially a methodological insight on the potential of modular
shape formation, and a resource to apply in the remaining descriptions that follow.
195
5.4.3 TACKLING DEPENDENCIES
The approach that was followed in the initial AHP design presents a considerable amount of
different layout possibilities. This occurs both volumetrically, with the different shape combinations,
but also internally, given that the structure and external envelope can be understood altogether as a
sort of free void to be filled, with the internal walls able to cross different modules. While the latter
entails a world of possibilities, it also hosts more spatial or constructive dependencies regarding a
modular perspective. This can be a limitation for the potential of adaptability of a design, as well as
for its ex-situ production potential.
We have thus addressed endogenous adaptability (internal changes) and exogenous adaptability
(volumetric changes) aspects of the design system. We concluded that any main functional allocation
should be discretized within a module, namely kitchen (K), bedroom (B), living room (L), and dining
room (D). Thus, each would have to roughly correspond to a module, regardless any secondary func-
tional allocation that could fit within, namely the toilets, stairs or storage spaces. Also, internal parti-
tions defining secondary functional areas were no longer allowed to spatially belong to more than
one module, and instead be clearly discretized within each module, as in Figure 35a, thus reducing
dependencies. At most, these were tolerated in the modular threshold offset zone within certain con-
ditions.
For this, the self-imposed offset criteria envisioned that it either must be added area to one func-
tional space or to the other. The underlying principle is to avoid wasted interior space, by avoiding
redundant internal walls that had been dimensionally calibrated as external walls given the structural
constraints. Anyhow, in more detailed design stages, these considerations must consider needs for
infrastructural space. It should in all cases be present the concern in keeping the integrity of the
modular design, that is, insofar as maintaining the original alignments as much as possible (Figure
34). In a modularity context, whether with this or other criteria, this is a core matter since it addresses
the interface component of the modular design.
The modular optimization conducted to internal partitions to be contained within modules, or at
most to occur with variations within in their threshold offset limits, maximizing their constructive
independence. Moreover, since the most demanding spaces in terms of area allocation (e.g. a living
room), could, in their least, be contained within the modules’ dimensions, such meant that, in princi-
ple, the idea would be typologically feasible in every case. Alongside with restricting the constructive
dependencies between different modules, clarifying their interfaces via offset criteria, it rose a related
idea of establishing the vertical circulation areas to occupy approximately half module width. The
symmetrical layout meant that the staircase could be placed in equal terms on two different positions
in a module, and with it any functional space that shared the same module, such as a fully accessible
toilet if required (Figure 35).
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Figure 34.
Two examples of addressing modules’ interface, with application of threshold offset criteria, including some possible variations.
Figure 35.
Modular dependency reduction and improved symmetry in relation to the initial AHP design.
Figure 36.
Examples of (a) endogenous adaptability with typological variations from two symmetrical [1
1:3
2
1
] shapes, and (b) exogenous
adaptability from a [1
1:3
2
1
] base shape.
197
This simple tweaking has increased the module’s combinatorial possibilities, while it entailed a
simplification of the constructive principles. Concurrently, it contributed to enhance the endogenous
and the exogenous adaptability potential of the design system, as it can be verified with the examples in
Figure 36.
To validate the endogenous adaptability (Figure 36a), as a case-study, we used the most common
3-bedroom typology, set in two symmetrical [11:321] shapes in both levels. In it was observed that it
could be feasibly implemented an internal functional reorganization. In level 1, a bedroom can change
into a private zone of a new enlarged suite, with plenty of closet area or with a private reading room.
The space reserved for a fully accessible toilet in level 0, can be easily transformed into a smaller toilet
with a contiguous closet/storage area or into an enlarged hall zone with an informal function. Also
in level 0, an office/bedroom zone contiguous to the living room can easily be created by reserving a
part of it, without significant loss to the living room area. The zone of the toilet/kitchen can also be
easily changed into a smaller toilet plus storage space, or as an enlarged kitchen with plenty of dinning
space, and so forth. That is, it can easily evolve from t3 to t2 or even t3 to t4 and vice-versa, with plenty
possible configurations and without affecting the exterior of the building or its infrastructures. Addi-
tionally, there is a polyvalent quality to some of the house spaces, which easily allows interchangea-
bility on functional allocation.
It can be argued that some of this potential endogenous adaptability occurs because areas are
generous. Indeed, they are if compared with the legal minimum in Portugal. Nevertheless, these areas
are not over the average that can be found in the Portuguese real-estate market386. Anyhow, if it can
be true that it is harder to transform a smaller area, the issue does not end with the area argument
alone, since other constraints also must be considered, namely the form factor, which interferes in
the internal fit-out transformation potential, as well as its furnishing, not mentioning the infrastruc-
tural philosophy adopted, and so forth.
As to the exogenous adaptability (Figure 36b), again what was tested was primarily about the typo-
logical potential, and not so much the constructive aspects. Nonetheless, it should be technically feasi-
ble, contingent on the constructive principles in use, namely on the size/complexity of the components.
As a matter of simplification, and easier comparison and explanation, a [11:321] shape was again consid-
ered with a stabilized internal program. If one module of the m:(2, 3) is exclusively dedicated to entrance
and/or vertical circulation and/or toilet area, it can be generically said that each added module concep-
tually corresponds to a bedroom unit. In that sense, two modules correspond to t1, three to t2, four to
t3, five to t4, six to t5. This is valid for a building in an isolated a plot, otherwise one of the modules must
be kept free. Hence, from this assumption, and to ensure that every compartment would have contact
with at least one facade wall to have proper light and ventilation, the maximum typology considered
within this case was a t4.
198
5.4.4 OUTLINING A MINIMUM COMBINABLE UNIT
The purpose of exploring junctions between two or more shapes follows the need of assessing
how multi-shapes may behave, having in mind its modular optimization. By combining shapes, we
set a spatial/formal frame where to allocate functional elements. This means that junctions cannot
be made blindfolded and/or merely formally. Instead, they follow constraints that are both external,
such as those derived from regulations, or internal/self-imposed, such as those resulting from a cer-
tain design philosophy, or from functional requirements. When conducting a new design exploration,
the internal constraints will likely have to adapt to accommodate new developments, and new con-
straints may arise, all-in-all contributing to clarify the optimal limits of the study object.
As opposed to an independent m:(2, 3) derived shape, as it had occurred in the AHP, here we
have begun to explore how many functioning shapes we could fit into this grid. In this case, it is
primarily mandatory for the location of the vertical circulation within the grid to become flexible, as
opposed to be locked in a central location of the m:(2, 3), as it was in the AHP. That may not neces-
sarily be required in the least constrained detached scenario, where there is freedom of access to any
module from every direction. However, in more constrained settings, this can be harder, or even
impossible to achieve.
We have tested several scenarios for two level shapes within a m:(2, 3), starting by a combination
of two, then three, and finally of four shapes. Eventually combinations with more elements would
be possible. However, if growing in number of shapes within this or any other limited m:(v, u), they
necessarily decrease in size, and thus the ratio between horizontal/vertical circulation areas and useful
areas may lose efficiency. Moreover, if we have shapes formed by a one-to-one (i.e. 1-1) vertical
correspondence—as it occurs when we have six shapes over two floors in a m:(2, 3), where each
shape can only develop vertically—then we will have typologies which will be mostly dedicated to
vertical circulation, with little room for anything else. Thus, for area economy purposes, as a mini-
mum vertically developed shape, it makes sense to consider that, when a level has just one module, on
the other level there must be at least two modules—i.e. a 1-2 configuration. In the latter, we can have
a t0 typology as shown in Figure 37, which thus illustrates a minimum two-level dwelling unit.
Observing the examples of minimum shapes in Figure 37, it is noticeable that, despite (d) and (e)
cases are possible, they have much less available area for functional allocation since more is wasted in
circulation due to the stairs positioning. From the same base module (a), entrance points can occur in
all four orientations (Left, Right, Front, and Back), as long as a full accessible toilet is not required next to
the stairs on the base module (4), given it is not possible to deploy it in all cases in the other level.
Despite some faults, if we would have further levels to develop vertically, using two modules in
every level except for the base module, we could plausibly consider this scheme as viable in most cases.
Nonetheless, any such application would be constrained by the feasibility of an access path to the
199
Figure 37.
Example of four possible minimum shapes—(a)•(b), (a)•(c), (a)•(d), and (a)•(e)—over two levels, using the two different orienta-
tions, m:(2, 1) and m:(1, 2) given by the module’s asymmetry by the u:(7, 8).
base module, which would be depending on the design of the multistory building in which the shape
would be contained. Anyhow, since there are four possible entry directions and four possible devel-
opment directions on a subsequent level, this kind of layout can be extremely versatile.
For illustration purposes, following the full occupation case in a two-level configuration, we have
tested several combinations. We did not start directly by the arrangement of shapes, but by the ar-
rangements of numbers of modules between any two levels (Table 9). These have in the least a base
module, plus two on the other floor, or 1-2 configuration. From here we can derive multiple shape
variants, of which we have illustrated only a part (Figure 38).
In the simplest case, of which there was no point to illustrate, to fill two m:(2, 3) levels we would
have the entire space filled by a single shape, with a single arrangement possibility (i.e. a 6-6). Likewise,
on the opposite end, reducing shapes to a 1-1, we would also have a single possibility, which none-
theless would be non-efficient given that half of the internal space would be occupied with circula-
tion. However, as we have said, our minimum has been defined in a 1-2, and that is in fact the core
conclusion, given that it is what enables the diversity of arrangements within this grid as well as it
would in many other setups (Figure 39). However, we would have to use another configuration if
modules’ junction required to use direct stairs instead of 180º stairs. In that case the minimum con-
figuration would have to be a 2-2 (Figure 40 (d) and (e)).
200
(1) number of shapes (2) arrangements of numbers of modules between two
levels
(in left and right)
(a) (b) (c) (d) (e) (f) (g)
2 1-5
5-1
2-4
4-2
3-3
3-3
3 2-2
2-2
2-2
2-4
2-1
2-1
2-3
2-2
2-1
3-1
2-2
1-3
3-2
2-1
1-3
3-1
2-3
1-2
3-3
2-1
1-2
4 1-2
1-2
1-2
1-2
1-2
1-2
1-2
2-1
1-2
1-2
2-1
2-1
Table 9.
Possible arrangements of numbers of modules (base arrangements) in a m:(2,3), excluding the non-viable both extremes, the 6-6
and the 1-1 case. In each case left and right-hand sides of the hyphen separator are swappable without loss of generalization.
Figure 38.
Illustration of all of the different combinations within a m:(2,3), in which shapes have the same total number of modules in each
case, considering both levels—except (f), for comparison purposes. In (a), (b) and (c) are represented the two-shape cases, and in (d) and
(e) the three-shape cases.
Figure 39.
Examples of other formal possibilities using the 1-2 as core principle.
201
5.4.5 IMPROVING SYMMETRY AND BEYOND
We concluded that we could have significant gains in terms of combinatorial potential when mak-
ing the vertical circulation module symmetrical. Without loss of generalization of shape formation
and functional allocation on a m scope, we can further improve symmetry if instead of basing m on
a u:(8, 7), we base it on a u:(8, 8). As consequence, the potential for different junctions between
shapes is increased (Figure 40).
As we have seen earlier, we can substantially upgrade the original modules of a u:(8, 7) base by
inputting a symmetrical configuration to the staircase positioning. However, as shown on Figure 40b,
if we need to rotate the direction through which the 180º stairs are launched, we can no longer main-
tain the same principles. In the original design, these were oriented through the longer side. To allow
modules to rotate while keeping the same design principles, we would have to change stairs’ con-
struction. That would imply losses on both economies of scale in modular construction, but most
importantly, it would severely limit the stairs comfort and potential use, namely in terms of adapta-
bility to disabled users’ accessibility. Another vertical circulation alternative could be the direct stairs
(Figure 40d and Figure 40e). Anyhow, this is a far less versatile solution, given that it implies more
spatial dependencies—e.g. in Figure 41c and Figure 41d there is no other possible direction to launch it.
Figure 40
. Increased symmetry by using u:(8, 8) modules.
202
Figure 41.
Detailed example of the increased symmetry implications.
By improving symmetry, using square modules with u:(8, 8) dimensions, we are also implicitly
increasing modules’ areas. However, that extra area can also be decisive to assure minimum spatial
quality, particularly in more constrained cases, such as the allocation of a bedroom within a module
that is simultaneously used for circulation purposes (Figure 41e). Indeed, if we compare bedrooms,
in Figure 41d and Figure 41e, we observe that the added space enables a central bedroom with higher
standards and also that it is possible to even have another toilet allocated if necessary. Indeed, the
use of more area per module does not mean per se that area is being wasted. Instead, it can decisively
contribute to improve spatial standards.
For future development of the modular design, we think that it makes sense to evolve towards
compoundable smaller modules that may enable more varied outputs. As an example of how that
might occur, in Figure 42 we show modules of three interrelated sizes. The smaller is what we can
call of minimum functional unit, where we can allocate with ease most of the required functions in a
house. When we double its size, we can either have a second function allocated under similar con-
straints, or we can extend the area of a functional space, which can particularly make sense in the case
of a kitchen (K). We can extend the logic to when we triplicate the minimum unit size. As shown in
Figure 42d, the threshold offset criteria clearly arises as an essential modular design device. Appar-
ently, from what is shown in Figure 42e, this kind of three-module solution can lead to very diversi-
fied solutions. Intuitively, in the least it seems to have potential for a successful applicability in resi-
dential housing. This is ultimately due to its smaller grid. As we decrease modules’ size, we
increasingly may leave a ‘block’ appearance, and come closer to a continuum: an 8-bit space-invader will
never be as refined as it would in 32-bit.
203
Figure 42.
Illustration of what future developments may look like, using smaller modules as modular compounding base for more intricate
and varied outputs.
204
5.4.6 LIGHT AND VENTILATION CONSTRAINTS
In the original AHP design, shape junctions formed a single dwelling unit. Its m:(2, 3) grid was
strategically devised for all modules to benefit of at least a façade with direct contact with the exterior
for light and ventilation (d). However, when expanding grid dimensions, some modules will no longer
be able to have d, except in roof openings when no other modules are positioned above. Disregarding
the latter, and restricting to horizontal junctions, when using single row shapes, such as the [11:3], we
can combine more than a dwelling unit within a m:(2, 3) grid. However, there are only three of those
single row shapes derived from this grid—the [11], [11:2], and [11:3]—which limits potential horizontal
arrangements. Nevertheless, as we have earlier elaborated, working from limited scenarios can also
provide a useful insight in the formulation of the design’s modularity principles. On the other hand,
to do it with two-row shapes or bigger, such as the [11:321], the initial grid needs to be extended to at
least m:(3, 3) dimensions.
As depicted in Figure 43, using an m:(3, 3) configuration, we tested the fullest occupation scenario
in diverse urban settings. Working from a full occupation scenario, it can be assured that less intensive
setups, with shapes with less modules, can too function if given similar constraints. Finally, following
the purpose of testing junctions, the shapes should overlap somehow, that is, they could not be dis-
cretized in relation to one another in terms of their grid positioning, otherwise that would be equiv-
alent of considering them autonomously with no junction function. As a secondary consequence, the
combination of these rules implied a symmetrical configuration of the typologies in tridimensional
space. The exercise eventually allowed to extract some previously unnoticed aspects, that are related
with the maximum number of feasible consecutive modules and their spatial relations regarding d.
In these m:(3, 3) grid circumstances, the most limited scenario (Figure 43c) is where the double
dwelling blocks are in an attached urban setting, meaning there is only one free façade facing the
exterior where it is possible for d1 or d2 to occur. In this case, it was verified that a void must be left
open in the center of the m:(3, 3) grid, functioning as an interior patio, allowing d. In this circum-
stances, where only the center modules are left free, there are only two possible m:(3, 3) arrangements.
One uses a [11:3] and a [11:321,3] combined, while the other uses [11:321] shapes with different rotations
((4) and (5) in Figure 43c).
As to the second most constrained case (Figure 43b), the modules can be feasibly distributed to
occupy the entire grid space. Unlike in the previous scenario, in this case, with full occupation there
was no need to release the center module of the equation. In this circumstances, the feasible junctions
are the [11:322:3]•[11:323] and the [11:321:3]•[11:3]. Finally, as to the least constrained scenario, in a
detached setup (Figure 43a), it is possible to combine both the [11:321,3]•[11:322], the [11:322:3]•[11:323]
and the [11:321:3]•[11:3].
205
Figure 43.
Maximum occupation cases of simple junctions in a double dwelling scenario (dwelling a and b) of m:(2, 3) shapes under different
urban constraints: (a) detached, (b) semi-detached and/or semi-attached and (c) attached—d
0
, d
1
and d
2
correspond to the number of walls
with possible direct contact with exterior, dashed lines represent unfeasible modules and thick lines the d
n
walls. Without loss of generali-
zation, in this case we illustrate only examples with equal areas, and thus with symmetrical shapes. Numbers (1), (2) and (3) depart from
the same base illustrated in the (a) respective cases. In (c), numbers (4) and (5) are illustrate the ways out of the d induced constraints with
a void central module. In thick lines are eventual façades with d and in dashed line are impossibilities due to d constraints.
We can move to a generalization of the previous observations when questioning the limits of
joining consecutive modules in terms of their least as possible relation with their d1 or d2 conditions.
The rationale thus must leave the m:(2, 3) derived shapes and consider the modules in a more abstract
sense. For this, considerations must depart from external constraints, namely in legal aspects deter-
mining the minimum salubrity conditions. In that respect, we based our developments on the Portu-
guese legislation, that defines that when a room area is greater than or equal to 15m2, the depth must
be smaller than twice the width, except when the two opposite walls further apart have openings,
notwithstanding that it must be possible to inscribe within a circle of diameter with no less than
2,70m. From here, the maximum feasible linear shape—i.e. of a m:(1, u) kind—satisfying our modular
conditions is a four-module shape (Figure 44).
Disregarding legal considerations, it would still make sense to integrate this kind of proportion
constraints in practical terms, since it becomes a very difficult exercise to allocate main functional
areas requiring d when too many modules do not have a single d. The principle is sustained in a m:(1,
u) grid, but we can generalize it to other grids. So, consider a m:(v, u) grid, where both u and v are positive
206
Figure 44.
Linear limits given d constraints.
integers, and u ≥ v, and that we incrementally increase u and v a unitary step at a time. In these
conditions, we conclude that when both values are simultaneously bigger than 4, that it becomes
extremely hard (most likely impossible), to attribute a functionality to certain spaces within a dwelling,
since these cannot benefit from at least a d1. In this respect, we could eventually overcome this pro-
portion constraint if we considered aggregation of pairs of modules. However, in practice this would
mean that spaces were being set off scale, perhaps solving a problem, but creating spatial imbalances.
Particularly, we would be going against the spatial-dimensional characteristics of the design system as it
was conceived, and probably we would have to reconsider it deeply. From here we conclude that the
maximum feasible grid for a single dwelling theoretically is m:(4, u), with u ≤ 4.
Most modern housing examples rarely, if ever, reach these theoretical limits. Indeed, we conjec-
ture that in general most grids, as so considered from the observation of spaces of primary functional
attribution, present a m:(2, u) configuration, or at most a m:(3, u) configuration. In older examples,
we can find deeper typologies, particularly in dense urban scenarios, that may attain m:(4, u) dimen-
sions, but rarely more, and if so with skylights included, and anyhow not fulfilling modern require-
ments.
From a sustainability point of view, the relation between external surface areas and internal vol-
ume/area must not be overlooked when combining different shapes. As this relation increases, it also
augments the potential for d exchanges. These may be desirable from certain perspectives, e.g. aes-
thetically or by contributing for a saner spatial environment. However, these may also pose more
constructive issues—e.g. water-tightness, breathability/air-tightness, and so forth. Thus, they poten-
tially have more construction risk factors and more costs associated—e.g. internal partitions within a
larger volume are cheaper than building an equivalent number of external walls. Moreover, energeti-
cally it is a known fact that the more compactness in a building—understood as the least degree of
external surface in relation to interior volume, which is optimal in a sphere—the more the interior
volume will theoretically be protected from unwanted energy transfers.
207
5.4.7 THEORETICAL GRID CONSTRAINTS
There are infinite possibilities to establish grids and shapes within these, as starting from just one
shape-module [11] in a m:(1, 1) grid, we could reach a shape such as [1:v1:u]0:w in a m:(v, u) grid.
Nonetheless, there are limitations that are related with factors such as d, as well as economy or feasi-
bility, that constrain the maximum acceptable volume dimensions.
In a [11] shape, the four façades and the roof can be opened. When it gets to a [11:2], only 6 facades out
of 8 possible sides are available, and in a [11:3] there are 8 out of 12, and so forth. In the most basic case,
where we have a shape (s) of the size of the module (m) there are 4 total (t) façades, each corresponding
to a possibility of direct light or ventilation (d). However, when growing in grid size and dimensions it may
be useful to assess these figures in a clarified form, as presented in the expressions bellow (Figure 45).
expression for 3D (
u
,
v
,
w
), 2D (
u
,
v
, 1), or 1D (
u
, 1, 1; if
u
≥2)
(a) modules (m) m
uvw
=uvw
(b) total sides (t) t
uvw
=w(2uv+u+v)
(c) t with 5
th
façade (t
5
)t
5uvw
= w(2uv+u+v)+uv
(d) d modules d
uvw
=2w(u+v-2)
(e) d sides d
suvw
=2w(u+v)
(f) d sides with 5
th
façade (d
5
)d
s5uvw
=2w(u+v)+uv
(g) side connections (c) c=t-d
(h) side connections with 5
th
façade (c
5
) c
5
= t
5
-d
5
Figure 45.
Expressions for assessment of different grid scenarios.
5.4.8 ESTABLISHING A MINIMUM CIRCULATION
In the first typological test of the system into a multi-story housing building, we have implied an
expansion of the grid. In the example (Figure 46), we can observe a building design that uses a m:(3,
4), formed by u:(8, 7), analogous to dimensions used in the AHP. The expansion to a m:(3, 4) is due
to a self-imposed constraint of trying to keep as much as possible the m:(2, 3) derived shapes, to
which it must be added further modules to address common circulation functions within the building.
In the example, the two center modules are allocated to common circulation, and in level 0 there
is even a third module to provide access from the exterior to the central circulation area. All the
shapes are wrapped around it, which means that all their modules can have a d connection. The
exercise led to the [11:32131:2]0 shape (orange diagram) that already differed from the m:(2, 3) derived
shapes, using instead a m:(3, 3) grid. That could have been overcome by dividing that shape in two smaller
208
Figure 46.
Illustration of a basic case of multi-story adaptation, where it was necessary to add an exception to the m:(2,3) shapes in level 0.
Figure 47.
Unwrapping minimum circulation area in (a), (b) and (c), and circulation schematics in (d) and (e).
ones, in a [11:321]0•[31:2]0, [12:3]0•[112131:2]0 or [11:3]0•[2131:2]0, but option was to assume a bigger ty-
pology so to test additional circulation issues.
Given the characteristics of this case, in each level the shapes could be, so to say, unwrapped to form
a linear shape with the same topological characteristics in terms of their relation with the main circulation
areas within (Figure 47). If we generalize the procedure, we can say that the main circulation areas corre-
spond to the minimum circulation area, that is, the least area that allows access all main functional areas
within a dwelling shape (kitchen, living room, dining room, bedrooms). This does not need to be explicitly
established, such as in a corridor space. Instead, it can be implicit within a space, such as when crossing a
living room to access a bedroom, just as in the second row of the shape in the example (Figure 47a).
Whether or not explicit, a minimum circulation can be defined as a derivative of the minimum legal
width established for corridor space developed across a definable length. In the actual design develop-
ment, we have considered two types of horizontal circulation. One with net width of 1.1m, and the
other, for hall areas, with a net width of 1.5m to allow wheelchair accessibility. However, for these
methodological observations, to simplify area measurement purposes, we considered a gross area, with
the measure from the external side of a module’s 0.3m thick external wall, to the internal side of a 0.1m
thick partition wall defining a corridor, for a total gross width of 1.5m and a net corridor width of 1.1m.
209
Figure 48.
Minimum circulation in the enhanced AHP shapes.
Figure 49.
Percentages relation of the minimum circulation areas depicted in Figure 48.
0%
5%
10%
15%
20%
25%
30%
(a) (b) (c) (d) (e) (f) (g) (h) (i) (j) (k)
18.1%
6.5%
20.8%
24.1%
12.7%
4.9%
210
As modules increase in size, the percentage of minimum circulation area decreases in proportion.
However, if module’s get bigger, as in Figure 47e, this may signify that the main circulation areas must
unfold further to assure functionality, thus partially losing what would be the eventual gains. In our
case, since each module roughly corresponds to a main functional area (one-to-one), this is not an issue
(Figure 47d). Instead, from the one-to-one main functional allocation criteria, we can assume that in an
optimized solution, each strip of minimum circulation area can serve two main function areas, thus
reducing a theoretical 31.2% circulation percentage of the total area, to half (i.e. 15.6%) (Figure 47d).
If we apply the same methodology to m:(2, 3) shapes with u:(8, 8), we can observe some patterns that
enlighten on what an acceptable minimum circulation area can be in relation with the total area of the
modules (Figure 48). To assess it, we have tested every m:(2, 3) shapes in every possible entrance point,
and distributed circulation zones across the diverse modules so that, from that point, a minimum path
could be established to every module in each of the considered shapes. For simplification purposes, we
have discarded the redundant shapes resulting from rotation or reflection, and instead opted for repre-
senting their reflection axis and notating their unfolding possibilities. In these circumstances, the results
indicate that the minimum circulation mostly varies between around 10% and 18%. Of these, the largest
share is located between around 12.5% and 15%. Further detailing may lower these values. Nonetheless,
it can be conjectured their reasonability as a benchmark for reference of future developments (Figure 49).
5.4.9 FUNCTIONAL MAPPING STRATEGIES
As we increasingly clarify a design, we also become closer to a way of describing it algorithmically,
that is, through a set of rules that given an input can produce an output. In the AHP, we have dis-
tributed the housing program upon a shape or combination of shapes, over which finer adjustments
followed, in a roughly intuitive process. The starting point of that kind of approach is a formal desire.
However, the underlying logic of an algorithmic description works inversely, that is, form is raised
from the specification of an elementary structure of relations. These are ought to speak a logical
language, which may be far from intuitive.
This raises the need to use a different approach. The way to do it seems to be from an architectural
program starting point387, in this case, a housing program, that is emanated from a brief. By defining
a set of needs, transcribed in a system-constrained housing program, one can start on building the
functional relations, independently of how intricate the design is. Final shape will be accomplished
by successively building up these relations and will be terminated when all the housing program ele
ments are fitted and specific formal issues are met. The logic is analogous to establishing a functional
mapping to assess a product modularity. That is, we can outline the topological relations between
different functional zones of a design but only insofar as they are in a scope that we can define, i.e.
in the measure of the detailing we need or want to achieve.
211
Figure 50.
Algorithm development flowchart.
(a) (b) (c)
primary allocation label secondary allocation label circulation label
base module O supplement (storage, pantry, etc.) S horizontal circulation C
kitchen K toilet T entrance hall space H
bedroom B
v
ertical circulation (stairs) V
living room L kitchen I
dining room D
Table 10.
Functional labelling, to note that, given its specificity and range of different sizes (from full module to half module) the
Kitchen is here considered both for primary (as K) and secondary (as I) allocation.
Our housing program constrains were developed to define the total number of admissible house
compartments corresponding to a typology. We had previously clarified the modular scope, thus
setting the modular constraints input. Then, from a user inputted brief, we can inform a two-fold primary
functional allocation stage, with a part specifically for allocation and the other to establish topological
relations. The output of this part is what informs shape assembly at a modular scope. If we want to
detail it further, we need to proceed to the secondary functional allocation. The primary, secondary and
circulation spaces that are considered for a housing program requirement within our design system, as
well as their corresponding labels, are shown in Table 10.
Following a principle of modularity, we have defined that at a primary level we allocate a main func-
tional space to each module m of an m:(2, 3) scope. In a subsequent step, secondary functional spaces are
to be allocated within each of these main functional spaces. The secondary spaces S and T, are
admissible within any primary space; I only admissible in K; and V only within O and only if a second level
is required. The circulation spaces are not assignable, as they can be functionally defined by exclusion of
the remaining primary and secondary functional allocation. Nevertheless, these have a key role in the
definition of dimensional constraints that integrate both the primary and secondary functional spheres.
The total number of modules (m) required by a housing brief are defined with function to bedrooms
in the house, here named with the expression tb —standing for typology and number of bedrooms within.
Following the methodology, rules for primary functional assignment can thus be defined (Table 11). With
this set of rules, and given an inputted housing brief, it becomes possible to compute a primary housing
program for functional assignment. Without loss of generalization, based on the previous set of rules, we
have manually computed the results only for the simpler one level case house in a m:(2, 3) grid (Table 12).
212
1: For each
B
in
t
B
(except
t
0
),
m
must be at least
per B: m=1
per K: m=1
per L: m=1 except if L and D are not differentiated, then m(L+D)=1
per D: m=1 except if L and D are not differentiated, then m(L+D)=1
2: In terms of
t
b
definition, maximum number of
m
for each
B
in
t
B
comprehends a maximum of (except in
t
0
)
per B: m=2 meaning that for a certain of tb there is only one master-bedroom considered (i.e. a B with m=2). If there is more
than one master-bedroom with m=2, then tb increases level to tb+1, meaning there is only one master-bedroom for
the B value of a tb considered
per K: m=1
per L: m=1
per L: m=1
3: Minimum number of levels per house is 1
4: Maximum number of levels per house is 2
5: Per level, minimum
m
=2
6: Per level, maximum
m
=6
Table 11. Primary design brief assignment rules.
typology number of modules base program
t0 t
0 min 2 (O, K)
t0 - -
t0 max 3 (O, K, B)
t1 t
1 min 3 (O, K, B)
t1 4 (O, K, B, L)
t1 max 5 (O, K, B, L, D)
t2 t
2 min 4 (O, K, B, B)
t2 5 (O, K, B, B, L)
t2 max 6 (O, K, B, B, L, D)
t3 t
3 min 5 (O, K, B, B, B)
t3 - -
t3 max 6 (O, K, B, B, B, L)
t4 t
4 min 6 (O, K, B, B, B, B)
t4 - -
t4 max - -
Table 12. Primary housing program for a simple one level house, given Table 11 rules and a m:(2, 3) grid.
The subsequent step of program assignment is to use this information (Table 12) as input to its
placement within modules, which calls for further rules defining the relative positioning of each func-
tionally allocated module. The minimum tb, the t0 min, is also the base for allocation of further mod-
ules. Since modules will be positioned in a m:(2, 3) grid, the O is placed centrally in a [12] position,
and the K contiguously in a [11] position. Remaining rules for this stage are shown in Figure 51. More
than the specific rules that are being portrayed, the formalism that is applied serves the
methodological purpose of showing how this kind rationale can be further implemented.
The formalism we have used is not associated with any specific programming language. Instead,
it simply describes what would be the main lines for primary functional allocation purposes in mod-
ularly defined shapes under the devised design system. Using a similar formalism, we can transform
an outputted matrix of this algorithm into a set of topological relations between main functions,
which define the general circulation flows in the typology.
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Figure 51.
Algorithm structure to generate a random primary functional allocation from a given brief, for a generic case of a single level
typology of an m:(2, 3) scope.
214
Figure 52.
Algorithm structure for conversion of functional allocation into topological relations for a simple case of a single level typology.
Figure 53.
Example of derivation the set of rules for allocation (a) and topology (b), for a case given a O, K, B, B, L, D brief input.
Since shapes and sub-shapes are clarified in the modular design, we would not have to develop a
full algorithm for shape creation, as it would have to be, for instance, in a shape grammar fashion388.
Instead, shapes will be a consequence of a clarified functional mapping acting on the previously de-
fined modules’ physical and dimensional features, i.e. a primary functional allocation. This will define the
shape’s broad volumetric features, over which we can further detail the internal elements, i.e. a second-
ary functional allocation.
Secondary spaces are describable as subsets of the primary spaces. These must follow their own
dedicated brief, and obey a hierarchy of allocation. Each house requires an I, a T and an S as minimum
secondary spaces. Given its specificity, the kitchen is considered both as a primary (labelled K) and a
secondary (labelled I) space. The number of I (i.e. the iI) thus comes in first and is always iI=1. It
follows the number of T, that can be defined it in relation to the number of B, where iTmax=iB, iTmin=(iB-
1) for 2≤iB≤3 or iTmin=(iB-2) for iB≥3, and finally in a t0 typology, iT=1. As to the number of S, every
typology has an iSmin=1. For further cases, we can define it in relation to T, where 1≤iS≤(1+iTmax-
iTmin). The output conjunction of these elements is the brief of the secondary functional spaces.
215
Finally, the spatial integration of the primary and secondary elements follows the dimensional
constraints imposed by the circulation spaces (H and C). The distinction H and C is due to the dif-
ferent minimum dimensional requirements of each—1.5×1.5m for H, and a 1.1m width for C. Both
can be defined either implicitly or explicitly. Implicitly means that they can occur integrated in a wider
space than its own minimum dimensional requirements, for instance they occur via an L space—e.g.
the L in Figure 41c when moving from the entrance to the stairs. In this sense, H or C will be implicit
within any primary functional space. Explicitly means they go from a module to another through a
third module, thus having to physically separate the functional space from C—e.g. in Figure 41d or
Figure 41e. This is also what occurs between a primary and a secondary space. Thus, explicit circula-
tion is defined as from a secondary space, whereas the implicit circulation is non-definable. Finally,
in terms of housing brief, H has the specificity of occurring only once, and thus has to be
associated with a module or a pair of modules which are closer to a certain requested entrance
direction, definable through a precedent input.
5.4.10 THE MULTISTORY BUILDING
Throughout the work, we have already been showing some of the tested multi-story buildings and
their implications. The system proved to have a wide variety of possible applications. In a rural con-
text, the terrain dimensions may not constitute a major problem. Conversely, in urban spaces, this is
typically a core issue. Indeed, given the higher land prices in urban settings, it matters to explore
architectural solutions enhancing spatial and aesthetical qualities, and that at the same time look out
with versatility for an optimized use of land. The initial structural technology, using CFS elements,
roughly withstands 4 or 5 levels, and thus the multistory typological studies targeted it389.
In the first studied cases, the focus was on the single-family housing units with a maximum of
two floors. A solution was developed that started from a maximum implantation polygon that allowed
an elevated number of associations, both as isolated building and a compact urban solution. While in
the first cases a direct connection from the street to the interior of the house was possible, in the case
of the multi-story collective dwellings it is necessary to use complementary modules, such as common
staircases and elevators, to assure this connection from the street to the dwelling interior. In this case,
a few variations of some classical building distributions were developed, namely option with direct
entrance from a common hall (i.e. left right apartment building type) and gallery type.
As expected, given the modular characteristics, the typological explorations of direct entrance
cases proved to be feasible with minor adaptations. In the first case (Figure 54b), a central core is
used to make the vertical connections within the building. Here all the living modules are directly
facing the exterior, and so can benefit of d. The implementation is possible both with u:(8, 8) as with
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u:(8, 7) modules. However, the latter requires some adjustments to assure a sound functional alloca-
tion. The ideal scenario is nonetheless the u:(8, 8), which as we knew assures symmetry at an optimum
degree. At an urban level, since this type of building only allows facade superposition in the external
corners of the building—where the modules are of a d2 kind, thus when superposed reducing to a
still feasible d1 kind—its use with contiguous buildings would be limited, therefore requiring some
degree of plot isolation.
The second tested case of direct entrance (Figure 54a) was a symmetrical arrangement of two
m:(3, 3) zones, intermediated by a core of m:(2, 1) set for common areas plus, a third module which
can be freely attached to any of the main blocks of modules. The first verification was that of the five
modules that can potentially connect with the vertical core, only a maximum of four simultaneous
direct entrances from the same common hall are possible. The main differences with the first case
are that not every module can connect directly with the exterior. Moreover, a wider spectrum of
shapes is allowed, with more possible combinations. Finally, using either a u:(8, 8) or a u:(8, 7) does
not imply significant layout changes. Anyhow, as in the previous case, some adaptations were
needed. Namely, there is a shape junction that may be particularly prone to use direct stairs. As in
the previous building, the urban use of this solution is limited to isolated plots.
Finally, two solutions of gallery distribution were studied, the first using an external type of gallery
(Figure 54c1), the second implementing a mirrored variation of the first in terms of common circu-
lation areas (Figure 54c2). Aside this difference, both are essentially analogous solutions. The detailed
gallery solution (Figure 55 and Figure 56), proved to have quite a direct application of the m:(2, 3)
shapes, working either with an u:(8, 7) or a u:(8, 8). It allows parallel junctions, both horizontally
and vertically, as well as misaligned junctions between floors within the same dwelling fraction.
Moreover, it is quite easy to create excavated verandas in every floor and/or patios in the top
floors. It is quite reasonable to think of an endless expansion of the length of this building, making
it extremely feasible for urban implementation either if is in isolated or laterally closed plots.
217
Figure 54
. Multi-story diagrams.
Figure 55.
External gallery solution diagram.
218
Figure 56.
Detailed gallery solution.
219
5.5 The prototype
5.5.1 MODULARITY, CONSTRUCTION AND SUSTAINABILITY
The array of hypotheses within a modular system underlays a dimensional regulation which has
production control purposes, while still enabling a great deal of exploratory latitude. These principles
are, to a great extent, lined up with the 1960’s much in vogue modular research and standards crea-
tion, or even earlier research. However, these principles do not necessarily make sense today. Indeed,
current technologies, such as CNC, automation, or 3D printing, enable a more feasible production
of non-standard material dimensions than it used to in the past.
Nonetheless, normalized sizes are still cheaper in most cases due to their larger production scales.
For instance, in the case of OSB boards used in the prototype construction, these are provided in
standardized dimensions by the manufacturer. Depending on the intents, the boards can be used in
their original sizes, or be cut-to-fit the specifications. However, cutting can hardly occur without
producing some sort of material waste, and not without energy consumption in the cutting, trimming
or screwing machines, or not without involving labor time. The same analogously applies for most
materials used in the construction. Whereas some materials have a greater reuse or recycling potential
than others, waste production in result of the construction process is nonetheless unavoidable.
Furthermore, given multiple factors and even if best intended so, deconstruction for repair and
maintenance or after life-cycle end of a building is hardly a clean-cut process. Among other reasons,
this contributes for a non-correspondence between the reuse and/or recycling potential of a certain
material (if used by itself or combined with other) and the verifiable reuse and/or recycling rate. The
case of steel is a good example in this domain, since it has a nearly 100% recycling potential.
Downstream a likely more optimized, large-scale production plant, any of these operations will
have their cost increased. As we have verified during the prototype development, under the current
technological stage, even if attempting to follow these modular principles to the extreme, construc-
tion without these sort of costs is but a utopia. Indeed, one of the initial goals set for the construction
was to make it with the least waste as possible. To some extent, that can be achieved in a design stage,
attempting to exhaustively predict it. However, when facing some construction issues, the exercise is
not always easy to put in practice. Furthermore, when adding further criteria such as for the con-
struction components to be easily transportable, including considering their fitting into ship contain-
ers, and thereby further limiting the maximum dimension of the components, the number of variables
necessarily increase and it becomes harder to keep track of waste.
Nonetheless, mitigation measures in this respect, such as those embodied by lean production
principles, can be implemented. There is a break-even threshold between what may be useful prac-
tices to improve the design or the construction, and the time or money investment it takes to get to
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it. The design process is a dynamic process, and such break-even is often hard to understand on the
go. Furthermore, in some contexts it is just better to keep on using ordinary, time validated proce-
dures, and not rushing in implement cutting-edge innovations. As history tells us, good tools and
practices are typically the result of a slow evolutionary path, where social or technical assessment and
recognition takes its time to test and eventually settle.
The u grid was theoretically optimized for a cold-formed steel structure, and though of in terms of an
easy adaptation to a multitude of standardized materials to use inside or outside the house. None-
theless, the typological architectural principles it gave birth to could have also been feasibly used with
different structural elements, i.e., the same design system can be used with a different kind of structure.
Such is certainly in debt to the abstract character of the design exercise, which in turn ascribes to a
topological nature of the modular device. Divergences between the exercise level, and some of the
technological peculiarities of the construction, would only arise in a late stage, during the prototype
construction. Some of these would contradict the initial constraints, and if had been previously
known, the initial design principles would likely had been devised differently. Anyhow, at some point,
the approach inevitably became independent of constructive constraints.
5.5.2 BUILDING THE PROTOTYPE
A proof-of-concept building, full-scale prototype was built out of the AHP design. The develop-
ment of more detailed building drawings went through several stages, with natural advances and
setbacks. Built by the Coolhaven company, the prototype solution was based on the most requested
typology (3 bedroom detached house), like the illustrated case in Figure 25, yet using u:(8, 8) dimen-
sions.
A multidisciplinary team worked together for this purpose. A close work had to be developed
with the architecture and the different specialized contributions, as well as with the industry. The
greatest transversal concern among all the participants was to confer the best possible sustainability
to the project, which included energy efficiency simulations, lifecycle assessments, fire and stability
tests. This included meetings with several suppliers set to develop innovative solutions, from special
semi-transparent solar panels to eventually use in the façades, to the consideration of different do-
motic systems, efficient water heating systems, or the use of phase-changing materials to improve the
buildings’ thermal behavior.
For several reasons, not all solutions ended up being applied. Moreover, inherent difficulties and
incongruences were found during the final planning and construction process. These were mainly
due to the prototypical and experimental character of the design and to the need to present visible
results within a tight schedule, in which the typically slower pace of research has a hard time to follow.
221
Besides the aspects which are normally taken in consideration in any building, such as orientation
and spatial qualities, several principles guided the concerns from the start. Aside implementing envi-
ronmentally sound technologies, the building was to show the potential of different spatial layout
arrangements. These had to be coordinated with a proof of ease of installations maintenance han-
dling. To attain it, the kind of materials considered were to be apt for both construction and partial
deconstruction to enable access to dedicated piping and wiring.
Another concern was for the building parts to be optimized for containerization, that is, consid-
ering a virtual 2D deconstruction of the building parts. Finally, the building had to meet the expecta-
tions that the technology and processes in use, comparatively with current construction methods,
would not only significantly reduce the total construction period, but evidently also turn it cost-com-
petitive. Overall, the prototype served not only as proof of the set targets, but as test the very limits
of what conceptually had been defined, going beyond them as it was feasibly possible.
The devised principles established that, structurally, the construction would be made of independ-
ent, cube-like modules, like a tridimensional cube made of post and beam set side-by-side. The struc-
ture it is as if a tridimensional frame, made of composed post and beams, whose corners are laid in a
rammed steel piles foundation and can be staked upon each other. Since such foundation only leaves
a few visible spots in the ground, it dramatically minimizes the building’s footprint, allowing a total
ground reestablishment in case of future deconstruction (better only if mobile). Cold-formed steel
parts are used to make the composed posts and beams. Since steel is priced by weight, arguably, these
have a competitive cost over hot-rolled steel profiles, since they are lightweight comparatively. Yet in
the end, these also require a higher processing, which in non-automated manufacturing environments
may, in the end, result costlier. Being also an experimental structure, the initially proposed structural
design ended up requiring additional bracing on the corner junctions, to better withstand lateral
forces. Initially, one of the ideas for the column design, besides keeping it a minimum to maximize
free wall space, was to make it somehow has a hollow and accessible shape in order to fit required
installations within it. In the end, although applied, given a higher amount of installations than
initially expected, its effectiveness was more reduced than anticipated.
Despite the difficulties, and of some degree of constructive experimentalism, which ultimately
lead to solutions that could only be optimized in subsequent projects, it took only three months to
complete the construction, which can be regarded as a great improvement, considering the rough
average estimates for the Portuguese reality. If compared with other approaches worldwide, it is our
belief that, in optimized circumstances, the design potentially would take just two or three weeks to
be fully built since design completion.
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Figure 57.
Prototype construction,
(a,d) ground floor structure, (b,c) in-
frastructure through structure, (e)
v
apor barrier, (f) exhaustion through
structure, (g,i,
j
) stairs, (h) first floor
structure (cont.)
223
224
225
Figure 57 (cont).
Prototype construc-
tion, (k) OSB over structure, (m) fin-
ishing external layer (l,n) concluded
raw elements.
226
5.6 Revisiting the prototype
5.6.1 THE COMPANY
The business structure of the company created after the AHP project, has gone through several
changes since its inceptions. This results from many factors, but with economics in the lead. The core
activity output has changed in concordance with a new market focus.
The company has been moving away from a turnkey concept, which was its initial business focus.
The CEO’s words sum it up: “the turnkey is a nightmare... its logistics is a nightmare… the customer is a
nightmare”. On the one hand, old, enrooted constructive habits, more or less artisanal, are part of a
constructive culture that ends up being a great source of inertia to the realization of the projects.
Furthermore, residential house client’s indecisions, change of mind, or lack of assertiveness, meant
too much resources can be entropically lost, diverged to activities that add no value to the outputs,
and thus to the business itself.
Another important change that took place is the moving away from an environmental sustaina-
bility focus, particularly in the field of energy and life-cycle R&D. At one point, it became clear that
the investment to obtain competitive solutions in this domain was out of the scale that the company
could support. There would still be left the ‘green’ marketing, which, however, proved to have limited
effectiveness. In a business perspective, in the first instance, this may even be appealing, connecting
the customer. However, when the critical moment comes for client decision-making, it all seems to
fall on the economic component. Sustainable practices are nonetheless hardwired in the company’s
backbone, at least in its continuous search for optimizing constructive solutions.
Given that “the sustainability that matters first is that of the company”, as referred by the CEO, they
ended up looking for a focus on the skills and markets that could bring greatest benefits. In agree-
ment, it is their belief that those in Portugal looking for prefab solutions are mainly looking to econ-
omize in relation to more ordinary constructive solutions. In fact, for better or worse, the price-point
is the typical focus marketing strategies of prefab companies in Portugal. Anyhow, that is not a guar-
anty for the customer, since the final cost has many other aspects to take in consideration besides the
design system or the structural philosophy.
The company is currently focusing on the R&D of modular components for a business-oriented
clientele, thus now positioned more as industry suppliers than as contractors. As consequence, the
national market plays a secondary role now. Instead, they are exporting to European countries with
stronger economies, particularly for France. The focus is on 2D constructive solutions (panel con-
struction or the like) and no longer 3D (volumetric) as they had equated at a certain point. The latter,
which they tested, essentially posed logistical difficulties that drastically reduced the competitiveness
potential of such solutions.
227
Figure 58.
Robot manufacturing modular panels. Robot #1: (a) loading substructure; (b) deploying substructure to place; (c) loading board;
(d), (e) deploying board. Robot #2: (f) fastening board to substructure.
Anyhow, at the core of the company subsists an idea of modularity. However, they also note the
difficulty of implementing modularity in some contexts. That has particularly occurred when they
had to adapt their modular solutions to projects that had been developed independently and without
any though in that perspective.
They affirm that the cost of their products is not necessarily higher nor lower than ordinary solu-
tions. Nonetheless they believe they can attain high standards while delivering within demanding
production scales. The highly adaptable modular 2D solutions they develop are able to be incorpo-
rated into different architectural programs—they have built houses, but also schools and nursing
homes. Moreover, these are also highly prone to industrialize, attested by development of an experi-
mental robot technology for panel manufacturing (Figure 58).
Nevertheless, investment plays a huge role in industrializing practices, and financing not always
goes as desired. For instance, they intend to acquire a steel profiling machine, so they could be more
independent from suppliers, but they have not managed to do it yet because of the high financial
engagement required. Ironically, since they are mostly working with markets with stronger econo-
mies, one of their current competitive advantages seems to be the comparatively lower labor cost.
5.6.2 THE PROTOTYPE
Aside being in and of itself a showroom of the company’s products and services—a house-in-
display—the building also became the firm’s headquarters. It is from there that both management
and design teams have their main base to workout decisions. There have been some minor changes
in the layout, with a partial glass enclosing of the space corresponding to a living room in the ground
floor, making it more sound-proof to have meetings and the like. In the exterior, there has also been
some minor changes, namely in the pavements connecting to the entrance. Anyhow, the building has
228
withstood both program and physical changes with ease. On its own, this validates the intentions of
flexibility and adaptability that had been set forth since early design stages.
Overall, in its daily use, space distribution and area proportions seem to satisfy its users. Denoting
it, an unscheduled visit showed that although it is clearly a busy workspace, particularly in the level 1,
seemingly fitting the needs comfortably. The level 0 areas, with more of a social character, also seems
to satisfy for a coffee or lunch break, or for informal meetings. The kitchen space has notoriously
been appropriated, with some domestic appliances included—a coffee machine, a microwave and a
fridge—as well as a table and chairs, and some other objects, such as cups, magnets or a plant, overall
giving it a domestic, personalized character.
From a constructive point of view, there are few things to point out. The foundations solution
(point by point piles, that had been opted to minimize the use of concrete and to favor LCE decon-
struction) have had a slight give way. Nevertheless, that has been swiftly solved, and did not carry
relevant consequences, given the relative flexibility of the structure and the main materials. With this
exception, at the level of constructive pathologies, there is nothing to point out, demonstrating the
resilience of the constructive solutions adopted.
From the thermal behavior point of view, the prototype seems to satisfy its users, both in winter
and summer. The feature taken as key in this domain are the efficiency of the window frames, allied
with the air renovation system that uses underground stable temperature to deliver a controlled, en-
ergy efficient, air circulation. In a summer context, the effectiveness of outdoor shading is the point
mentioned. However, there are complaints about the fragility of the screens that do it from the exte-
rior, because they seem to easily escape from their guides, and must be collected when stronger winds
occur—in fact, in the north façade they are permanently raised. The use of higher thermal inertia
materials in some strategic places, namely as a surface plate laying over the floor structure, right
beneath the pavement, is also perceived as having a positive role. Anyhow, overall, fears associated
with negative impacts of a construction making mostly use of low thermal inertia materials so far
have been proven wrong.
The acoustics also seems to satisfy, both from external noises, as from internal propagation. The
materials, with a high thickness of thermal/acoustic insulation both from the outside, as in between
floors and main partitions, are certainly contributors to this aspect.
The issue of floor vibration due to the use more flexible materials, which is often taken as a
negative aspect in this kind of construction, does not seem to bother users much. In fact, we only
feel it if we are standing still and someone jumps somewhere. Users are used to the normal vibrations
of walking, and thus they do not notice it. Moreover, there are no noises attached, no scrapping or
squeaking sounds, which minimizes eventual negative impacts in this matter.
229
Figure 59.
Finalized prototype.
230
231
III Practical Conclusions on a
(Pre)Fabricated Architecture
Here we will sum up aspects that we consider to likely have an impact in the development and
implementation of house prefabrication practices. Whereas some of these can be directly discernable
from the elements described throughout the thesis, others derive from historical and socio-cultural
related aspects390 that are only referred in the Annex Volume, or from conclusions arising from the
development and construction of the house prototype. The concern was to depict stricter aspects of
prefabrication and modular construction related with housing purposes, but also to reflect aspects of
a broader scope of the building and architectural activity that hopefully contribute to a better and
more holistic understanding of the problematics.
1 ON AN IDEA OF PREFABRICATION
A broad-term. Throughout history, there is a wide diversity of house prefabrication examples, mak-
ing it a rich field of exploration, but also making it harder to extract unequivocal assumptions
on a definition or a corpus of knowledge on the subject391. As any building practice, different
options in the diverse stages must be considered.
Prefabrication scope must be defined in each case. As a broad-term, prefabrication can be mistaken
with terms such as systems construction, rationalized construction, standardization, industri-
alized construction, and so forth. Although generally embedding the spirit of these, when mak-
ing use of the term, it primarily matters to specify the scope of the respective approach.
Prefabrication has been associated both with positive and negative aspects. Positive aspects are often
related with state-of-the-art construction practices and/or a techno optimist attitude. Negative
connotations are normally related with socially stigmatized examples, arising from low-stand-
ard practices, associated construction pathologies, and so forth.
232
2 TERRITORIAL CONSIDERATIONS
Construction environments. There are different construction cultures at a country and/or regional
level, with roots usually traceable to natural conditions, vernacular built forms, or socio-cul-
tural practices in the respective territories.
Socially recognizable archetypes. Likewise, the use and acceptability of different materials and
forms can have territorial variations based on socially recognizable archetypes, or on more or
less clarified ideas of tradition. This affects aspects such as quality perception, and eventually
undermines the development of new or innovative solutions at an aesthetical or constructive
level.
Political frames. The political conditions can too vary country and/or regionally wise. This affects
aspects such as the potential risks and benefits of construction investment, namely in politi-
cal/fiscal uncertainty, attitude towards investment, enforceability of contracts, or eventual in-
centives.
Administrative issues. Bureaucracy, communication and transportation networks, legal aspects, ad-
ministrative machines, social and work conditions, or general economic environment, are also
aspects to address when considering different territorial realities.
Building regulations. Technically, attention is required in exporting or adopting imported systems,
namely in some regulations specificities, such as fire and earthquake, and so forth.
3 ECONOMY AND VALUE
Main variables of the economy/value equation. The competitiveness of any economic activity is sub-
jected to an economy and value relation, which can be measured in the intersection of the
output vectors of quality and scope, cost and time. Likewise, the overall architectural equation
is subjected to a ponderation of both its delivered quality—which can be understood as value
for client—and economy related factors, in order to deliver the envisioned design/construc-
tive purposes in a satisfying manner.
Output vectors: quality and scope, cost and time. Quality and scope are interrelated elements that
can generally be defined as desirable aspects of a product. Things well made can be said of
having quality. Their features, or what they may induce, such as intrinsic characteristics and/or,
eventually, their optional aspects, can be referred as scope. Cost and time are also bounded
elements that can be defined as non-desirable aspects, thus constraining the quality and scope.
Typically, there is a direct correspondence between quality/scope and cost/time. The million-
dollar question is how to increase quality/scope in a greater degree than the cost/time.
233
Contextualizing variables. No single factor in the overall building equation should be considered
independently. For instance, material cost does not correspond to final cost after the building
is concluded—e.g. bricklaying can be expensive from a labor perspective, although bricks
themselves can be relatively inexpensive. Indeed, aside direct costs, labor or time related fac-
tors, such as workers income, safety, building site management, or overall production logistics,
are also to take in consideration, influencing in the economy, and consequently in the quality
of the building product.
Competitiveness factors. Satisfactory answers to attain an economically competitive edge in con-
struction processes must address aspects such as labor replacement, logistics and quality issues.
In labor replacement, it must essentially be pondered which method will allow a faster final
assembly time, and thus it is least voluminous/complex and/or requires least in-situ finishing.
In logistics, it must essentially be pondered the in-situ storage space requirement versus just-
in-time delivery capability. In quality, it matters to assure the greatest degree of finished prod-
uct as possible (or OPP postponement), attaining a greater quality control on the components
of the building assembly, but also knowing that the greater the postponement, the more con-
strained options will be.
4 COMMERCIAL CONSIDERATIONS
General reasons for commercial success. General reasons for success seem to be associated with
aspects such as innovative selling schemes, knowledge of the market, or availability of
choice. Business timing and opportunity can also be a decisive driver for commercial
success—e.g. the mass-produced, all similar, Quonset Huts (1941-present)—or conversely
the main reason for its failure—e.g. Packaged House (Wachsmann & Gropius, 1941-1952).
Technical factors for commercial success. The most successful cases in terms of built units generally
do not denote particularly remarkable architectural qualities or even concern for that matter
(e.g. Sears Catalogue Homes, 1908-40). Anyhow, business success seems to overall be related with
reliable constructive methods, and aesthetical or spatial flexibility—e.g. an open prefab system
allowing different architectural design languages, or a flexible system of partitions allowing
different architectural layouts, adding/removing volumetric parts, and so forth.
Broad social support. Looking to places such as the USA, Japan or Scandinavia, where prefab tech-
nologies are of common use, and even considered traditional to a large extent, it is verifiable
the existence of a strong social support. In the lack of such, risk of unsuccessful outcomes can
increase. A sudden attempt to implement alien technologies, even if these are proven to be
extremely good, will struggle to succeed.
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Commitment and persistence from multiples actors in the building industry. Steady, continuous efforts
are required to achieve design and construction quality standards, but also involving consider-
able investment in marketing strategies. The XIXth century pattern books are a good example
on the introduction of technologies to the masses, while highlighting the relevance of publicity,
showing that a broad range of skills and expertise must be involved, and that technical quality
of the outputs per se is not enough.
Integrated innovation and financial robustness. New technological developments in construction
need to be properly framed within the existing constructive methods and construction busi-
nesses ecosystem, i.e. to be understood and accepted so to successfully be put into use. Overall,
these factors put a financial pressure on prefab businesses, which will inevitably require a sub-
stantial financial support to withstand wait for an investment return. In principle, this means
that the bulk of companies within the construction industry (mostly SME’s), are likely unfit to
single-handedly support innovative developments in this field on a medium/long run.
5 CLIENTS’ BIAS, RESISTANCES AND PRECONCEPTIONS
Low-quality bias. Prefab biases are typically related with low-quality examples of the past, such as
post-war prefabs, or concrete panel systems, which have been widely associated with construc-
tion pathologies. These occur without the knowledge of good quality examples, helping to
build an uninformed negativity towards it.
Aesthetical bias. Likewise, a prefab terminology associated with aesthetical features of these past
examples, such as visible joints, flat roofs and the like can be suspiciously regarded.
Lifestyle bias. There can also be lifestyle-related prejudice and preconceptions, as in the case of
the mobile homes in the USA.
Conservative spirit. There is empirical evidence of an attachment to an idea of tradition and/or a
conservative spirit in housing, related with both material and aesthetical preconceptions, as
illustrated through the three little pigs tale. Technically this can translate to seemingly robust
materials, proper weather adequacy, fire resistance, good structural stability, and so forth. For-
mal preconceptions may result from how a material form fits a certain local or regional context,
but also from inculcated socio-cultural bias, and reflects a certain nostalgia of the past, as well
as a sense of ontological security that is inevitably bonded in an idea of home. Likewise, a con-
servative attitude can also be related with what can be called the fear of the unknown, or simply a
legitimate intention to express oneself within a social milieu, or not least as of making sure that
a lifetime investment is proceeded satisfactorily.
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Resistance to innovative solutions. There is thus a likelihood of bias over less conventional housing
forms or seemingly more radical types of design, e.g. (hyper)modern aesthetics, unfamiliar con-
structive solutions. Some of it has to do with inculcated aspects, but it can also be explained
by the perception that it can affect value and mortgageability. Nevertheless, the acceptability
of less ordinary forms may vary with age and/or with socio-cultural background, generally
with younger people and first-time buyers more open to different forms and materials.
Maintenance costs expectancy. A newly built or extensively renovated house may induce a wrong
expectancy that maintenance costs will not be required for many years. On the medium/long
run, at a social level, this potentially causes distrust and/or lack of predisposition to engage in
less ordinary solutions as they are proposed.
6 CLIENTS’ ATTRACTIVENESS FACTORS
Financing and Costs. Financing aspects (e.g. mortgageability) are typically the primal concern
among clients, comparatively setting a minor relevance to design issues (e.g. aesthetics, plan
layout), or technological features (e.g. construction materials, maintenance). The perspective
of a lower direct capital cost, energy savings, or low investment risk due to technological fea-
tures, can be persuasive arguments.
Avoiding reference to past, biased examples. Generally, to attain attractive solutions, seems to be
important to avoid visual reference to the examples perceived as bad in the past. Therefore, it
may often be best to disguise prefabs as conventional solutions, or at least not make them ex-
plicitly like known biased types. Particularly in countries where there is no prefabrication tradi-
tion, an acceptable prefab house may be one that does not look like it is prefabricated.
Location, location, location. In one way or another the adage location is everything can generally be
applied as a key argument for attractiveness.
Design and Space. Architectural quality, larger areas and/or more rooms are generally persuasive
arguments if not meaning comparably significant extra costs.
Diversity of houses and living environments. Diversity of houses, subscribing exclusivity, or of living
environments, may potentially be attractive factors. Without significant loss of productive ef-
ficiency, these can be attained by providing a reasonable range of finishing’s material, enabling
layout flexibility, or providing external areas in which inhabitants can adapt to their needs and
wishes and so forth.
Flexibility/Adaptability. There is thus eminently a demand for open, flexible and/or adaptable
spaces. For instance, additional bedrooms or reasonable storage spaces may be given un-
planned uses such as for office, children’s playroom, or other activities. Depending on the
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constraints set forth by the design this can be achieved through a dimensional provision that
allows ease of change overtime, through ease of dematerialization of partition walls, or by
hardwiring movable elements such as partitions or furniture.
Mobility/Acessibility. Further stressing flexibility/adaptability aspects, are the requirements for ease
of mobility/accessibility, particularly in what concerns elderly users, or people with different
sorts and degrees of handicaps.
Material preferences. The material preferences are not universal. Some people may prefer solid
appearance, with brick or uniform coating, others a rustic cladding with timber or stone, or
instead clean looks with concrete or glass, and so forth. Generally, the young might be more
amenable to unconventional solutions.
Ontological security. In brief, a prefabricated house must be able to retain a feeling of ontological
security, and a dwelling sense, which by no means should be inferior to other construction
methods for comparable outputs.
7 PEOPLE AND THE CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY
Resistance to prefabrication. Whether using prefabrication or other methods, there is a general
notion that construction processes must follow a continuous evolutive path. Nevertheless,
there is a latent resistance to prefabrication related practices involving both rational and irra-
tional biases among all the groups involved—developers, professionals, clients, purchasers,
and so on. Concerns are generally based on a sense of a bad historical experience, more than
with any real present evidence. Among the professionals, it can be found in those whose vision
on prefabrication is not properly informed. Developers often fear compromising image and
long-term value. The financial and/or insurance sectors still tend to penalize prefabrication
methods over others, due to claims of greater fire risk, more susceptibility to the arousal of
construction pathologies, and so forth. Despite the facts, there is no particular evidence that
people share antipathy towards prefabrication per se, meaning opportunities are out there for
developers to shape their businesses more like other industries, developing innovative solu-
tions, as long as improvements can be demonstrated and backed up by suitable guarantees.
Direct capital and maintenance costs perception. To a prospective house buyer the direct capital cost
is typically more highly prioritized than the avoidance of future costs, since those are less vis-
ible or harder to assess when formulating a subjective notion of a good deal. Among these,
the maintenance costs are particularly not greatly considered, with the general view being that
a new house should have no maintenance costs unless there is something wrong with it.
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Product/Process. Generally, the public focuses on the house primarily as a product, and the con-
struction industry focuses on the house primarily as a process. However, there are signals of
some developers seeing prefabrication as relating to the notion of product rather than process.
That can be worrisome if achieved through bypassing some key development stages, related
with design, the role of the client, and so forth.
Reducing in-situ labor weight. There is a general notion that is necessary to reduce in-situ skilled
labor weight and/or wet construction processes to improve output vectors.
High-standards and reality. The generality of developers publicly claim they achieve high-standards,
although commitment to innovation can be very partial among individual developers.
Political drivers. In Europe, the effects of political targets, such as the 2020 Directive on the con-
struction market, is generally regarded as an important driver for change.
Hearsay truths. Developers’ assertions about the optimum house and its marketability are largely
based on hearsay information that is not challenged, as time or funds lack to try alternative
models. That can be particularly noticeable in some eco-friendly, or sustainable trends, which can
often be more the result of marketing, than of deeply addressing the issues.
8 THE PUBLIC AND THE ARCHITECT
Aesthetical bias. More or less subjective, more or less born out of a lack of knowledge or architec-
tural culture, architects are often biased as those that design extravagant or radical shapes, or use
modern lines that have no emotional value, and so forth.
Technical bias. Other biases, follow preconceptions of an eminently (pseudo)technical tone. That
can be denoted in common expressions such as house with no roof is no good, or visible joints make
it seem like postwar prefabs, thus probably water leaks inside, which nonetheless typically work as
prosaic justifications for opting for a traditional type instead of a modern type. Anyhow, when
modern forms become known by the public, they too can become objects of desire.
Architectural fees myths. There is a common perception that recurring to architect’s services can
be expensive or even a luxury. However, in many cases, that preconception can backfire on
the very customers that opt not to use the architectural services, reflected either on the overall
bill, or by qualifying buildings below acceptable standards.
Subjectivity of the architectural profession. To some extent, the architectural profession is guided
by intersubjective knowledge, reflected in aesthetic or stylist memes and the like, which the
public not always follows (and does not have to). The prefab examples regarded positively
among pairs are often related with a strongly recognizable authorship (e.g. Case Study No. 8,
Charles and Ray Eames, 1945-1949) or iconic architectural projects (e.g. Habitat ’67, Moshe
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Safdie, 1962-67). Those likely constitute a reflex of the typical architectural education of the
professionals, recognition among professional pairs, or in the modes the architecture is ren-
dered visible, mediated to the public. On the other hand, prefab that is architecturally regarded
for its lack of success tends to be more socially recognizable, hence more visible among a wider
audience (e.g. Khrushchovkas, 1947-61). It adds what it seems to be an absolute truth: if it is a
failure, it is the architect’s fault.
Professional aspirations to higher creative grounds. Most architects, if so empowered, would con-
centrate exclusively on the top end of the market, in higher cultural grounds that potentially
provides more freedom to put ideas on the stand. Paradoxically, it seems to be in the middle
sector of the market that most opportunities are available.
Use of design visualization methods. Aspects dealing with spatial or use environment visualization
in new or interventioned spaces are currently widespread in architectural practices, constituting
an important dialogue device between client and architect, increasing the client’s perception of
the proposed solutions. However, some digital ways to endorse designs still have great unex-
plored potential, particularly in what concerns virtual interactive environments.
9 TECHNICAL CONSIDERATIONS
New technologies, old construction methods. Overall, aside some new materials and a certainly not
neglectable implementation of digital technologies, aiding in design, production and final as-
sembly management, for the bulk of built environment construction technologies are pretty
much the same as in the post-WWII.
Acknowledging long-term vs short-term technical impacts. Technical success in prefab can be deter-
mined by the degree in which a technology has seen its use spread and solidified along the
years. However, it is important to acknowledge that a technological breakthrough is always a
sum of different inheritances, making it difficult to trace the boundaries of an achievement,
but also the extent of the influence of a certain technical improvement. Whether de facto or
not so much, so-advertised technical breakthroughs392 can have positive effects in marketability,
but may also be a cause of undermining the buyer’s trust, given the risks that can be associated
with what is new and relatively unknown. They thus need to be regarded and proposed cau-
tiously.
General reasons for technical success. Construction-wise, overall reasons for success seem to be
associated with aspects such as: constructive simplicity; low-tech; availability of materials; or
use of safe technologies, i.e. meaning there is a general knowledge of building technologies in
use. On the other hand, overall reasons for lack of success can be related with aspects such as:
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constructive complexity; misuse of new, unsafe, technologies; design with little concern for the
building lifecycle (for instance, on maintenance costs); lack of communication between com-
mercial and/or contractor and design author aspects; top-down, speculative design, with little
or no consideration for flexibility/adaptability issues; and so forth.
10 LIGHTWEIGHT PREFAB ISSUES
Building faster and lighter, but possibly with higher risks attached. The growing prevalence in the use
of modern, lightweight methods of construction, such as timber or steel frames, over older,
heavier techniques as with bricklaying or concrete blocks, generally enables to build quicker,
cheaper and more efficiently. However, some of the materials involved in these methods may
carry substantially greater risk projections, which are used by insurance companies or banks,
and thus can have a direct impact in financial factors such as insurance fees or mortgageability.
Fire safety issues. Fire safety typically has a more demanding regulation in lightweight prefab, typ-
ically requiring a greater concern in the enclosure of vulnerable structural components with
approved fire-resistant assemblies and/or involving expensive automatic fire sprinkler sys-
tems. In-situ quality control must be a strong concern, since with speed requirements work-
manship can often negligently rush an adequate jointing of elements, contributing to increase
the risk of structural integrity in case of fire. Among the risk factors, the major concern is
driven from greater fire spread risk assumptions, due to the use of lightweight and/or com-
bustible materials.
Weather risks. Possible hidden gaps in prefab construction may become a gateway to wind and
water. These can lead to small incidents, or if developing under the radar, to severe pathologies
and disproportional high losses. Weather damage in the materials from wear and tear over
time, or from storms and/or flooding, are also to be considered.
The new/unknown risks. On top of the previously enumerated risks, it can be added an unknown
resilience of many new and innovative materials, as well the contractors’ lack of experience
with these and the assembly techniques required.
Repair flow risks. Given the nature of the construction business, and the typical profile of con-
struction companies, it can also be a concern the problems of obtaining replacement compo-
nents in the future, especially if a particular manufacturer goes out of business.
Acoustic insulation issues. Acoustic insulation makes it harder to build than in concrete slab meth-
ods. General concern should address impact and noise insulation from other houses and in
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between floors, and integration with other building elements. Particular concern must be ad-
dressed in the floor surfaces, insulation between floor/ceiling, ceiling material and thickness,
and in a resilient isolation of components such as the light fittings.
Vibration issues. Although without the creak noises of old wood floors, lightweight constructions
are likewise more prone to undesirable, perceptible vibrations of floors or walls. Mitigation
measures may include use of heavier material overlay over structural elements and assuring a
tight solidarity between different floor or wall components.
Low thermal mass related issues. In lightweight construction, the typically low thermal mass of
buildings can be an issue in terms of the overall energy efficiency of buildings393. Conversely,
higher thermal mass can have a positive effect, particularly in climates where there is a higher
diurnal temperature range394. In cold or cool climates, where heating systems are often used,
high thermal mass construction is positive regardless of diurnal range. A very thick mass is not
necessarily more effective in the direct gains, since larger elements have a negative dispersion
effect395. Anyhow, any solution should have in mind the overall climate conditions, and be
used in conjunction with appropriate passive or active solutions and design strategies. Options
must consider energy requirements (varying on climate, design, and program), as well as the
solar income (varying on climate, orientation and surroundings).
On breathability of buildings. Breathability of buildings is key to understand building performance,
but also how design should be conducted. The term can be misleading in building construc-
tion, since it is not only about air, but on the biological and chemical processes that occur
between the inside and the outside of the building capsule. In particular, it is about the effects
of water interaction with the building materials (condensation, evaporation, hygroscopicity,
capillarity, absorption, permeability, and so on), thus affecting the building’s health and per-
formance. The issue has become increasingly relevant with an air-tightness trend, with effects
on a more intensive use of house climate control equipment.
Compliance of construction elements. When assembled in-situ, OSB or other sub-final-coating
board elements in lightweight construction can be hard to deploy seamlessly aligned, and the
very expansion/contraction of materials can occur unevenly in different parts of the building,
often making it hard to predict tolerances. This can have implications on the final coating,
particularly if it is intended, for it to be smoothly continuous. As a possible mitigation strategy,
final coating layers need to be adjustable to disguise eventual sub-layers’ imperfections.
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11 ARCHITECTURAL PRODUCTION AND INDUSTRIAL PARADIGMS
Prefab and industrial paradigms. Prefabrication, in particular house prefabrication, often comes in
comparison to the industrial state-of-the-art practices highlighted in the classical examples of
car, ship or airplane construction. However, its constraints and entourage are of a different
nature. In any case, there are aspects of these that make sense to integrate when thinking in
prefabrication terms, e.g. a broad economical thinking, integrated production, supply chain
management, quality control procedures, standardization and/or dimensional coordination,
and a generalized and integrated use of digital tools for designing, producing and/or customer
interface.
Detailing vs performance approaches. Performance specification, as typical of OEM’s, is an alterna-
tive to detailed specification, with the architect designing according to the performance re-
quired, instead of thoroughly detailing the design. In theory, with a performance-based ap-
proach, the design can attain a greater freedom to market forces in the supply, thus
contributing to keep controlled costs.
Architect’s resistance to performance approaches. Due to the nature of the profession, set to imagine
and design spatial/constructive solutions, architects are typically not very fond of perfor-
mance-based approaches, preferring detailing approaches. Typically, architects consider the
implementation of their firm’s detailing to be indispensable for the buildings image and/or
construction quality. Anyhow, architects will unlikely use in exclusive a detailing approach for
all specifications, particularly in less expensive housing, making also use of the market’s stand-
ardized and certified components, or of previously in-house developed and implemented de-
tails.
Costs and value of a detailing approach. Detailed specifications can be a major cause for increased
costs if set at a very early stage in the design, due to all kinds of changes that can arise during
the entire process. Even if developing a detailing portfolio, with previously tested solutions,
and combining it with new detailing specifications, the budget risks are still potentially higher.
The value of detailing specifications can be highly esteemed among peers, but for customers
that does do not necessarily provide great added value for money. Moreover, the detailing
specifications and the concurrent production of drawings are responsible for a significant share
of the architectural fees.
Quality equation. Faced with both performance and detailing approaches, the architect’s dilemma
can often be put on whether to provide good detailing at the risk of overrunning the budget
or use standard detailing thus risking losing architectural quality. In a customer-driven building,
to assure client’s wishes are suitably incorporated can highly increase the number of working
drawings and overall specifications.
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Errors, omissions and accountability. Directly or indirectly, the architect will be held accountable
for errors or omissions in the written or drawn specifications for the construction, which often
occur due to a high time pressure, that makes it hard to double check every element of the
specifications. Even when the error is not the architect’s fault, he will have to either adapt the
design to new circumstances (with added working hours), or to assume those faults, risking
the envisioned quality aesthetic/constructive intents and in last resource his own professional
image by a not so accomplished design. Faced with unexpected costs, contractors will attempt
to turn these events to their favor. This makes the architect an easy target, and thus a weak
bond in the construction industry ecosystem. With the use of non-standard and/or non-certi-
fied components, risks are potentially more expressive.
Knowledge of the market. For different reasons, a broad knowledge of a fast-pace evolving market
is not always possible, and thus some design solutions end up being somewhat a reinvention
of the wheel. Anyhow, there are aspects of the design that just have to be detailed from scratch
since there are no existing and/or adaptable solutions available in the market.
Performance approach benefits and inefficiencies. Specifications and detailing are increasingly pro-
duced and made publicly available by the suppliers in physical or digital formats, through tech-
nical documentation, drawings, and so forth. If the systems or components are compatible
(materials, connections, and so forth), they can easily be assembled to complete the construc-
tion using the separate specifications provided by the suppliers, which can hence be held indi-
vidually responsible. The previous factors may contribute to ease pressure on relatively com-
plex detailing and specifications, yet can create workflow issues, related with compatibility of
digital formats, or a seamless integration of the diverse elements in any of the possible inter-
change scenarios (i.e. office-to-office, office-to-construction, construction-to-construction, or
construction-to-office).
12 MODULARITY, CHANGE AND VARIABILITY
General modularity aspects. Buildings do not necessarily shout out loud I am modular, nor its design
intents have to explicitly consider it. Nevertheless, the knowledge of different aspects of mod-
ularity can contribute to improve decision-making processes in the complex, multi-dimen-
sional decisions that are required during architectural creation, namely having in mind aspects
such as: interfaces; observing dependencies; or addressing similarities.
Dependency reduction. Modularity is all about reducing dependencies, starting from a clearly estab-
lished functional map. Indeed, dependencies can be observed more obviously in physical or
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constructive terms, but in fact these are essentially emanated from to the ability or intention
to discretize spatially attributed functionalities.
Symmetry boosting. Symmetry related aspects must be a design concern if aiming to attain con-
structive cost-efficiency while keeping up with quality standards. The eventual idea that this
may result in monotonous environments is wrong. Indeed, if devised accordingly, symmetry
features can also enact a wide and varied range of solutions.
Modular threshold offset (interfaces). Modules are not simply virtual squares or boxes, they are to
be built in real space, and thus their boundaries have a structure, external and internal coating,
and so forth. The latter has a body or a thickness, that we can call the modular threshold offset,
that should be carefully addressed. Indeed, if in diagram the junction of modules can work
seamlessly, when further detailed it will often arise contiguously duplicate elements. This can
be less of an issue when these walls separate different dwellings, yet it adds unnecessary ele-
ments when within the same dwelling. When removing them in a drafting stage, particularly in
the case of more complex connections between modules’, often unexpected blank areas come
up, disrupting previous formal alignments, and so forth. Broadly, there are two main options
in this respect, which are to either repeat structural elements or not doing it. The first, privi-
leges discreteness, and thus has potential gains in terms of simplicity of production and assem-
bly processes, although it might incur in material losses given the unnecessary repetition of
construction elements. The second option, is released of these issues, but will likely have more
dependencies attached.
Faster, but not so fast. Potentially, one of the great advantages of prefabricated components over
traditional make-to-order products is a faster in-situ assembly. However, components can have
all sorts of different characteristics (sizes, shapes and/or complexity), the concurrent factors
defining their greater or lesser potential batch size, but also implying different deployment
difficulties.
Logistic constrains. For reasons that are fundamentally related with logistic processes of transport-
ability, maneuverability and consequent final in-situ deployment, in urban areas, particularly
the denser ones, it generally makes more sense to use components where size, weight and form
factors are least bothersome.
Minimizing eventual constrains. To ensure a smooth, more sustainable, eventual future replacement
of some components, or even their partial or total dismantling, care must be taken in assuring
that interfaces are discretizable or excisable, whether dry or fluid connections are involved.
Dimensional coordination. With mass-production strategies, the effectiveness in the implementation
of construction systems is highly dependable on a proper dimensional coordination in order
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for standardized components to fit, which benefits production scale but will likely make vari-
ability in components harder to attain, although there are exceptions (e.g. window frames,
kitchen modules).
Parallel production and digital tools. When variability of outputs is intended, the use of CAD-CAM
in non-linear production methods can be a valuable contributor, with more recent techniques
such as 3D printing with high potential in this domain.
Prioritizing from a slow vs fast distinction. If variability is intended, constructively, it must be kept
in mind that the relatively slower layers (e.g. slow concrete structure vs fast partition wall) will
more likely have a deeper constraining impact, determining the performance of the other sys-
tems, and thus the ability to accommodate variations.
Prioritizing from components’ connections. Generally, the simpler the connections’ characteristics
between discrete components, the better in terms of the in-situ construction time and quality.
For instance, typically the bigger components are more difficult to handle, thus particular con-
cern should be put on these or others whose characteristics (size, complexity, fragility, and so
forth) can be regarded as priority in comparison with the remaining building elements sur-
rounding it.
Keeping it open. An open building principle is supported on a philosophy that makes substitution
possible between several suppliers. Why would a wall panel producer develop a complete wall
system with no finishing required, if a similar result can be attained when supplied by different
producers at a lower price? While gaining in labor replacement, removing finishing work from
in-situ works can raise several issues. For instance, it raises connection issues (dimensional or
material compatibility, and so forth), which depend on aspects such as agreements with other
suppliers, compliance to certain norms or procedures, and so on.
Construction speed issues. Whereas main structure can be ready relatively quickly, finishing layers
can often take comparably much more time. The bottleneck seems to be more related with the
compatibility of the different assembly procedures in the limited space available in-situ, than
with the time they take per se, resulting in time waste between the diverse steps. It is hard to
make the logistic control, since it is not easy to force sub-contractors or suppliers to follow an
optimal logistic plan. Given the limitations, it is often hard to implement parallel methods,
making more sense to spread them over time and space. As variability options increase, the
problem only grows bigger.
Getting around logistic bottlenecks. Only larger building companies, with considerable building vol-
umes can have the strength to tie down sub-contractors, thus the only ones being able to aspire
control over the logistic constraints underlying the compatibility of individual contractors in a
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project. However, in most other cases, the best option is to remove as many in-situ activities
as possible from the supply chain.
Moving finishing and furnishing upstream. To remove the most labor out of in-situ, typically focus
must primarily be held in finishing and furnishing activities, moving them as upstream the
production chain as possible. To attain it, efforts must continuously proceed towards the con-
vergence of the connections between different building systems (external connections), as well
as of the compatibility between different elements of each building system (internal connec-
tions).
Boosting ex-situ production and visualization methods. To increase the degree of ex-situ production,
having a previous knowledge of both the buyers and of the options they want is key. However,
people often change opinion. In a systematized, prefabricated construction method, changing
options after the building process has started raises even more risks and difficulties than in
other building methods. Therefore, to minimize the risks, visualization methods can be key
for customers’ choice process.
13 IMPACTING DESIGN PERFORMANCE
Performance constrains due to services’ weight in construction. The increase of services’ weight due
to comfort (e.g. thermal, acoustical), fire risk mitigation, overall sustainable requirements, and
so forth, has become one of the major constraints in the spatial design, being pervasive to all
construction methods.
Performance limitations due to the (un)knowledgeability of systems. Architects are not necessarily
attached to conventional or ordinary construction methods, but are also far from being able
to deal with all building systems, lesser even if these are relatively new and/or unknown.
Improving design performance by working from existing systems. Individual efforts by architects to
adapt existing building systems (typically subjected to certification methods and the like) to
their designs may prove to have little chance of success. Instead, it may be more feasible to
constrain the designs from a prior knowledge of the systems.
Performance and design subtleties. Prefabricated building methods may even have a better technical
performance, but that does not necessarily mean they are more feasible to tackle architecture’s
subtleties and complexities. Prefab methods have intrinsic potentials and limitations, which
have to be understood and worked out accordingly, otherwise risking adding inefficiencies to
the construction, with effects on output vectors. That is not a problem on its own, since work-
ing around limitations can work as a positive way for improvement. Nonetheless it is important
to be aware of the risks.
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Changing and/or developing a system. Changes on systems by individual architects may have a
greater influence through publishing about architectural or technical performance in appropri-
ate publications, than through single-handedly developing systems. The effort (time, financial)
to proceed in the R&D and marketing stages is just too big to have likelihood of success if
single-handedly doing it, unless perhaps if framed within a dedicated business structure.
Integration towards improved performance. Producers’ impact will increase on the measure of the
integration of both the constructive performance (certification schemes and the like) and the design
performance (enabling differentiation, discretizing different building elements while enacting
standardization of interfaces, and so forth).
14 FUTURE WORK
Test direct the design’s light/ventilation and circulation conjectures against real cases. Assess the as-
sumptions of the design case against a broad batch of historical and/or contemporary built cases,
namely in respect to direct light/ventilation derived grids and to circulation optimization.
Extensive development of a global house prefab history. Develop in greater extent a global history of
house prefabrication, further expanding some the sub-themes addressed (e.g. Japanese wood con-
struction, patented designs).
Design a new residential house prototype. Design a new prototype, but this time with the accumu-
lated knowledge since the first.
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IV Epistemological Notes
[A Global Epilogue]
“It is no longer a question of either maps or territories. Something has disappeared: the
sovereign difference, between one and the other, that constituted the charm of abstraction. Because
it is difference that constitutes the poetry of the map and the charm of the territory, the magic of
the concept and the charm of the real. This imaginary of representation, which simultaneously
culminates in and is engulfed by the cartographer's mad project of the ideal coextensivity of map
and territory, disappears in the simulation. It is all of metaphysics that is lost. No more mirror
of being and appearances, of the real and its concept. No more imaginary coextensivity: it is
genetic miniaturization that is the dimension of simulation. The real no longer needs to be
rational, because it no longer measures itself against either an ideal or negative instance. It is no
longer anything but operational. In fact, it is no longer really the real, because no imaginary
envelops it anymore. It is a hyperreal, produced from a radiating synthesis of combinatory models
in a hyperspace without atmosphere. Never again will the real have the chance to produce itself—
such is the vital function of the model in a system of death. A hyperreal henceforth sheltered
from the imaginary and from any distinction between the real and the imaginary, leaving room
only for the orbital recurrence of models and for the simulated generation of differences”
— Jean Baudrillard (1994) Simulacra and simulation : 2-3396
“They say men lived in trees one time. Somebody had to get dissatisfied with a high
limb or your feet would not be touching flat ground now. (…) Someone’s got to do these
things… Else Fate would not ever get nose-thumbed and mankind would still be cling-
ing to the top branches of a tree”.
— Samuel Hamilton character in John Steinbeck’s East of Eden
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1 GLOBALIZATION’S SEMIOTIC PARADOX
In many senses, our world has become a globalized world397. Multiple events and conditions such
as the dissemination of neoliberal though and economic orthodoxy worldwide, or how knowledge is
produced and diffused, have been having major impacts upon processes of development, designing
a global landscape, and deeply influencing our lives. Not surprisingly, the theme of globalization and
its relationship with the built environment and with the territory in general, has fetched important
concepts for architects, social scientists, geographers or economists, analyzing the shifts that have
been occurring in the world’s economic, social, or environmental sceneries [complement with: An-
nex, IV.1 The phenomenon of globalization].
In a structuralist sense, what can be called a global culture is as much a rhetorical construction as a
local culture. Their critical construction is based on processes conveyed by signs, structured and orga-
nized in diverse ways, anchored in socio-cultural contexts, and to which language remains metaphor
par excellence. Structures work dynamically, that is, it seems that neither their syntactic, nor semantic
levels can be traced back to an ultimate Ontology. Instead, structures seem to have multiple traces
depending on ever-shifting contexts and processes. In Umberto Eco’s words: “the code is presumably
neither a natural prerequisite of the Global Semantic Universe, nor a structure that firmly and unalterably underlies
the complex of bonds and ramifications that accounts for the functioning of every association of signs (…) i.e., that a
semiotics of the code is an operative instrument that serves a semiotics of the message”398.
Generically, on the architectonic code, a structure can be synthesized as a relational and referential
organism determined by processes of successive simplifications regarding the devising of an effective
(formal) purpose. From an architect point of view this means that a code remains valid for the actions
emanating from the architectural code-in-use, regardless the code’s eventual evolution. But this is not
necessarily valid for other codes, with the analogy also valid for codes used in different languages—
e.g. the musician, the geologist, the economist, and so on. Such raises multiple questions, where are
included, e.g., the role of technique, how can boundaries be set for a certain domain, the translation
of thinking form to physical form, what differentiates the conceptual from the action, and so on.
Lévi-Strauss expressed that the ontological universalism of an elemental code stands above the
languages in which is expressed, from where, ultimately different languages can be regarded as trans-
lation aspects399. Ferdinand de Saussure’s structural linguistics indicates that language is a form, not a
substance. However, if considering, as Eco did, that there is no Ontology, then substance and form are
primitively equivalent. Thus, if substance is what emanates from difference (of form), then attempting
to get to a primitive instance, where difference has not occurred, in the least seems to be logically
incongruent. The mere observation of such original fragment would imply a difference roughly equiv-
alent to the least required space-time conditions for form to be. In a way, in logical terms, this means
form is all there is. But then logic is also a language. There is a circularity in all this. The mere existence
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in the space-time of forms does not require an architectonic (i.e. an organizational apparatus). Yet
the architectonic is there, implied, when acknowledging form. Therefore, the architectonic is of a
global tendency by definition, i.e. gathering otherwise fragmented entities in a language, going beyond
the fragments to critically handle them, blending difference in a fragment-plus.
The existing and conventional structures of the architectonic code in architectural design and
production are largely fixed by means of technical, orthodox, and traditional rules and laws400. Bra-
zilia’s ambitious planners and architects considered the principles of functionalism and cultural sym-
bolism, which has nonetheless resulted in a reality where the lives of inhabitants and users, their
changing behaviors and lifestyles, were greatly bypassed, so that what was left was a monument to
(hollow) architectural rhetoric. Indeed, to make global is necessarily also to make on a univocal, and
therefore insufficient, or partial perspective, and the same is valid for its local complement.
Adolf Loos once conceived architecture from triadic understanding of the architectural produc-
tion: craft (action), draft (representation), and critique (rhetoric)401. In a modern industrialized world,
from rhetoric, representation and action on a physical reality, the put in practice of a certain architec-
tonic into a built environment is inextricably commanded by financial mechanisms, energizing the
different unfolding plots from where forms arise. To a capital order adds that any one-sided attempt,
such as e.g. a uniquely architectural approach, disregarding political, economic or technical realities,
is insufficient to address the problems of the built environment. In this respect, Tafuri’s lesson is
unequivocal: “It is useless to propose purely architectural alternatives. The search for an alternative within the struc-
tures that condition the very character of architectural design is indeed an obvious contradiction of terms”402.
Structural linguistics tells us that to make a language anew, it is in the least required a binary
sender-receiver, i.e. requires the previous knowledge of a different, departing language—and it will
primarily be the departing language which will be enriched. Analogously, the knowledge of local cir-
cumstances is key to the success of implementing global methodologies—e.g. architecture cannot
take the place of the vernacular (the local’s utterance) and vice versa, as this would mean a global
language to destructively conflict with a local language. Local and global are mutual processes and,
thereby, any genius loci or the like, is not but an idealization of a genius loci403, their interdependence
occurring analogously to the Vitruvian ethos of house and city. In such inescapability, the bonds of
architecture and capital are a reminder of a freedom and fulfillment which architecture cannot but to
aspire, trapped by the elements lost in translation in a global which is also local.
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2 SPACE-TIME SHIFTS
Raised from a sort of cartographic need of control imposed by the efficiency required by capital,
globalization became a ubiquitous issue in our everyday life, affecting aspects such as the products
we consume, how we communicate, work and relate with others, affecting the modes in which we
understand and experience space-time. The prodigious improvements in the field of communication,
IT’s and transportation, have been establishing new kinds of relationships in human history, reshap-
ing the condition of place under a global-local dialectic.
As space-time perception is acutely altered by instantly available information404, ease of commod-
ity availability and people mobility, so the experience of the territory, or the concepts of nationality,
citizenship, or authorship, are profoundly altered405. An instantly accessible world on steroids results in
an image of support to the most private spaces, subjected to the openness and intimacy of online,
pocket-fit and all-around available networks and the like. Such need for speed, or speed as need, is
also responsible for a homogenization, or trivialization of a variety of public spaces that were once
referential in an imaginary of local identities. The tendency is confirmed in many contemporary ne-
oliberal discourses, powerfully expressing a representation of the globe as an increasingly integrated,
homogenized, seamless whole, which settles in the prevalence of time over space, where synchroni-
zation overpowers location, clockwise efficiency crushes difference. As Paul Virilio wrote: “in the
realm of territorial development, time prevails from now on to space”. It is no longer a chronological local time,
but a “universal world time, opposed not only to the local space of a region’s organization of land, but to the world
space of a planet in the process of homogenization”406.
An adaptive (or evolutionary) development of construction practices had molded the physical
elements of the human habitat until the Industrial Revolution. Since then, for the first time in history,
and at a planetary scale, the fast pace of the modern architectural methods has in a way been homog-
enizing cities and architecture in a rapid and once unthinkable manner. In a sense, modern architec-
ture and urbanism has not only given us flat roofs and sanitized streets, it has also contributed to a
homogenization of our cities. As Frampton wrote: “the phenomenon of universalization, while being an ad-
vancement of mankind, at the same time constitutes a sort of subtle destruction, not only of traditional cultures, which
might not be an irreparable wrong, but also of what I shall call for the time being the creative nucleus of great cultures,
that nucleus on the basis of which we interpret life, what I shall call in advance the ethical and mythical nucleus of
mankind. The conflict springs up from there”407. What is currently left from a mythical, slowly evolving
vernacular world, is no more than a detached insight. In the great majority of the remaining cases,
the archaic vernacular has turned into a sort of touristic theme park, where the original motives are
barely recognizable, conserved in a form which no longer finds a correspondence from within. That
can be noticed in the famous examples of Ait Benhaddou in Morocco, Mykonos in Greece, Cappa-
docia in Turkey, Piódão in Portugal, and many others. These are somewhat artificially preserved and
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there is barely any trace left of the socio-cultural systems that originally gave it shape. As result, in a
way, these forms have become mere caricatures of a nostalgic and romanticized past time, while their
surrounding territorial remains are left to an unprivileged chance.
In contrast, what we see in some extreme contemporary ordinary vernacular forms are miserable
dumps where many would not even consider living in. These are no longer wrapped up of an old
detached romanticism, and that is probably why they are often also called ordinary forms, instead of the
(new) vernacular they too are. Famous [and astoundingly huge] examples sprang, from the Favelas in
Rio de Janeiro or São Paulo, the Vietnamese Nhaa ven song river slums, the Neza-Chalco-Izta slum in
Mexico City (the world’s largest mega-slum also known as Ciudad Perdida), or the slums in Manila,
Lagos, Mumbai, Caracas, and many others around the world. Yet, perhaps in a part of our imaginary,
we would like these to keep modelling the built landscape, since regardless their evident issues, they
too are compact, bounded, complex, lively, intense, bursting with problems but filled with life. Ad-
ditionally, as in the archaic vernacular, they keep a certain photogenic quality, which can be so treas-
ured in an isolated touristic visit or the-like408. Henry Cartier-Bresson used to say something like what
we photographers don’t capture immediately, is lost forever, and perhaps sometimes it is just easier to forget
what happens outside the embellished frame. In a certain way, deeply we would like the vernacular’s
(ordinary) best qualities to keep characterizing the villages and regions of a coming-to-be time. Cer-
tainly, some of the empty historical urban centers, as found in some old-Europe towns, praise for the
return of a lost density of life—the life that escaped, motorized, to the suburbs. It adds that, in many
circumstances, we would prefer something else than the legal but speculative, [more or less] planned
but diffuse recent territories, which can be found on the outskirts of many world cities, where rapidly
the urban fabric is squandered in discontinuous, fragmented [and ugly] spaces which many would
prefer to ignore.
Le Corbusier’s tour, described in Le Voyage d’Orient409, went so far as the Balkans and somewhere
near Istanbul. Nowadays his journalistic notes on that voyage would probably never have that title,
since for today’s standards he barely left Europe, which makes what could be a kind of exoticism of
orientalism account indeed sound rather common. Exoticism, if there is any left anywhere, has been
belittled. In a world of revisited and easily available all sort of trivialized seven wonders, phenomena
such as tourism in all its variants becomes a global experience. Every major city has, in its touristic
guides, the art history or the contemporary art or natural history museum, the parks to visit, the opera,
the busy bars and night-clubs area or even the two-story buses or panoramic boats; spaces above all
dedicated to the needs of an erratic lifestyle that seeks everywhere the same facilities; spaces of tem-
porary inhabiting that put a homogenizing veneer to localities. Nonetheless, as the unsuspected Lévi-
Strauss points out, “differences are extremely fecund”410, and it is unlikely that any sort of process, no
matter how powerful, will ever completely shred difference.
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We can see globalization as generating increasing homogeneity, while giving death to the fabric of
diversity through a sort of westernization of the world. But we can also see it as generating heterogeneity
and diversity, e.g., through hybridization. These can be observed in phenomena such as fusion of
food, of music, of iconography, and so on. Inescapably, since industrialization took its pace in most
of the world’s territories, it is difficult, if not impossible, to speak about pure locally-driven difference.
There are many signal inputs, observable at a socio-cultural level, of growingly hybridized societies
shaped by a diverse subcultural fabric. For instance, great world cities are largely multicultural cities,
with multiple ethnic groups composing them: from Indian or Polish living in London411, to Chinese
or Puerto Rican in New York City412, Algerian or Portuguese in Paris413, and so on. In many of these,
it is perceptible an attachment of the migrant communities to delocalized traditions reminiscent of
their places of origin, as noticeable by their nostalgic cafés, restaurants, shops, or in the neighbor-
hoods referenced to these communities—in NYC alone there is China Town, Little Italy, Little Brazil,
Koreatown, Little Germany or Le Petit Senegal.
The power of IT’s boosts these displacements into truly heterotopic414 manifestations, enabling that,
in a fragmented panorama, phenomenon’s such as immigration can be lived both in the origin and
the destination. The place of arrival used to be set to be the only place in the immigrant’s real life,
but that is no longer necessarily the case. The vivid realities, which IT’s are poised to create, can
apparently make forget what the real looks like, embedding it in a sort of heterotopic illusion of
proximity. This, in turn, can be deceiving, as it cannot replace the subtleties of a physicality achievable
by a full presence with the original.
Likewise, the space-time shifts driven by IT’s also make it easier to dissociate the work place and
the dwelling place with the place of emotions, imaginary or of belonging. This affects fundamental
aspects of our lives, such as the way we work or use leisure time, the way we move or rest… the way
we dwell the world. That is particularly observable in a tendency of expansion of types of family
structures comparatively to the traditional family patterns, consequence of different aspirations, dif-
ferent role of women, acceptance of different kinds of sexuality, different lifestyles, secularization,
and so forth. The fast-paced arousal of the now pervasive social media has made it clearer than ever
before.
Many of the changes in our perceptive notions of space-time can also be linked a certain loss of
place identity. The non-places415, a notion originally proposed by Marc Augé, describes some of these
lost, universalized places such as a sauna, a hotel, or a shopping-mall, all non-permanent to their
inhabitants, and all different but all similar everywhere: simultaneously homogenizing and hybridiz-
ing. For instance, tourism on high scales powered by low-cost flights, that make travelling easier and
relativize length of travel into duration, is accommodated by a wide range of non-places, as are air-
ports, railway stations, major chain hotels, or trade fairs416. Added to the physical, psychological or
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memory dimensions of a place, the ease to communicate to virtually anywhere in the globe, makes
linkages to place to last and develop in different ways. The meaning of a place thus becomes more the
product of the mounting sequence of perceptual experiences of life, than a simple juxtaposition of
an individual meaning and personal space417.
The nature of many of the places of contemporary society is given from its capacity to accommo-
date within a given frame, within material needs and geographical ties, within a multiplicity of mean-
ings and projections. It is a nature open to multiple interpretations while still localized; it is vague and
amorphous, but too static and rooted in survival needs. The instant world is a major source of the
rhetoric conveying that with little effort and a little attention we can do everything everywhere: work in
the most unsuspected places, socializing at our desk or on our phone, while creating increasing de-
pendency with machines, changing the psycho-social ways to relate with the Other. Instant connecting
means new significance to domestic and to private space, but also to open a breach to let in an
unpredictable and not fully non-referential stream of signs and requests.
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3 A GLOBAL ARCHITECTURE FACTORY
The space-time shifts involved in globalization processes empower the conception of a planetary
factory, visible in multiple levels of the production chain, from design and production to purchase.
From the mining of raw materials, to the multi-component devices designed, manufactured and as-
sembled in many different locations, even in products we may not suspect at first sight, the log is
truly global. Things can be produced and sold almost anywhere, be available almost everywhere, to
almost everyone. Its epiphenomena in architectural production can eloquently be observed in a ma-
terial sphere of the construction practices, with IT’s as primary catalyzers of new ways of doing in
design. Construction material availability is wider than ever, and material suppliers reach more places
than ever. Moreover, the implementation of construction practices is ever-more transnational, with
builders, designers, consultants, and so forth, circulating between borders [complement with: Annex,
IV.2 Three cases of global collaborative work].
The subject uplifts an old epistemological debate in architecture, where place-form and product-form
are key components418. There are the canonical arguments of place, of an architecture which relates
with a certain local reality. But then, there is also the notion of architectural commodification, which
springs from the culture of consumption, with readily available materials and technologies. Some seek
the safeguarding and development of time-honored local architectural traditions, forms, decorative
motifs and technologies, often defending historical continuity, cultural diversity, and preservation of
identity. Others promote invention and diffusion of innovative forms, using technologies and mate-
rials in response to changing functional needs and sensibilities, often focusing on systemization, flex-
ibility, adaptability or interchangeability. Apropos, Montaner observed that “one of the basic features of
the twentieth century was the triumph of abstraction over the mimesis, a triumph based on the prestige that reason and
science had at the beginning of the century. Since then, a part of art and architecture took the machine and advances in
scientific technology as a reference, and began to rely more on reason and systematization than in the irrational forces of
imagination and creativity. It is an attitude of technological optimism that has reached our days and we can analyze it
using two visions: the consolidation of abstraction as a renewing method to generate forms and rationalism as the basic
discipline used by a part of architecture, art and thought”419.
Regarding an industrial sphere, on the one hand, architectural design can be a positive driver for
change and product development. On the other hand, in many ways, state-of-the-art industrial meth-
ods seem far ahead from the construction methods used in architectural production. The different
ways architects may approach the context, materials or technology at their disposal is subject to dif-
ferent interpretations. Theories asserting that architecture depends on where the building is to be
located, the intended program to which it must respond, the material conditions in which it must be
conducted, or the way the user may or not be enacted to participate in the design decisions, have
been profusely disserted420. Rational methodologies, reflecting these and other concerns, are certainly
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a legacy that is to be kept alive and contextually fed. Nevertheless, the architectural artifact has also
been conspicuously bonded with a subjective notion of authorship/artistry, which is in many cases
adverse to certain rationalizing ways, as can also be to a stricter sense of place. On the other hand, the
architectural perspective can too be disruptive, thus propelling breakthroughs and evolution, or even
have long-lasting cultural or social impacts, acting as civilizational symbol.
Aside quality, the vectors of economy and efficiency have always been an architectural task, in the
sense that architecture is ought to deliver the best of the available resources, whether they are pro-
vided plentifully or not. Anyhow, there is always an adjustment between the expectations of the dif-
ferent actors involved (architects, clients, builders, and so forth) and the eventually available re-
sources. Additionally, the technical apparatus, necessary for a building to be, is ever increasing,
requiring a growing wider knowledge of subjects such as heating, ventilation, or other applied me-
chanics, as well of the materials, their characteristics, certifications, regulations, and so on. Therefore,
building structures and technologies are becoming more and more dependent on the appropriate
intersection of ever-more varied and specialized skills and expertise, and the building’s artistic imprint
(or authorship) becomes more of a socially acknowledged trademark, rather than a fact. Anyhow, the
reality of a building as the result of a collaborative work is not at all recent, as the XIXth century Pre-
Raphaelites made sure to make a point. Nonetheless, if already more of a reality in the ancient builders
of the great architectural landmarks, the issue has become pervasive to the most ordinary kinds of
contemporary constructions.
The developments in building construction that rouse from an industrialized world have contrib-
uted to keep a juvenile excitement about the material and technological possibilities and a resolute
belief in progress, changing architecture’s entourage. A serious reevaluation of the design disciplines
took its course in the burst of the XXth century, with a plea to bring a new insight to the architectural
artifact. Architects, urban planners or theorists nurtured the ideal of a rational understanding of the
built environment, developing methodologies to attain a maximum yield of resources, and so forth,
epitomized in buzzwords such as function and economy, and stressed by the housing demand. Stand-
ardization ideas brought about by the rational functionalism were a major research front, as was the
mechanized production of the architectural object. If that brought about new possibilities, by doing
so, architecture was also moved away from an artistic character, towards an uncharted territory of
mechanical reproduction421.
Since the early stages of mass production, architects had to begin considering the tendencies to-
wards individualistic and fashionable consumption, the need to market inventions and the devalua-
tion of objects. For the craftsman, the pleasure in work used to lie in the relation to the object being
produced. For the user, the pleasure of the production of the object arguably lays in the consciousness
of its human origin, in its ontological singularity. In the work of art, it is not the form that is cherished,
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but the truthfulness of its originality or, as long put in evidence by photography, the authenticity of
its underlying story. With an era of mechanical reproduction, it emerged a different satisfaction in a society
of consumption, as it was notably stressed with the pop-art, that is, a hedonism laying not merely in
the sense of a truthful story, but as a commodity fetish. On the other hand, if in some circumstances
an original is the most valued, a sudden cognizance of a fake, in a once supposed original, drastically
depreciates its capital value. Similarly, the collector cherishes the rare, authenticated object. But the
artist and the collector act on different interests. The artist produces a synthesis which adds some-
thing more to a cultural heritage, enriching it, while the collector has foremost a conservative concern.
Housing has long been in the center of the reproducibility debate. Regardless its type, serialized
house production always departs from a speculative standpoint, an attempt to satisfy the requirements
of a market sector, or of an emergency. A customer of a house may have special requirements, but
these will be accommodated by adjustments to pre-established designs, whose architect may no
longer be involved. In architectural terms, the issue can be put on how can the practice adapt to the
requests of a factory-based and market-oriented construction industry. The answer may be to simply
follow a speculative path, designing first and consulting the final client later. However, this is an
anathema to most architects, who become active only when the client requires a solution to a prob-
lem.
Moreover, there is the reluctance to abandon a certain notion that a building should be designed
for a specific location—i.e. a unique building for a unique site, the building as an expression of the
uniqueness of the place, or simply the designer’s aspiration to design and/or to be acknowledged.
Nonetheless, a speculative and reproducible path has historically been followed for a long time, of
which the persistence of the notion of type is an obvious example. Indeed, the history of architecture
is largely the story of adaptation and recombination of existing types and/or styles. A certain rhetoric
of resistance to design buildings speculatively and without reference to a specific site is even more
surprising as it has been a perfectly normal practice, at least to the dawn of the modern movement.
As current online social networks display, the more an object is reproduced, the more it can in-
crease its value, which, in a way, contradicts the idea of the old law of supply and demand, as the
object becomes more valuable and hence desired as it is increasingly more visible: it is instead the
logic of publicity working. In a way, in our post-industrial society, things no longer need to be pro-
duced, they just need to be reproduced, with the idea enhanced in the immateriality or apparent
innocuity of the digital artifacts. In fact, since products are subjected to the commandments of trends
and the like, the value is established much in function of the visibility laid by the innumerous forms
of publicity, with marketing becoming a ruler of social behavior—semiotics all around.
With the increase in sophistication in the production processes, upgrading the once only repetitive
mass-production, questions regarding the actual difference between fashion and style, the patent or
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copyright problematics, educating consumers, the role of brand names, trademarks or display surfaces
inevitably arose in architecture. It was as if the magic of culture, that had been lost with the loss of
reciprocity between people and their handcrafted and inherited artifacts and the resultant loss of
enchantment in the environment, was regained with the promise of an immediate, live, contact, where
we all are apparently connected and possibilities seem limitless, although in fact they are not. In this
sense, the modes by which architecture is produced and what architecture produces has been desta-
bilized. In a way, if ever, architecture no longer seems to afford a patient transaction between cultures
and possibilities, between investment and return, between the building and its experience—between
seeding and cropping. In some cases, it mutates to the virtual instead of real buildings, freshness
instead of slow, digestible, time. These are not deviated architectural approaches, yet once again signal
of an inevitable epistemological transformation, following the motion of the world, and anyhow af-
fecting the ways architecture is made and delivered.
The global design factory is punctuated by brands, the semiotic backbone of the social visibility
of things, the main driver of the consumption requirements of our economic reality. But if that is
evident for consumer products, from Coca-Cola’s to iPhone’s, it may not be so clear in architectural
design. Business agendas, consumer expectations, or market opportunities drive a ubiquitous culture
of commerce which is too manifested in the built space. Architecture is thus also an instrument of
power and capital, with representations set to endorse the symbolism and image of states, govern-
ments or companies, used for product identification or corporate purposes, branding space-time. It
is thus not difficult to imagine cities not as skylines but as brandscapes, and buildings not as objects but
as advertisements and destinations, again and still complex and contradictory. Times Square buzzing
screens is a remarkable example, with its powerful electronic ambience. But the phenomena can also
be more ordinarily observed in the glossy façades of mega-capital buildings punctuating the built
landscapes of cities around the world, housing corporations, banks, hotels or offices. Likewise, brand-
ing in architecture can mean the expression of identity amidst a complex social fabric, whether by a
company or by a city: Prada’s attachment to starchitectural design or Apple’s designing iconic iStores,
where the very architectural design is patented, ready to replication, but foremost to corporate-protect
an envisioned total consumer experience; New York, London, Dubai, Lisbon using architecture to propel
their images, in order to generate economic growth, and elevate their visibility worldwide.
As experiences become increasingly commoditized, and the global landscape seemingly more ho-
mogenized, it is also the role of architects to input meaningful transformations in a growingly aseptic
language, of complex and mesmerizing but somewhat void shapes, where even difference is often
addressed equally422. There are international brands, from junk-food to fashion, implemented a bit
everywhere, with typified products, typified spaces, such as hotel rooms looking the same whether
located in Nairobi or the Soho, and so on: non-places all around. There are too the local brands, which
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will inevitably copy successful design formulas that come and go with the trends, and the affordability
of massified design products—from an IKEA chair and desk, to a state-of-the art Apple desktop
computer [complement with: Annex, IV.3 The
Bo-Klok
, or architecture as branded product].
There are also all sorts of practices of consumption and incitement to consumption, from muse-
ums or concerts to organized tourist tours, which share common economic, cultural and social pro-
cesses worldwide. In many cases, and sometimes contradictory with some of these very practices,
these been made at the expense of regional or local identities. For instance, catalyzing the destruction
of older or consolidated urban fabrics, reducing investment (and potential for investment) in those,
by instead opting to direct investment towards speculative schemes sprawling on the cities fringes
and beyond, or its inverse, creating speculative bubbles which force people to move away. In some
cases, this was at the expense of a suitable concern on the needs of the inhabitants, with reflex in the
urban landscape, for instance by only making affordable housing schemes of doubtful quality and/or
meager floor areas in exhaustively repeated typologies. In many cases, these were the result of a sort
of deficient or limited long-term views by decision-makers, caused by economies following their own
profit-driven ways, to which may be added, for instance, some lack of critical judgment or political
short perspective.
The shifts inducted by a global design factory can also be signaled at the level of design concep-
tion. The so-labelled architectural postmodernism offered numerous of such examples. For instance,
Michael Graves has designed all sorts contemporary interpretations of classical shapes, doing it sys-
tematically regardless buildings’ sizes, contexts, functional programs or locations: “mimetic devices for a
culture unfamiliar with the initial sources, belated signs of a public domain they never had, and never will have. Rome
imported via New Jersey to Japan, the literal collapse of time and place”423, as Rem Koolhaas described. In a
certain sense, these are in the least conceptually familiar with what occurs in places such as the Paris
Las Vegas Casino in Las Vegas (1999), extravagances in the middle of the Dubai desert, such as the
Burj Khalifa skyscraper (2004-10), the real-estate Palm Islands (2002-08), or the indoor ski track of
Dubai Snow Park (2005), or other flaunting displays as a swimming pool connecting the rooftops of
Singapore’s three-tower Marina Bay Sands (2010). All in all, heterotopic architectural dimensions of
more or less anachronic glimpses, capitalist symbols, global as can be. The long-praised notion of
place, or even of architectural artistry or authorship seems irrelevant in these places. What is depicted
in these postmodern landmarks is true capitalist ideology in the extremity of the artifact-artifice: an
architecture as symbol of man’s delusional power over space, over time, and finally over nature.
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4 ARCHITECTURE, MEDIA AND THE MASSES
Architecture has been acquiring a global character which is inextricably linked with a conspicuous
media sphere in which it is more and more involved with. The idea of a media affair is deeply histor-
ically rooted. We can notice it, for instance, by the spirit of the so-called architectural styles, as are the
cases of the Romanesque or the Islamic architecture, both conveying a globalizing spirit424 and
embodying a dissemination device. These are examples of an ancient, but still common mode of
diffusing architecture, which can be related with information processes, but also to a critical
sphere of the profession.
Fed by the crafts, but also fed by the critique, architecture has always sought ways to communicate
itself, even to the point of becoming mostly a representational métier, more of a draftsman thing than
of a craftsman. As Loos wrote: “Books meant little to the craftsmen. The architect took everything from books.
(…) And there was no end to the abomination. Everyone was desperate to see their things perpetuated in new publica-
tions and a large number of architectural periodicals appeared to satisfy the vanity of architects. And so it has remained
to the present day. There is another reason why the architect has ousted the craftsman. He has learned draftsmanship,
and since that is all he has learnt, he is good at it. The craftsman is not. (…) The architect has reduced the noble art
of building to a graphic art. The one who receives the most commissions is not the one who can build best but the one
whose work looks best on paper. There is a world of difference between the two. (…) The graphic arts and architecture
are polar opposites, at either end of the row. The best draftsman can be a poor architect, the best architect a poor
draftsman. Nowadays those entering architecture are expected to show a talent for graphic art. (…) But for the old
master builders the drawing was merely a means of communicating with the craftsmen who carried out the work”425.
From mouth to mouth of master apprentice, to a contemporary communication to a wider audi-
ence, the choice of certain labels or critical statements aids to spread the architectural knowledge426.
For instance, the word style is often used in architecture to reference a certain period, or certain char-
acteristics, to convey a certain type of approach, a mood, an aesthetic, a recognizable type of form,
or of construction, or of conceiving, or of building. It thus conveys a bond to craft, although it
extends way beyond. This or other labelling is embedded of a universalizing character, which
serves for its more or less arguable characteristics, but fundamentally for the purpose of
communicating it, to make it understandable. Thus, it is ultimately a critic’s, historian’s or theorist’s
construction, and inevitability, we must enter a taxonomic domain to observe, analyze, describe,
or finally re-conform space-time in architectural terms427. For instance, modernist architecture,
portrayed as a movement to produce a universal language has been critically called the International
Style428, or in the bonds of architecture with capital, a notion of personality cult has contributed
establish a starchitectural label over a self-referential, global constellation of architects429.
Loos stated that on the opposite end of craft is draft. Perhaps he was not accurate, and on the
opposite end of craft is critique, as craft is enriched by draft, enriched by critique, and recursively so
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forth; or perhaps there are no opposites in this story. As signaled by a Tate Britain exhibition in Sep-
tember 2012, the late XIXth century Pre-Raphaelites left an important legacy regarding the preservation
of the values of craft while criticizing an establishment of a mechanist perspective and somewhat
appraising sense of a non-authorial centered, communal work. On our times, the drift away from
craft is more and more accentuated, but no longer because of a mechanist apprehension, as machines
are already embedded in our realities, but because of a growing visibility of critique propelled by a
conspicuous media.
Vitruvius’ Ten Books of Architecture was, for the romans, a sort of universalization of good practices,
as the books conveyed a certain generalization of ways of building. The principles have endured the
centuries, being occasionally revived—as was the case of Leone Battista Alberti’s (1404-1472) refor-
mulation in De Re Aedificatoria (1486)—but architectural knowledge has benefited from different ways
of transmission. The ancient master-disciple knowledge transmission evolved, information availabil-
ity increased, and more perceptive modes of accessing were developed430. In architecture, as in all
areas of knowledge, that would be boosted by signal developments in printing or information sys-
tems—from Guttenberg’s printing system, the Morse code or the telegraph, to current digital sys-
tems. All in all, these contributed to the development of a broader intuition on the underlying pro-
cesses of architectural production.
Vitruvius’ books had no figures, but modern books soon were illustrated, providing architectural
diffusion a richer visual sense431. The new endorsement was arguably inaugurated in 1537, by Sebas-
tiano Serlio’s publication of the Tutte l’opere d’architettura, et prospetiva treatise, the first book of a series
of eight—the last two were actually only published in the XXth century after his manuscripts. It is the
first of its kind to be though for a wider audience as it is written in Italian—some were even published
using alongside text in French—and made use of high quality illustrations, unlike Alberti’s De Re
Aedificatoria, written in Latin and with no illustrations. Serlio’s ambitious publications were the first
to present architectural theory in the form of a professional manual. It contained illustrations of
similar series variations on a theme, such as the palace or the private house, none of which is derived
from Classical buildings.
In 1570, I Quattro libri dell’architectura, by Andrea Palladio (1508-1580), was first published in Ven-
ice, and remains one of the most influential treatises in the history of architecture. It provided sys-
tematic rules and plans for buildings drew from Roman buildings and authors (namely Vitruvius), as
from Italian Renaissance architects. It included plans and elevations of twenty villas, not all executed
or with that intention in mind. The plans were also ideal types in which the principles of Renaissance
composition and theories of harmony were presented. The conventions of composition and con-
struction governing correct building practice are there established by prescription and example, as
Palladio combined historical precedent with his own work, significantly innovating the genre of the
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architectural treatise. It is notable for its vivid language, striking images, the ease with which historical
examples sits alongside the designs they inspired, and by its accessibility. It was widely disseminated
outside Italy as it was translated into several languages. The published translations increased the pop-
ularity of Palladio’s designs internationally, and helped their imitation and interpretation regionally.
They left their mark on pattern books and trade publications, and so Palladio’s ideas became acces-
sible beyond the upper-class owners and book collectors432.
Alberti’s, Serlio’s or Palladio’s treatises are some the most influent of its kind made in the Renais-
sance, yet are only some between the astonishing body of work that was produced in that period433,
reflecting an interest in recovering history and transform it into a new path for knowledge through
the sciences and the arts434. These treatises would inspire countless imitations that would eventually
develop into forms such as architectural manuals and pattern books. For instance, through English
translations of his publication, the influence of Andrea Palladio would eventually reach colonial
America, becoming highly influential. Also significantly, a flood of more than 100 luxuriously illus-
trated pattern books were published in England during the XVIIth century to be broadly distributed
in America435, although that many variations were not only due to Palladio’s. In any case, a high
architecture could thereon reach almost everywhere, although many would degenerate to
interpretative, down-graded developments of the originals.
As Davies writes, “by the mid-nineteenth century in England the pattern book was being eclipsed by the rise of
the architectural magazine. In the USA, however, it was spreading and beginning to mutate in interesting ways”436.
A remarkable mutation would be that of the house catalogs, which started being published in the late
XIXth century onwards in countries such as the USA or Sweden. Although not particularly known
for notable design qualities, the development of pattern books or house catalogues nonetheless con-
tributed to spread architecture to the masses. In the least, these typically assured quality construction,
and inspired buildings made to the thousands. The developments also point out for what it can be
interpreted as an inevitable association between architecture and publicity, and of bringing to the
table an architecture that may not necessarily depend directly on a client, or of a direct relation with
a client, or of a place, of a context. That is, to an architecture in the process of finding new and
different ways of acquaintance, which envisions a more generic, global character. A vision of an ar-
chitecture of validated constructive systems which are poised to different sorts of combinations to
produce different designs, while deeply entangled with a business language, as with intrinsic bonds
with prefabrication methods.
Architectural treatises, paired with manuals, have always been linked to the day-to-day high archi-
tectural practices. The late XIXth century catalogs offered a dream to the masses, with their consid-
erable variety of plans, regardless being a depiction of certain idealized tastes, or styles. The prominent
Frank Lloyd Wright himself would issue pamphlets, advertising a popular, stylized architecture with
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controlled costs. For the most part, architects were unnecessary for these catalogs, once they were
offered as a complete package. In the early XXth century the Aladin or Sears Roebuck and Co catalogs
were well-known in the USA, among dozens of other books that had homes ready to build. It is
famous Buster Keaton’s (1920) surreal comic satire to this type of houses in the short film One Week,
in which the character attempts to mount, following an instruction book and without great success,
a wood catalog house received by mail from a fictitious company name Portable House Company. The
example denotes the socio-cultural relevance of these catalog houses and is an eloquent metaphor
for the difficulties inherent of the prefabrication of housing construction.
The businesses of houses received by mail would not survive the Wall Street crash of 1929 but
the catalog method persists today, accounting for much of the American suburban landscape. Current
software-packaged house catalogues are much more sophisticated. These may include pre-designed
house in certain styles, as well options for the intended number of bedrooms or the price range, and
so forth. It is also possible to set houses in a tridimensional environment using diagrams which are
later translated to real plan by the software in use, opting for the variety of forms of roof, windows,
doors, materials and others. After opting, software may translate the design to plans and other visu-
alizations, making instant bills of materials. As in the catalog method, options are obviously limited.
In a different perspective, some of the developments of architectural publications also evolved to
an idea of brand, embedding the notions of trend or fashion, thus more restricted to a specific time
and range. Contemporarily, we can associate the phenomena with certain fashion magazines, coffee-
table books, or the like, showing the ultimate trends of living, and mixing it with design furniture and
objects, presented in carefully selected photographs. The social media, blogs or other web phenom-
ena have given it a different twist. The examples are plentiful, from more generical design media—
e.g. Wallpaper, Dezeen, The Cool Hunter, Evolo, Icon, Mondo—to more arguably more specific architectural
media—e.g. ArchDaily, Architizer, Architonic. Bounding it with a certain trend, via a mix with design or
art objects and the like, makes it more appealing to a wider audience, but such is also a double-edge
sword. As people are supposedly more informed, the speed of trends may often set little or no room
to a suitable scrutiny of information, to which adds effects such as the repetition or circularity of
content between the different media and publications. There is more information available, but also
more noise disrupting the message.
As argued by Colomina, in an early reflection on the theme, architecture only becomes modern
in its engagement with the mass media, and in so doing so, it radically displaces the traditional sense
of space and subjectivity437. Where conventional criticism may portray architecture as a high artistic
practice in opposition to a mass culture, an informational paradigm has come to define our culture
as the true place within which architecture is produced. The architectural discourse has thus become
an intersection of a number of systems of representation such as drawings, models, photographs,
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books, films, and advertisements. Such does not mean abandoning the archetypal architectural ob-
ject—i.e. the building—but rather looking at it differently. In that sense, the building can be under-
stood in the same way as all the media framing it, as a mechanism of representation in its own right.
It is again Loos’ triad of craft, draft and critique, with an increased emphasis on the latter, certainly a
reflex of a post-industrial detachment from craft.
With modernity, the site of architectural production moved from the street into photographs,
films, publications, and exhibitions—a displacement that presupposes a new sense of space; a space
defined by (moving) images rather than by walls. Today’s architecture renegotiates the traditional
relationship between a communal and a domestic sphere in a way that profoundly alters the experi-
ence of space. The (built) landscape is affected by fashion, war, sexuality, art, show, religion, TV, or
social media. Finally, it is distilled on the interiority that constructs the (post)modern subject: its
dwelling438. We have been witnessing an increasing projection of architecture in processes and dis-
plays of media representation, through brands, advertisements and the like. That can be traced back
to the advent of a modern approach, as noticeable through Loos’ or Le Corbusier’s writings. Archi-
tecture and media representations are now entangled more than ever before, and that is in a good
part due to the ubiquitous nature of the media we currently have at our disposal worldwide twenty-
four seven.
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5 SHIFTS IN THE PROFESSION
The media entanglement is linked with an important aspect surrounding the architectural profes-
sion, which is social notoriety. Visibility begets attention, attention begets discussion, discussion be-
gets notoriety, and finally, perhaps work to feed the architectural office. Work begets visibility and so
on, in what appears to be a natural cycle. The tradition of architects’ visibility is straightforward:
trained as professionals, architects acquire work through both their contacts and the skills they
demonstrate in making buildings. Built work gradually ensures wider circles of attention for the prac-
tices, and correspondingly more work, increasing in volume and in complexity as a reflection of the
growing contacts and expertise. This tradition certainly may broadly true for most architects exerting
the profession in a conventional way.
There are others, perhaps more intellectually inclined, whose ambitions may lay in having more
direct impact on the environment, following more of a political path. In this case, the connections
must be pursued more aggressively, the level of achievement is set higher, the cultural pretensions of
the work are similarly high. In the past, quite often such architects became the heads of academies
(Walter Gropius or Hannes Meyer) in order to be part of the political system, to be closer to the
nexus of decisive political power. Another route to visibility for the ambitious architect was the radical
group, the exhibition, the competition scheme, the private publication, the manifesto (Le Corbusier
or Mies van der Rohe)—the building as a means was not always available to such architects, whose
connections to, or influence over private individuals or corporations willing to spend money on
building, were very often limited.
The majority of the acknowledged Modern masters (in Europe, anyhow) and members of the
avant-garde had these qualifications in common, forming a tradition of their own and providing a tem-
plate for future generations of architects. It is worth stressing that these were referred to by both the
public and peers alike as masters. It is also worth noting that this tradition is still very much in place
today, i.e. there are architects sustained by their directorships of academies, and architects who sur-
vive on the basis of hypothetical projections. In the worse cases, the visibility value in each may stand
in old-fashioned perceptions of the authority of academic work and the artistic honesty of independent
creative research.
One of the outcomes of globalization in respect to architectural practice has been the emergence
of firms with a global portfolio. There are transnational corporations in their own right built up
commercially, rarely winning awards and building up a lot; or the ones that have grown from practices
that are design-oriented but business-centered. There are also design-oriented practices but whose
senior partners have grown a great deal of visibility, a celebrity status even439. This starchitecture walks
along commodification, of a global commercial culture that is enabled by changing consumer expec-
tations, market opportunities or business plans. Traditional identity groups based on class, ethnicity,
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age or genre started blurring as people were growingly free to build their identities and lifestyles
through their modes of consumption. Product design and niche marketing, as with branding, have
become nuclear to the enchantment and re-enchantment of things. Guy Debord’s society of the spectacle
gave birth to a society of consumption440.
The architectural manifestations of these developments include iconic sky-scraping banking tow-
ers and TV networks, chains of brand transnational hotels, franchise restaurants and shopping malls
full global brand stores. Even city centers are commodified or transformed into a sort of museum by
urban makeups and/or punctual state-of-the-art interventions by renowned architects. National and
regional governments hire famous architecture personalities to refresh their city skylines and create
memorable places. Examples of such buildings are the Guggenheim Museum (Frank Gehry, Bilbao), the
CCTV Headquarters (OMA, Beijing) or the Swiss Re (Norman Foster, London). Their authors are part
of the legion of starchitects. All of it could not exist without the media441.
From the 1990’s, the media buzz phenomena showed its great influence in the world of elite
architectures, where media powered images started to predominate over real buildings. All of it is the
expression of what was before announced by Marshall McLuhan in the 1960’s: the predominance of
visual media over the language and the contents. The era of digital image-media-production has
cursed much of the architectural production to immediacy and often to a kind of futile search for
instant memorability. Carefully selected photographs in slick magazines and professional journals
become the ultimate glorification to their authors: a signal of self-cult and of commodification of
architecture in a growingly global consumerist society; a quest for a sort of impressiveness that leads
to the disappearance of perception and memory; a set where buildings, claiming for attention, struggle
to be distinct from one another, where the cacophony of the whole results in a seemingness of the
parts, all-new, all-different, looking kind of all-the-same. Sometimes the amazing photographs in slick
magazines are just preview renderings or illustrations, authentic virtual-architecture. These are often at
service of marketing strategies for all sorts of purposes, from seducing and convincing the architec-
tural client with the aid of imagery, to large-scale publicity of speculative real-estate.
The global financial crisis and the major cuts associated in the construction industry that have
occurred in the end of the first decade of the XXIth century forced many architects to deeply rethink their
profession. It gave a stronger, conjunctural visibility to a state of epistemological transformation which
has deep structural roots. Regardless the circumstances, in some cases, architects turn to a sort of
boundary skills, for instance by selling their work also as virtual images creators, advertisers,
graphic designers, and so on. In other cases, in larger structures, architects rethink their overall phi-
losophy of architectural production. In such cases, the profession can be fostered into a sort of ar-
chitectural consultancy scheme for areas such as fashion or advertising, as it is the case of
OMA/AMO company442. In many circumstances, to be a business from which people can make a
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living from, architecture seems not to afford to be just architecture in its age-old high sense, or in the
least be ready to ever change. Such is a deep conflict, which has been existing for long and probably
will keep for long443. Tafuri has eloquently described the effect decades ago: “Paradoxically, the new
tasks given to architecture are something besides or beyond architecture. In recognizing this situation (…) I am express-
ing no regret, but neither am I making an apocalyptic prophecy. No regret, because when the role of a discipline ceases
to exist, to try to stop the course of things is only regressive utopia, and of the worst kind. No prophecy, because the
process is actually taking place daily before our eyes. And for those wishing striking proof, it is enough to observe the
percentage of architectural graduates really exercising the profession. Also, there is the fact that this decline within the
profession proper has not yet resulted in a corresponding institutionally defined role for the technicians charged with
building activity. For this reason one is left to navigate in empty space, in which anything can happen but nothing is
decisive”444.
The 2011 RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) call for the architects’ role in 2025 was both a
signal of a growing professional concern on the object of the very profession, and of a state of crisis.
The question it poses says it all: Will architects exist in 2025?445. The very word architecture is often and
increasingly borrowed, e.g., to computer programing language in expressions such as programming ar-
chitecture, system’s architecture or software architecture, giving emphasis on a blurred state of the word, and
of the profession. All these can be seen as manifestations of crisis. By crisis, we do not necessarily
mean a more or less conjunctural economic crisis of global effects, that may erode a construction
sector and hence the architects’ ability to produce their work into the built environment. It is also a
crisis laying in the very ethos of the job. If even the starchitects, as in the AMO proposal, feel the need
to turn themselves to other tasks, in the least, we can assume that we are moving towards a state of
things where the architect’s role is voided from a traditional or conventional sense.
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6 CRISIS, CONFLICT AND EMPOWERMENT
No one could seriously expect architecture to solve societies’ ills, as some modernist founding
fathers apparently believed. However, even if it embodied such potential, it would have to reckon
that the world is ever transforming. Nonetheless, architecture can contribute to make a difference.
In the least, it can make a difference between something that exists and an aspiration, an intention
into the future, a resolute target, set regardless contingencies, creating symbols and images, giving a
more tangible body for such purposes. In this sense, architecture can work as a powerful political
and/or ideological servant, vehicle towards certain purposes. Some political decisions set the course
of entire nations, or even affect people across the world, but architecture per se is unlikely to reach
such an influence. Anyhow, the ability for architecture to make a difference may often be less in what
has a more direct visibility, and more in what remains invisible or untold, in the impressions it sets
available to provoke in people’s minds regardless any aprioristic intention.
Between the theoretical advances in the sciences or humanities, and architecture’s developments,
there is a vast unexplored territory. Broadly, that most probably has to do with a material and formal
bond that architecture is required to fulfill, whereas in areas whose bond is predominantly set in a
logical field, and/or a verbalized concretization, the development of ideas and concepts can expound
without less of constrains of a practical order. In that perspective, architecture might not aim but to
attain a lesser conceptual complexity, since its language starts from a more constrained milieu. That
is, a milieu in which in the least some sort of perceptible form in space must be delivered, and that
inevitably implies mental concessions for the sake of a sound executive deployment.
On the other hand, architecture can deliver things that other areas cannot, and that do not neces-
sarily have to belong to a logical or verbal field, but simply to things which are latent within a sensible
sphere, that is, whose language is non-lingual, thus with greater potential of engagement with the
senses. Typically, this can be found in other artistic expressions, even in those art forms that we may
not suspect of beforehand. For instance, in Robert Wilson’s theatrical plays, an art which is canonically
verbal, there is an assumed non-verbal dialogue between the different elements, between the actors,
the set, the lights, the audience, and so forth, and finally in the space-time they all create446. Remark-
able architectural specimens, aside their more or less describable features, can also transport us to
placeless and timeless places, that is, create an effect that both exceeds and is deeply within us, speaking
to us silently.
Aside the experience that architecture can provide us, there is also an illusional side, that is, the
projection into a future, making us mesmerize in what the future may be, providing concrete images
of how it may look. But as every illusion, that can also turn out deceptive. Regardless the criticism
arising from prominent thinkers such as Guy Débord, the social movements of the 1960s were pretty
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much laid in the context of a techno-optimist worldview. Post-WWII economy was driven by con-
sumption—the baby boom was a consumption boom, an unlimited belief in progress. Anticipating
what would be the post-war trend, the 1939 Flushing Meadows, New York World Fair, was based on a
vision of the future, with a view of forces, ideas and machines that prevail, plunging its visitors in a
technological world of wonders, where they can be at the forefront, as empowered consumers447.
The 1970s oil crisis would recall a deeper reality was at stake. From the unlimited belief in progress,
uttermost expressed in architectural terms in the ad novo construction of Brazilia, to the Vietnam anti-
war protests, it was just a small step.
The Keynesian economic theories served as a model in the developed countries to overcome the
Great Depression, WWII, and subsequent postwar economic expansion (1945-73). The theories
would lose influence with the oil crisis of the 1970s448, but with the global financial crisis kicking in
2008, there was a resurgence of application of the Keynesian ideas by some countries. We do not
have to go very far to find examples in which something that is planned as a bright future eventually
reveals its faults. For instance, in Brazil, some of the stadiums built anew for the 2014 World Cup were
set for sale in 2015449, in the very least signaling the failure of a sort of delusional belief in techno-
optimism. Between conservation or consumerism, durability or obsolescence, the 2015 Volkswagen
scandal was just one more nail in the coffin, probably just the tip of the iceberg, in the least signaling
how doubtful so-advertised eco-friendly intents may truly be.
In a famous paper, the Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning (1973), Horst Rittel and Melvin
Webber wrote that there could be no universal truths in design, there is no objective best solution,
“there are only good or bad solutions”450. In a way, that opens way to an understanding that formulating
the (design) problem is the problem. In this sense, form is (un-conscious) restrain and, thus, design
should embrace wickedness and complexity. What remains, one may consider is applied technical
knowledge, derivative knowledge stemmed from an initial formulation. Nonetheless, the technicality
of the derived remainder is as important as the problem formulation to bring form into life, and can
be extraordinarily complex to put in practice. One day Edgar Degas, the painter, complained to
Stephane Mallarmé, the poet, that it had cost him a whole day to try to write a sonnet: “And yet I’m
not lacking in ideas, I’ve enough of those!”; Mallarmé could not resist answering: “But Degas you need words to
make a sonnet, not ideas”. Anyhow, the technical expertise in many circumstances is simply not enough
to address what can be urgent habitat issues, and in the harshest cases people have to manage a way
to get a roof over their heads.
In contrast to an inescapable media culture of architecture, architects probably ought to spend
more time reflecting on the socio-spatial effects of their work. Certainly, architecture on its own is
not able to solve society’s ills, but architects have an immense social responsibility, as their hands are
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traversed by an enormous communal investment towards the built environment. Architects are ve-
hicles to formalize it, and by so they ought to deliver living environments which enact people to exert
their own control (their freedom), and sustain voluntary or spontaneous social interaction. In the
least people, should be free to pick if the dwelling is to allow a certain self-fulfillment and/or if housing
is to be made and traded as any other consumer good, and so on. The Pritzker prize attributed in
2016 to Alejandro Aravena in the least denotes these concerns in the debate.
Nonetheless, to some architects, the contemporary cathedrals, such as the museums, have in many
cases become the [formal] ideal of the house. By that, we mean that there is a kind of silent compe-
tition for public visibility to deliver the most extravagant, out-of-the-box concepts and forms. It is as
if every piece of architecture was to acquire a grand artistic status or the notoriety of the remarkable
and exceptional public buildings. Most likely, a built environment made exclusively of architectural
exceptions would be as tedious as if uniquely made of monotonous repetition. The correspondence
seems to be mutual, that is, a house too can be used as a prototype of an object of a larger scale, as
has been exemplified with the model of a house blown-up to the scale of a music hall in Rem Kool-
haas’ Casa da Música (2005) in Porto. Overall, these references also signal an architectural culture
where the structures float in shifting significances. Such is artistically and aesthetically fruitful, as it may
be socially or sustainably neglecting. Truly addressing social or environmental matters is often faded,
or left to a secondary plane. It becomes indirect consequence, not primary concern. With it, a culture
of congestion truly becomes a culture of form-casing-congestion451, where the only remaining ethics is aes-
thetics: individualistic society at its best.
Architecture is not like art, as in classical sculpture or painting, it creates spaces that are ought to
be lived and experienced. It is not a museum art piece, although the museum itself is in display. As
Herman Hertzberger ironically notes, “the problem with buildings is that they are too vulnerable, too subject to
deterioration, and too big to fit in a museum”452. In this sense, architecture should be open-ended, capable
of interpretation. That includes acknowledging the existence of diverse tones and shades in an archi-
tecture vs user/society conflict. When we say conflict, it is not only a conflict between the architects and
the rest, that is, a conflict between those that need to be educated to understand what architecture is
about, and those that supposedly know what it is all about—as we know, the noble intents to give
and architectural education to the public have already astoundingly failed in Modernism. Instead, it is
an unfolding epistemological conflict occurring in and out architecture.
It is important to remind that conflict is not necessarily a negative, antagonistic force. It can also
be a creative force, enduring the ability to free think. A force involving direct communication, and
that hence may be used as a generator to engage or maintain a participatory process, to escape an
imposed alienation—participation as a means of exerting liberty, of individual control over how to
live, how to deal with the body, to free think. A thus architecture of alterity seems to imply the
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blurring of the architect’s role, and this can render a certain fear in the professionals on whether or
not to include imponderabilities in the designs. Empowering the user is freeing, but also making it
consciously responsible, accountable, and such does not mean voiding the architect’s role, yet making
the architect more aware of alternative modes of addressing the architectural design.
Moments of crisis, of conflict, are also moments of creative production. Fast-moving, unfolding
conflict has an acritical, naïveté quality, which is mounted in crisis. On the other hand, long, pondered
motion sets space for critique, and is of a very different type. Crisis intervenes in the avant-garde
production of difference, the critique in recording, labelling, cataloging, and set comparably, acknowl-
edging the change that occurs through difference. “Coherence is the virtue of imbeciles”, said Oscar Wilde;
“todo cambia” sang Mercedes Sosa; “the constancy of change”, wrote Amos Rapoport. The space of con-
tingencies is also the space of creative action, the freedom to act, of changing opinion, of changing
circumstances (and change changes).
Then, there is also a double-sided gap of knowledge, and communication, which is conflictual,
laying between the expert (architect or other) and an eventual user empowerment. On the ambiguous
status of the professionals and the outsider relation, there is difficulty in identifying with the architec-
tural occupant, and the occurring lack of communication leads to a form of imposition, which results
in conflict. On the other hand, in an ultra-liberal marketing-flooded contemporary global society, the
claims for social engagement must be carefully scrutinized, as sometimes it becomes extremely hard
to distinguish if these are really for real, or just another way of getting on by a system engaged in
profit: the business as usual.
Between the 1960s social movements and today, there is a major difference in the economic en-
vironment, to say the least. In a way, neoliberalism has become conspicuous, and idealism has given
its place to his alter entrepreneurism, even if both can be considered as different names for an analogous
purpose. The prolific development of utopian architectural proposals in that period is certainly related
with a sort of intellectually naïve belief on non-limited prosperity and social well-being, provided in
a time where economic growth seemed unlimited. James Howard Kunstler has delivered an expres-
sive diagnose on the issue: “The immersive ugglyness of our everyday environments is entropy made visible… One
can call it many names, ‘automobile slum’, ‘suburban sprawl’, ‘technosis externality ex-tra-fuck’, or simply the greatest
misallocation of resources in the history of the world… The end of the ‘cheap’ oil era is about to change everything, and
there is not going to be a hydrogen economy… Therefore something will have to be done. We will have to downscale,
rescale, downsize virtually everything we do, and we cannot start soon enough to do it… The age of the 3000 miles
Cesar salad is coming to an end, and new urbanism must take it into account… Life in the mid XXI century will be
about living locally, and necessarily be ready to help the neighbor next door… We are not consumers; we are first and
foremost citizens”453.
275
We believe that the problems among our built landscapes are not in taking a certain building
philosophy instead of another, say density vs sprawl. The greatest problem seems to be when we lose
interest, when we stop seeing things worth caring about. The modes to engage in care do not come
from architecture, but from a body of culture of civic design (some may simply call it education), in-
forming not only geographically but also culturally who we are, where we come from, what is our
(hi)story. The remedy for mutilated urbanism is not in a XIXth century nature, with its luxuriously
designed gardens, or a XXth century modernist green field, hiding (or de-localizing) problems inside
clean-designed social housing blocks or the like, and that eventually later will be demolished when it
becomes clear that the problems are still there. Remembering Rittel & Webber’s sentence, the remedy
for wounded urbanism and buildings probably is good urbanism and good buildings, and not just
caricatures of nature. There is not a single answer to it, perhaps a little bit more of ethics, or simply a
little bit more of care, or a lot more of both.
In 2008, the housing crisis in the USA reached its peak. The crisis started from a bubble of housing
speculation and evolved into the greatest economic crisis in the USA in a long time. It would spread
to many other countries forcing millions into unemployment, many for poverty, or even for home-
lessness. Architecture does not have to be a privilege for the few who can afford it. Architecture
should be able reach to all levels of society. As signaled in 2011 MoMA’s exhibition, Small Scale Big
Change: New Architectures of Social Engagement, projects such as Diébédo Francis Kéré’s Primary School in
Gando, Burkina Faso (1999-2001), Elemental’s Quinta Monroy Housing in Iquique, Chile (2003–05),
Hashim Sarkis A.L.U.D.’s Housing for the Fishermen in Tyre, Lebanon (1998–2008), Estudio Teddy
Cruz’s Casa Familiar in San Ysidro, California (ongoing since 2001), or Anna Heringer’s METI Hand-
made School, in Rudrapur, Bangladesh (2004–06) are proof of a contemporary architectural concern in
issues such as social engagement or sustainability.
These projects are hard, or even virtually impossible to methodologically grasp, and often seem
to fall on imagery delivery more than anything. Nevertheless, they also depict a pragmatic attitude
and knowledge of the local conditions, and their authors seem to be committed and sharing a vision:
improving human habitat through good design and practical solutions. In the cases where necessary,
these too use contemporary tools, such as remote, internet-based platforms for design and knowledge
exchange between the intervenient. These envision that from a small scale, from the individual, great
change is possible in a community: active otherness, not alien strangeness. Teddy Cruz, in the prep-
aration of the exhibition, affirmed something like: “ultimately, it does not matter whether contemporary archi-
tecture is wrapped by the latest morphogenetic skin, neoclassical prop, or LEED-certified photovoltaic panels if all
approaches continue to camouflage the most pressing problems of urbanization today”. In any case, one must also
not forget that social engagement or sustainability are also labels, and labels that are ought to be
carefully scrutinized.
276
In a globalized world, where capital circulates instantly, new forms of establishing criticism and
social engagement are also possible from local, but globally connected participation. Current tech-
nologies enable an empowering, organizational horizontalism, from where expertise can effectively
share and exchange knowledge. Through connection, from a small, local scale, architecture may en-
vision ubiquity rather than unity. The architect may even no longer be what we traditionally could
assume it to be, but as long as society’s ills are lessened and the built environment’s is improved, at
least some productive path has been proceeded. Robert Wilson once said, “when you finally know the
answer to the artist’s question, the art disappears”. When you know the trick, magic is no longer.
277
7 CLOSURE
[1]
In a globalized world there are profound space-time changes in in relation to our modern(ist) inheritance. Neverthe-
less, the architecture that we make today still essentially traduces that inheritance.
[2]
Architecture participates in a wider human construction process, typically traducing its approach in the space-time
conformation and construction of the built environment, translated into the architectural artifact. For that to occur it
converges an intention or wish and conceptualization dimensions and a praxis and production of that intention in a
certain context or reality.
[3]
Following a Cartesian logic, the essential building blocks of both these spheres can be categorized according to
different perspectives, with different criteria and outcomes depending on the propositions—themselves subjectable to
questioning or change. Even if partially or temporarily, one can ultimately aim at obtaining a methodological corpus
that allows to ease the mechanization of certain processes, or at least to provide a heuristic that contributes to their
concretion.
[4]
As component of an executive sphere, by definition, prefabrication fundamentally implies a fabrication of a part or
the entirety of an artifact at another time and place other than its final location. Its feasibility will be all the greater, the
greater precision to be embodied in the development of all the mechanics of the process that leads to the artifact. However,
upstream there are a number of factors that constrain the process, of which only a small part can be influenced by the
architecture.
[5]
Since architecture exists largely because of an intent of influence on the artifact, prefabrication would aprioristically
be limitative of the full development of the architectural action. However, it is our belief that, in relation to other practices,
the relationship can only win clarification, since the same difficulties are found in other levels of other executive spheres.
On the other hand, implicitly or explicitly, it is evident a tendency of executive spheres in architectural production to
make more and more use of prefabrication or prefabrication-related processes.
278
[6]
Most of the architectural discourse and practice are based on an implicit or explicit recognition of contextual realities,
therefore of a ‘local’ character. However, even if it is only from a semiotic or etymological point of view, architecture is
‘global(izing)’ by nature. In this sense, there are ‘local’ or ‘global’ semiotics, that is, representations translating interde-
pendent processes traceable to human origins, and thus to the linguistic evolution (logical, communicational) that soci-
oculturally conforms all others—technique, aesthetics, and so forth.
Today’s architecture is global, in the sense that, despite local idiosyncrasies—such as climatic, geographic or geological
specificities, with potential impact on construction techniques; or the most accentuated social or cultural specificities of
some architectural programs—the references are global, the images are global, the materials and techniques are available
in a global factory inextricably subjugated to global capital mechanisms of various orders and depths. In addition, as a
global reality and mediatic discipline, there is a broader semiotics, where it is included sociocultural processes of infor-
mation transmission, which have a downstream impact on both mental and executive spheres.
[7]
The relationship of prefabrication with architecture is evident in the fabrication of constructive components with
different shapes or dimensions and different degrees of complexity, and which would otherwise be more demanding or
impracticable locally—the simple act of fabricating, a brick that is, already implies a space-time distance from the
‘local’. But prefabrication is also the epithet of the acceptance of a global architecture, which can be regarded according
to a logic of product, thus participating in the conflict of ‘art’ with ‘reproducibility’, or of the original with the replica,
and so forth. Moreover, prefabrication can be read under the prism of the dialectics of the ‘alterity’ of architecture itself,
that is, in the conflict generated between the necessity or aspiration of a certain ‘control’ over space-time and the indom-
itable course of that same space-time to the wills, changes, or whims of everything that happens after a certain point of
order.
Prefabrication can be seen as vector, technological weapon, business as usual model, or exogenous solution of problems
that are fundamentally ‘local’. In that sense, it can be seen with skepticism. But prefabrication can also be seen as
process, adaptable, integrable, dialogue vector, scale pointer of an economic response without qualitative
concessions, allied with a sustainable approach to the built environment. In that sense, it can be seen with optimism.
These two aspects have a conflicting side that finds an epistemological reflex in architecture itself, in conflict between the
aspirations of the Art, the aspirations of Man, and the reality of Nature which essentially shapes them.
[8]
Latent changes in the architectural profession must meet industrial and commercial practices. Such is an issue long
debated since industrialization’s inceptions, and finds a wide field of discussion through the scope of prefabrication. The
latter has long been the object of architectural interest, and yet the bulk of its developments has mostly occurred outside
279
an official architectural history. This fact is on its own indicative of biases in architectural circles. However, it is clear
that architecture must search for alternative ways of endorsement.
Architects who want to keep designing buildings have to unavoidably bond architecture with the business language,
as well as an industrial language. As demographics evolve in a crowded world, maybe a certain romantic idea of a
‘genius loci’ becomes as important as the (apparent) industrial and business related trends of lean production and mass-
customization. Besides, in many circumstances, producing new meanings through design seems less relevant than provid-
ing effective, technically fit answers to urgent demands. The house problem has shifted throughout the centuries, but
persists as a problem. Perhaps the architectural profession can be faced more as a technical métier, maybe it can persist
attached to a certain ‘Beaux Arts’ paradigm or other canonical nuances. The problems of the built environment are
nonetheless out there.
[9]
It is the architecture’s task to make non-discriminatory use of everything available to it, in order to provide an
ethical and responsible answer in the integration of the built environment with the social fabric and the natural environ-
ment.
[10]
Prefabrication is not an end-in-itself.
[11]
Architecture is not an end-in-itself.
280
281
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302
303
Table of Acronyms
A
HP
A
ffordable Houses Project
A
IROH
A
ircraft Industries Research Organisation on Housin
g
BIM Building Information Modelling
BISF British Iron and Steel Federation
BOM Bill of Materials
CAD Computer-Aided Design
CAM Computer-Aided Manufacturing
CEO Chief Executive Officer
CFS Cold-Formed Steel
CIAM Congrès Internationaux d'Architecture Moderne
CLASP Consortium of Local Authorities Special Programme
CNC Computer Numerical Control
DC District Capital
DEWOG Deutsche Wohnungsfürsorgung Aktiengesellschaft für Beamte, Angestellete und Arbeiter
[“Shareholder German Company for the Improvement of Housing for Civil Servants, Employees and Workers”]
DSME Daewoo Shipbuilding & Marine Engineering
DTI Department of Trade and Industry
EPSRC Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council
EU European Union
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GDR German Democratic Republic, or East Germany
GEHAG Gemeinnützige Heimstätten-, Spar- und Bau-Aktiengesellschaft [“Housing Cooperative for Savings and Construction”]
HHI Hyundai Heavy Industries
HUD Housing and Urban Development
HVAC Heat Ventilation and Air Conditioning
ICAT International Congress for Architecture and Town-Planning
IFD Industrial, Flexible and Demountable
IG Independent Group
IMF International Monetary Fund
ISISE Institute for Sustainability and Innovation in Structural Engineering
ISNSC International Scientific Networks in Steel Construction
ISO International Organization for Standardization
304
IT’s Information Technologies
LCE life-cycle end
LED Light-Emitting Diode
LEED Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design
LPS Large-Panel concrete Systems
LT Lean Thinking
MARS
M
odern Architectural Research Group
MBOM
M
anufacturing Bill of Material
s
MC
M
as
s
-Customization
MHI
M
itsubishi Heavy Industrie
s
MIT
M
assachusetts Institute of Technology
MP
M
as
s
-Production
NASA
N
ational Aeronautics and Space Administration
NYC
N
ew York City
OECD Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
OEM Original Equipment Manufacturer
OPP Order Penetration Point
OSB Oriented Stranded Board
OSM Off-Site Manufacturing
PE Polyethylene
R&D Research & Development
RIBA Royal Institute of British Architects
SAR Foundation for Architects Research
SFC Strategic Forum for Construction
SFHC Steel Frame House Company
TPS Toyota Production System / Temporary Housing Programme
TV Television
UC University of Coimbra
UFO Unidentified Flying Object
UK United Kingdom
UN United Nations
USA United States of America
USSR Soviet Union
V
EHA Veteran Emergency Housing Act
W
BSC Walter Bates Steel Corporation (
W
WI World War I
W
WII World War II
305
Table of Figures
Figure 1. Utzon’s Kingo houses (a), Eyck’s Orphanage (b) and Safdie’s Habitat’67 (c). _____________________________________ 29
Figure 2. Signifier and signified. _______________________________________________________________________________ 49
Figure 3. From Myth to form. ________________________________________________________________________________ 55
Figure 4. Maslow's hierarchy of human needs. ___________________________________________________________________ 144
Figure 5. Customization vs standardization. _____________________________________________________________________ 148
Figure 6. Modularity. ______________________________________________________________________________________ 154
Figure 7. Types of modular architecture. _______________________________________________________________________ 155
Figure 8. Module. ________________________________________________________________________________________ 156
Figure 9. Example of a functional mapping of a window, from function set to a component mapping. ________________________ 157
Figure 10. Interfaces in a graph representation. __________________________________________________________________ 158
Figure 11. Example of a light switch modularity. _________________________________________________________________ 158
Figure 12. Unlike in a decoupled interface (b), in a coupled interface (a) a change in A implies a change in B and vice-versa. ________ 159
Figure 13. Graph fundamentals. _____________________________________________________________________________ 161
Figure 14. Graph representation of a hypothetical product decomposition and isolated observation of two of its sub-components. __ 162
Figure 15. The module window example-case. ___________________________________________________________________ 164
Figure 16. A graph representation of two different levels of functional components of a window. ____________________________ 164
Figure 17. A simple case of modular application. _________________________________________________________________ 172
Figure 18. A one-dimensional generalization of form processes: (a) continuous (kin), i.e. dividing the length l sequentially, starting in one;
(b,c,d) discontinuous (discrete), assembling segments given by s(i) to form length l, in (b) i goes from 1 to n, in (c) a case of arrangements
of (b), and in (d) with i always equal to 1. ______________________________________________________________________ 173
Figure 19. Example of initial section constraints. _________________________________________________________________ 183
Figure 20. Grid (a) and combinations (b). ______________________________________________________________________ 184
Figure 21. Illustration of variations on the case of level 0 (0-1.1). _____________________________________________________ 184
Figure 22. Illustration of level -1 variations according to terrain adaptation scenarios. _____________________________________ 185
Figure 23. Illustration of urban adaptation scenarios (a, b, c, d), example case (e), and developed cases (f, g). ___________________ 185
Figure 24. Illustration of an urban ensemble in detached scenarios, and showing different overhangs hypothesis. ________________ 186
Figure 25. Illustrative design case. ____________________________________________________________________________ 187
Figure 26. Illustration of a virtually limitless expansion (no added constraints) of m:(2, 3) derived shapes. ______________________ 189
Figure 27. Initial m:(2, 3) derived shapes (a) and their essential members (b). ____________________________________________ 190
Figure 28. Arrangements in (a) m:(4, 2) and (b) m:(3, 3) (left, in black), and some of their possible bi-part subdivisions using elements from
a m:(2, 3) (right, in white). __________________________________________________________________________________ 190
Figure 29. Illustrating a matrix formalism through the description of a L-shape, and unfolding to topological and typological values, where
in (d) are added connections to establish a topological path, and in (e) topology is labeled with typological values via a set of externally
given base program rules. The subscript notation for m—in (d) and (e)— follows the conventional matrix notation, where in the comma
separated values the first indicates row and the second the column position in the matrix. _________________________________ 191
306
Figure 30. Illustration of a modular shape definition via connectedness, in which in each case a discrete shape is defined by a continuous
color in a given modular rank. In (e), the expression is-1 stands for a modularly incremented distance (i) of a s-1 scope, which is thus
analogous with connectedness features in (f). In the AHP, the is-1 would be a modular denominator, corresponding to a dimension of the
modular unit u of 0,60×0,60m. ______________________________________________________________________________ 192
Figure 31. Notation application examples in a s:(2, 3) grid (a, b, c, and d) and in an expanded s+1:(2, 7) grid. ___________________ 193
Figure 32. Illustration of a R (rotation) and T (translation) operations. In (a) R uses a simplified θe formalism, describing a unit vector e
(indicating the direction of an axis of rotation) and an angle θ (describing the magnitude of the rotation about the axis) to be applied in the
relative origin os of a shape. In (b) is shown T as a special case of R. __________________________________________________ 194
Figure 33. Illustration of a simultaneous use of R, T and A (array) operators to form a triangle-based grid (g) and a triangle-based shape (sg). _ 194
Figure 34. Two examples of addressing modules’ interface, with application of threshold offset criteria, including some possible variations. __ 196
Figure 35. Modular dependency reduction and improved symmetry in relation to the initial AHP design. ______________________ 196
Figure 36. Examples of (a) endogenous adaptability with typological variations from two symmetrical [11:321] shapes, and (b) exogenous
adaptability from a [11:321] base shape. _________________________________________________________________________ 196
Figure 37. Example of four possible minimum shapes—(a)•(b), (a)•(c), (a)•(d), and (a)•(e)—over two levels, using the two different
orientations, m:(2, 1) and m:(1, 2) given by the module’s asymmetry by the u:(7, 8). ______________________________________ 199
Figure 38. Illustration of all of the different combinations within a m:(2,3), in which shapes have the same total number of modules in each
case, considering both levels—except (f), for comparison purposes. In (a), (b) and (c) are represented the two-shape cases, and in (d) and
(e) the three-shape cases. ___________________________________________________________________________________ 200
Figure 39. Examples of other formal possibilities using the 1-2 as core principle. _________________________________________ 200
Figure 40. Increased symmetry by using u:(8, 8) modules. __________________________________________________________ 201
Figure 41. Detailed example of the increased symmetry implications. _________________________________________________ 202
Figure 42. Illustration of what future developments may look like, using smaller modules as modular compounding base for more intricate
and varied outputs. _______________________________________________________________________________________ 203
Figure 43. Maximum occupation cases of simple junctions in a double dwelling scenario (dwelling a and b) of m:(2, 3) shapes under different
urban constraints: (a) detached, (b) semi-detached and/or semi-attached and (c) attached—d0, d1 and d2 correspond to the number of walls
with possible direct contact with exterior, dashed lines represent unfeasible modules and thick lines the dn walls. Without loss of
generalization, in this case we illustrate only examples with equal areas, and thus with symmetrical shapes. Numbers (1), (2) and (3) depart
from the same base illustrated in the (a) respective cases. In (c), numbers (4) and (5) are illustrate the ways out of the d induced constraints
with a void central module. In thick lines are eventual façades with d and in dashed line are impossibilities due to d constraints. ____ 205
Figure 44. Linear limits given d constraints. _____________________________________________________________________ 206
Figure 45. Expressions for assessment of different grid scenarios. ____________________________________________________ 207
Figure 46. Illustration of a basic case of multi-story adaptation, where it was necessary to add an exception to the m:(2,3) shapes in level 0. ___ 208
Figure 47. Unwrapping minimum circulation area in (a), (b) and (c), and circulation schematics in (d) and (e). ___________________ 208
Figure 48. Minimum circulation in the enhanced AHP shapes. ______________________________________________________ 209
Figure 49. Percentages relation of the minimum circulation areas depicted in Figure 48. ___________________________________ 209
Figure 50. Algorithm development flowchart. ___________________________________________________________________ 211
Figure 51. Algorithm structure to generate a random primary functional allocation from a given brief, for a generic case of a single level
typology of an m:(2, 3) scope. _______________________________________________________________________________ 213
Figure 52. Algorithm structure for conversion of functional allocation into topological relations for a simple case of a single level typology. __ 214
Figure 53. Example of derivation the set of rules for allocation (a) and topology (b), for a case given a O, K, B, B, L, D brief input. __ 214
Figure 54. Multi-story diagrams. ______________________________________________________________________________ 217
Figure 55. External gallery solution diagram. ____________________________________________________________________ 217
Figure 56. Detailed gallery solution. ___________________________________________________________________________ 218
Figure 57. Prototype construction, (a,d) ground floor structure, (b,c) infrastructure through structure, (e) vapor barrier, (f) exhaustion through
structure, (g,i,j) stairs, (h) first floor structure (k) OSB over structure, (m) finishing external layer (l,n) concluded raw elements. _______ 222
Figure 58. Robot manufacturing modular panels. Robot #1: (a) loading substructure; (b) deploying substructure to place; (c) loading board;
(d), (e) deploying board. Robot #2: (f) fastening board to substructure.________________________________________________ 227
Figure 59. Finalized prototype. ______________________________________________________________________________ 229
307
Table of Tables
Table 1. Level of ex-situ work per type of building, adapted from Bock (2006). __________________________________________ 121
Table 2. Sum of Top 10 Companies by industry in 2014, based on Forbes Global 2000 list. ________________________________ 128
Table 3. A selection of output vectors. _________________________________________________________________________ 141
Table 4. OPP postponement strategies. ________________________________________________________________________ 145
Table 5. A selection of factors with potential greater impact in the architectural production. ________________________________ 149
Table 6. Differences in product development according to architectural approach, based on K. Ulrich (1995). __________________ 171
Table 7. AHP main topics. __________________________________________________________________________________ 177
Table 8. Shape notation. ___________________________________________________________________________________ 193
Table 9. Possible arrangements of numbers of modules (base arrangements) in a m:(2,3), excluding the non-viable both extremes, the 6-6
and the 1-1 case. In each case left and right-hand sides of the hyphen separator are swappable without loss of generalization. ______ 200
Table 10. Functional labelling, to note that, given its specificity and range of different sizes (from full module to half module) K is here
considered both for primary and secondary allocation. ____________________________________________________________ 211
Table 11. Primary design brief assignment rules. _________________________________________________________________ 212
Table 12. Primary housing program for a simple one level house, given Table 11 rules and a m:(2, 3) grid. _____________________ 212
308
309
References
1 Cf. McLuhan (1962).
2 Translated as this will kill that. In Notre
Dame de Paris, Victor Hugo shows a priest
pointing first to a book, then to the Paris ca-
thedral, and saying ceci tuera cela.
3 Article originally published under the ti-
tle Alles ist Architektur [“Everything is Architec-
ture”], in Bau, 112 (1968: 2). Revised in Eng-
lish in the catalogue Hollein. (cf. Ockman &
Eigen, 1993: 460-462).
4 Grassi (2003: 31).
5 Architecture’s forms are ought to arise
from a thorough analytical process where
things follow successive filters, depurating
until they find their right place, that is, “per-
fect, without leaving behind anything that will not
remove itself” (Grassi, 2003: 32). Grassi (2003:
28) writes “This is the singular condition of the
work in architecture: a work where constraints are
actually elements of individualization of form, a
work in which the overcoming of the practical diffi-
culties and the definition of form are the same thing.
This is also the beauty of this work: the safety of a
work that is exclusively dedicated to its own object
and that only in this object meets the conditions to
move forward. A work in which form is always met
at the end, after going through many trials: overcom-
ing obstacles, surrounding them, following unex-
pected paths, adapting, gradually eliminating all that
is superfluous, refining itself, we see the growth of its
condition of need, acquiring thickness and experi-
ence; and no one, except the foolish or those acting in
bad faith, can never say that such final form is thus
determined by a specific formal will. Furthermore,
the form is the only the result of this long process, its
only witness; the liberated form, the form never
sought. Not the stupid spontaneous form that does
not exist, not least the natural formal that does not
exist as we well know, but the built form, the tem-
perate form, the form that is only intended under
these conditions” (free translation).
6 Grassi (cf. 2003) himself recognized it,
as utterly shown through a quite expressive
title of his famous book Architecture, dead lan-
guage.
7 Cf. Meadows, Randers, and Meadows
(2004).
8 Foucault, M. (1970) The Order of Things:
An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New
York: Random House, p.332.
9 Interview to Maria Leonor Nunes in Jor-
nal de Letras. No. 1128; December 25, 2013,
to January 7, 2014. Portugal, p.11.
10 Calvino, I. (1974) Invisible cities. New
York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, p. 82.
11 Empirically, space-time can be related
to the notion of place, but also to motion or
matter, or to the idea of extension or of ge-
ometry, as well as to notions of perception,
experience, inner or mental construction, or
of phenomena. It can also be related to cul-
ture, art, symbolization, and different per-
spectives or modes of representation, or
even to human practices such as politics, ge-
ography, or colonization, and its different
uses—aesthetic, architectural, military, eco-
nomic, politic, and so on—corresponding to
strategic and/or ideological relations.
12 Early on, in the classical period, the
western thinking has given relevance to the
concept of space. The atomists, such as
Democritus (b.460BC-d.370BC), regarded
space as an infinite void extension on which
the basic indivisible bodies (the atoms, from
which everything else was composed) were
moving. Plato (b.427BC-d.327BC), in the Ti-
maeus, would share a similar vision, but he
would add an implicit correlation with mat-
ter (or the four elements as he stated). To
Plato, space is the receptacle in which all be-
coming takes place. In the absence of things,
space would exist anyhow, but as an empty,
boundless receptacle. Each of the four ele-
ments, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, would
have a geometric correspondence, from
which different transmutations and deriva-
tions can be made within the “mother and re-
ceptacle of all created and visible and in any way sen-
sible things, (…) an invisible and formless being
which receives all things” (Plato, 1998). Aristotle
(b.384BC-d.322BC) took this idea further,
regarding space as ‘determined’ by the mo-
tions of bodies, and thus, causally linking
space, matter and time. The existence of a
void would be impossible, since a void
would not have properties of direction or
change of motion, so there would be no
such thing as empty space. Furthermore, no
space, time or matter and their motions
could be conceivable without a mind to ac-
count them. To Aristotle, space and time are
interdependent and not definable by them-
selves but in relation to other parameters:
time as change of motion, and space as
change of place; time as the interval between
two events, and space as distance between
two points. He describes space as what it is
defined as the limit of the surrounding body
towards what is surrounded. The idea of
change seems related to a mind to record
that change: if the universe was immutable,
there would be no time; if time is the meas-
uring or counting of motion, it is only con-
ceivable with the existence of a counting
mind; if there were no mind to count, there
could be no time (cf. IEP, 2005).
In the modern era, a revolution in the
understanding of space took place with Ni-
colaus Copernicus’ (b.1473-d.1543) helio-
centric model, placing the Sun, instead of
the Earth, in the center of the Universe. The
debate would be pursued by notable figures
such as Galileo Galilei (b.1564-d.1642), Jo-
hannes Kepler (b.1571-d.1630) or Isaac
Newton (b.1642-d.1727). With René Des-
cartes’s (b.1596-d.1650) arguments, the
whole essence of a body is understood as its
geometrically definable extension—space,
and hence the Universe, would be indefi-
nitely extended. This idea was not entirely
310
subscribed by Newton, who believed in
space as an entity independent of ordinary
material objects, and such also contrasted
with the Aristotelian view of a spherical fir-
mament of fixed stars. These and other ideas
brought about in the Enlightenment age
have laid out a new cosmology, posing cen-
tral questions, and causing great convul-
sions, as Galileo famously experienced in
first hand with his religious inquisitors. As
Kant would put it, (rational) Man was now
the center of all conceptual and empirical ex-
perience, overcoming not only the mystic-
religious, yet fundamentally the rationalist-
empiricist deadlock, typical of the XVII and
XVIII centuries. With it, a new anthropo-
centric universalism was also being stated
(cf. Markie, 2015).
13 Nonetheless, the Cartesian outset
would begin to be philosophically ques-
tioned soon after Descartes. Leibniz would
introduce the notion that space is of the or-
der of the ideal essences and is made only by
relations and co-presence of things. In the
end of the XVII century, half a century after
Descartes, Leibniz was already philosophi-
cally rejecting the Cartesian derived notion
of space as a purely mathematical extension,
as this notion would not allow “the under-
standing of the interpenetrability and reciprocal ‘ac-
tion of the bodies’, their movement, force and willing-
ness to change” (Delius, 2001: 47-52).
Kant would see it as an aprioristic form
of sensibility, which cannot be deducted
from experience or reduced to a concept—
on the contrary, it was space that made ex-
perience possible. Kavanaugh (2007: 6)
writes: “Space and time, for Kant, are pure onto-
logical categories that provide the Grund, “founda-
tion”, or the condition of the possibility of experience.
Indeed, for Kant, space and time, as the only pure
form of intuition, are of paramount importance in
his architectonic. Kant emphatically states: “The
only intuition that is given apriori is that of the pure
form of appearances (phenomena) – space and time”.
(…) Space and time are not themselves phenomena,
but the form of intuition; things that are given in
space and time, on the other hand, are aposteriori in
that they are represented in perception. Space and
time are the only apriori intuitions. Simply stated,
these intuitions, without which no object could be per-
ceived in space and time, are merely the representa-
tions of phenomena to ourselves”. Such Kantian
space also seems to correspond to a com-
mon perceptual notion, a space that is the
philosophical transposition of the Euclidian
geometric space—continuous, isotropic, ho-
mogeneous and tridimensional, and made by
abstraction from a perceived space.
Phenomenologically, space-time can be
understood as a property of exteriority in re-
lation to though, or the thought of self, or simply
the self, as existentialists would put it. A com-
mon idea is to define it as a boundless me-
dium, which contains every finite extension,
to the point of seemingly infinity, and where
perception locates its objects and its move-
ments, and in this sense, the different parts
of space-time benefit of a mutual exteriority.
In this perspective, it is by the relations, on
how different elements of this mutual exte-
riority articulate, that space-time becomes.
Linguistically, such can be illustrated by the
dialectics of absolute and relative, mental
and sensible, image and real, or even the
mechanistic 0 and 1, and so forth. (cf.
Saussure, 1959 ; cf. Silverman, 2012). Thus,
acknowledging an Entity from a confronta-
tion with an Other, towards and existence—
Dasein—and through it enabling not only
their come into being, but also the come into
being of additional entities that were not im-
plied in an initially perceived space.
In a different perspective, the evolution
of geometries has implied that, in fact, space
can in a way be cultural, since the non-Eu-
clidian systems have configured spaces
where the common perceptual notions are
put in check. This is a concept which that
has been remarkably depicted in Edwin Ab-
bot’s (b.1838–d.1926) prophetic novel Flat-
land: A Romance of Many Dimensions (1884),
where the dimensional is put alongside the
cultural, showing the extreme difficulty of
corporeally imagining one’s own existence in
more or less dimensions.
14 Cf. Descartes (1637) appraisal of the
method as the only path to unveil the secrets of
nature.
15 In Newton’s model, space and time
were a background on which events would
unfold, but which were not affected by
them. This vision was still deeply rooted in
the platonic conception of space, in which
time was considered eternal, in the sense
that it had always existed and would always
exist. Time was viewed as an infinite line, in-
dependent of whatever is happening in the
Universe (cf. Hawking, 2001: 29-65). For
Newton, there was an absolute space, iso-
tropic and immobile, extended into infinity
in three dimensions, and an absolute, linear
time. Relativity in space, time or motion was
conceived only insofar it as a part of an ab-
solute referential. Newton writes, “relative,
apparent, and common time, is some sensible and
external measure of absolute time (duration), esti-
mated by the motions of bodies, whether accurate or
inequable, and is commonly employed in place of true
time; as an hour, a day, a month, a year. (...) All
motions can be accelerated and retarded. But the flow
of absolute time cannot be changed. (…) Absolute
space, in its own nature and without regard to any-
thing external, always remains similar and immov-
able. Relative space is some movable dimension or
measure of absolute space, which our senses determine
by its position with respect to other bodies, and which
is commonly taken for immovable [absolute] space”
(cf. Mach, 1919: 222-226).
16 Newton’s theory proved spot-on for
practical purposes. However, as Ernst Mach
(b.1838-d.1916) would subsequently point
out, it was short in advancing a causality be-
tween the apple that falls (i.e. gravity) and
the movement it appears to make (i.e. space-
time). It would not take long for criticism to
Newton’s ideas to appear. In his Science of Me-
chanics, first published in 1883, the Austrian
physicist and philosopher Ernst Mach
would firmly criticize Newton’s ideas, reject-
ing the unilateral causality and the absolute
concepts that had been cornerstones of sci-
ence since the Enlightenment (cf. Mach,
1919: 222-255). Newton assumed that even
relative measurements are possible to be ref-
erenced to an absolute system, and that had
influenced Kant’s philosophical concep-
tions. However, unlike Newton, to Mach all
referential systems and all movements are
relative. Relativity was certainly not a new
idea, as the notion had been known and ac-
cepted for centuries, but not on those terms.
Mach’s ideas eventually attracted a younger
generation of researchers of around 1900,
among which Albert Einstein (b.1879–
d.1955) was included.
From Einstein’s, each system is auton-
omous and is ruled by its specific, local laws,
but it also shares a mutual connection, where
local laws are fundamentally variants of uni-
versal laws—duration and size relate to ve-
locity; distance becomes equivalent to time;
mass to energy; gravitation to acceleration,
and so forth. With it, philosophically is no
longer conceivable an isotropic void in the
sense of the Newtonian space, nor a uni-
form system of coordinates in the sense of
Descartes’ extension. Yet, there is the con-
ception of a complex, irregular space-time
flow, varying with the concentration, distri-
bution and relative movement of material
bodies. Matter, or the equivalent energy, de-
termines the structure of the space-time
from place to place in a four-dimensional ge-
ometry of variable curvature (cf. Huggett &
Hoefer, 2015).
The relational notion of space-time also
definitely bonds gravity with a space-time
continuum—gravitational fields cause warps
in space-time, thus weaving gravity into the
continuum. The effect would be validated
during the 1919 solar eclipse, in which the
curvature of light due to gravitational influ-
ence could for the first time be accurately
measured, and found to be in agreement
with Einstein’s general relativity predictions.
From the curved notions, space-time is bent,
and thus, in a sense, both space and time
have a form, even if we do not perceptually
experience it, or have a hard time to imagine
it.
311
17 The book is one of the major to under-
stand modernism in architecture, a move-
ment that arguably embodies what is the
greatest change of paradigm in the profes-
sion occurring in the past centuries, insofar
as it marks a shift towards architecture’s de-
finitive embrace of the ethos of an industri-
alized world. In the least, the proof of the
book’s impact can be measured by the nu-
merous written sources on it. Moreover, its
impact can for instance be noted by its sub-
sequent protagonism in Manfredo Tafuri’s
formulation of operative criticism, which, as it
is well-known, has been foremost a critique
on a modernist ideological or even dogmatic
approach to historical facts that conceals
their inherent complexities and contradic-
tions.
The modernism in architecture is cer-
tainly not just about the arguments ex-
pressed in Giedion’s book. Notwithstand-
ing, its expressive title makes a case that far
extends the profession, winking to the tech-
nical trends of the epoch, and endorsed
through a modern space and time perspec-
tive. As to the content, in the least it has the
merit of relating modern architecture and
urban planning with the historical and cul-
tural context of its epoch, namely the com-
pliant aspects of the industrial era, looking
into similarities between architecture and ar-
eas as diverse as urban planning, arts or en-
gineering—force-vectors in a thus implied
space and time conformation of a modern
machine-age.
Giedion (2004: 465) writes: “(it) became
mostly clear that the aesthetical qualities of space, for
the eye, were not limited to its own infinity, as are an
example the gardens of Versailles”. The naturalist
idea of an absolutely definable, bounded
space made no sense anymore, exploding in
seemingly infinite possibilities of relations—
Giedion (2004: 465) proceeds with: “as to ap-
prehend the true nature of space, the observer must
project himself through it. The staircases of the supe-
rior floors of the Eiffel Tower are amidst the first
architectural expressions of continuous interpenetra-
tion of internal and external space”. Alongside
the relativity path, there was also an arising
need to explore the forms that the industrial
and technological development was bring-
ing—Giedion’s (cf. 2004) notes on Iron Ar-
chitecture is a historic and critical architectural
reference in this respect.
18 Tafuri (1976: xi).
19 Cf. Utzon and Weston (2009).
20 Cf. Valena, Avermaete, and Vrachliotis
(2011).
21 For instance, the current mathematical
principles used in the string theory, allows
physics theorists to predict that our universe
has eleven dimensions: three spatial (height,
length, width), one temporal (time) and
seven recurved dimensions (those attributed
to properties such as mass, electrical charge,
and so on), which would explain the charac-
teristics of the fundamental forces in nature.
A different theory, the bosonic string theory,
predicts up to twenty-six dimensions. Other
possibility, called the world of brana theory,
is that we are stuck in a subspace with 3+1
dimensions, where the ‘3+1’ is a reminder
that time is a different kind of spatial dimen-
sion. In other words, we would be living in
a universe inside another. In both cases,
gravity plays a role in the occult dimensions
producing the other non-gravitational forces
such as electromagnetism (cf. Hawking,
2001).
22 Arnheim (cf. 2009: 9-32) refers that to
the platonic idea of space as a void to be
filled lacks the knowledge of modern phys-
ics as well as the modes in which its percep-
tion psychologically occurs.
23 On its classic visual dictionary, Ching
(cf. 2007) illustrates with great depth some
fundamental design considerations on how
space can vary in form, organization, pro-
portion, scale, etc., and how principles such
as symmetry, hierarchy or rhythm may be
applied, representing “the basic elements, sys-
tems, and orders that constitute a physical work of
architecture”. Its eloquent and seductive visual
approach reminds us of the need to have
some sort of representation, of coded sys-
tem, that can readily be communicated and
understood, and which is deeply attached to
the referential sense of a coordinated tridi-
mensional system. And its visual approach is
also a reminder that no matter how coded
this system may be, there is a haptic sense –
which he purposefully sustains by presenting
us hand-made, rigorous but sketch-like,
drawings – that needs to be preserved to em-
power a greater empathy with a certain rep-
resentation of reality or the proto-realities
which are so remarkably present in architec-
ture conception.
24 Brand (cf. 1995) writes on the im-
portance of acknowledging that buildings
have a life of their own, reflecting on how
architects often neglect this foremost aspect
of buildings. It is an implicit critic to mod-
ernist innovators like Buckminster Fuller,
whose dome buildings were difficult to
adapt or extend, or Frank O’Gehry for
buildings extremely difficult to maintain, Le
Corbusier for buildings with little considera-
tion for the desires and needs of families, or
Frank Lloyd Wright for not really caring if
his buildings leaked or not. “Finally completing
a new building seems such a glorious culmination.
But it is an illusion. A building is not something you
finish; a building is something you start. (…) If we
get more interested in buildings than with architec-
ture it is likely we realize that in many cases archi-
tecture is allergic to time, because architects keep be-
ing asked to build lasting monuments, frozen in
time. But buildings have no such presumption, build-
ings live in time, the same way we do. As in time we
learn, and in time buildings learn” (cf. Brand,
1995).
25 Cosmos, which is also an allegory to the
ideal, desired, aspirational, mythical and
never-ending source of knowledge, and
hence as of abstract, mental-derived con-
struct. Earth, which is also an allegory for
gravity, to keep the feet in the ground, for the
palpable, tangible, for what is connecting to
everyday life, the mundane and ordinary. In
an analysis to Vitruvius’s Ten Books on Archi-
tecture, Dripps (1997: 14-16) writes: “the skies
now become the starry firmament, a symbolic con-
struct that allows inquisitive humans to consider
their own position within it. It is the knowledge
gained from this act of orientation that provides sta-
bility for the foundation of human settlement. (…)
In order for the idea of the starry firmament to re-
main vital it must be the subject to the fresh specula-
tive gaze of each upright person. In this way its par-
adigmatic structure is repeatedly reinvented out of
circumstances of each individual life. This process of
reinvention also insures that the world will have par-
ticular meaning for each individual. (…) As the
word ‘firmament’ convey, the vault or the arch of the
heavens (…) possesses the orderly and systematic
structure of the cosmos. Moreover, this structure has
its counterpart in the orderly system that underlies
the building of the first dwelling. The upright figure
is an important part of this orderly system, in which
all of these imputed structures originate”.
26 In a clear allusion to the dangers of con-
sidering definitive, aprioristic, notions of
space, Lefebvre (2005: 209) writes: “Function
calls for something other, something more, something
better than functionality alone”.
27 For this is still valid the image of the Vi-
truvian upright figure, as described in 1-3,
Chapter I, of Book II: “The men of old were born
like wild beasts, in woods, caves, and groves, and
lived on savage fare. (By finding and controlling fire),
keeping it alive, (they) brought up other people to it,
showing them by signs how much comfort they got
from it. In that gathering of men, at a time when
utterance of sound was purely individual, from daily
habits they fixed upon articulate words just as these
happened to come; then, from indicating by name
things in common use, the result was that in this
chance way they began to talk, and thus originated
conversation with one another. (…) It was the dis-
covery of fire that originally gave rise to the coming
together of men, to the deliberative assembly, and to
social intercourse. And so, as they kept coming to-
gether in greater numbers into one place, finding
themselves naturally gifted beyond the other animals
in not being obliged to walk with faces to the ground,
but upright, and gazing upon the splendor of the
312
starry firmament, and also in being able to do with
ease whatever they chose with their hands and fingers,
they began in that first assembly to construct shelters.
(…) Next, by observing the shelters of others and
adding new details to their own inceptions, they con-
structed better and better kinds of huts as time went
on. (…) And since they were of an imitative and
teachable nature, they would daily point out to each
other the results of their building, boasting of the nov-
elties in it; and thus, with their natural gifts sharp-
ened by emulation, their standards improved daily”
(Vitruvius, 1914: 38-39).
Standing by the fire, people were re-
quired to communicate in a way they did not
need when they were by themselves. This
metaphor of the gathering of people repre-
sents what ultimately led to the establish-
ment of protocols to communicate – the
birth of language and so forth. This initiating
knowledge of fire as of the ‘other’ (which is
similar but different from ‘I’) by language or
other means of communication, as of the
way of building, and mostly how these kinds
of wisdom evolve and consolidate in time is
fundamental to understand how the notion
of dwelling evolved and, with it, how archi-
tecture came into being (cf. Dripps, 1997: 7).
28 In the broader concept of home, a myr-
iad of popular sayings have it implied, e.g.,
there is no place like home or home is where the heart
is, a common wisdom built of many layers.
Whereas planet Earth can be regarded as hu-
manity’s home, the dwelling is the material ex-
pression of the personal, familiar home. It is
again the Vitruvian sense of domestic life as
a cell (or image-cell), of a larger social, cul-
tural or political life of a community.
29 Cf. Kostof (1986).
30 Cf. Le Corbusier (1986).
31 Mumford (2000: 9-10) writes: “CIAM’s
initial direction was shaped by the interaction of Le
Corbusier and other mostly French-speaking propo-
nents of a new architecture with the mostly German-
speaking representatives of a leftist and technocratic
approach to architecture and social organization. In
the changed social and political conditions in Europe
after the First World War, the limited prewar efforts
to make a more socially responsive architecture took
a new and decisive turn. Shortly after the La Sarraz
‘preparatory congress’: Giedion, the newly appointed
CIAM secretary, wrote to the Dutch architect and
town planner Cornelis van Eesteren (1897-1988)
that the goals of CIAM were:
a) To formulate the contemporary program of
architecture.
b) To advocate the idea of modern architecture.
c) To forcefully introduce this idea into tech-
nical, economic and social circles.
d) To see to the resolution of architectural prob-
lems.
Insofar as a common agenda can be said to have
existed, CIAM was intended both to define the basis
of the new architecture and to vigorously promote it
to official clients and the public at large”.
32 Walter Gropius, in his intervention en-
titled Sociological Premises for the Minimum
Dwelling of Urban Industrial Populations, in the
1929 congress, illustrates the reality within
the metaphor: “The invention of the machine
leads to the socialization of labor. Goods are no
longer produced for one’s own needs but for the pur-
pose of exchange within the society… With the pro-
gressive emergence of the individual the human birth
rate decreases… The individual’s mobility increases
with the increasing transportation facilities, and the
family is thereby diffused and diminished”
(Aymonino, 1976: 115-116).
33 The XVIIth and XIXth century Imperi-
alism had left an important legacy, by means
of its portrayal of cultures or natural aspects
of its remote places, as manifested by the
works of Charles Darwin or Lewis Henry
Morgan.
34 Mumford (2000: 9) writes: “After La
Sarraz, the tireless publicizing of modern architec-
ture and the name of CIAM by Le Corbusier,
Giedion, and other members gave the event a mythic
quality, often remembered as the point where various
avant-garde movements coalesced into what came to
be known as the ‘Modern Movement’. More recently,
this interpretation has been challenged by historians
who see the early history of CIAM as a series of
disconnected episodes, with shifting participants
whose positions were not always clearly defined, and
whose goals were often in conflict. While this view
provides a necessary counterbalance to the overstated
claims of unity by CIAM's members, the formation
of CIAM does appear to be a defining moment in
the formation of a new approach to architecture”.
35 Cf. Le Corbusier (1973: 6-8).
36 Aymonino (1976: 127).
37 Cf. Aymonino (1976: 126-138, 233-
243).
38 Cf. Le Corbusier (1973).
39 The conclusions of the charter are
summed up in the following:
“71 The majority of the cities studied (by the
Fourth Congress) today present the very image of
chaos: they do not at all fulfill their purpose, which
is to satisfy the primordial biological and psychologi-
cal needs of their populations. (…)
72 This situation reveals the incessant accre-
tion of private interests ever since the beginning of the
machinist age. (…)
73 The ruthless violence of private interests pro-
vokes a disastrous upset in the balance between the
thrust of economic forces on the one hand and the
weakness of administrative control and the power-
lessness of social solidarity on the other. (…)
74 Although the cities are in a state of contin-
uous transformation, their development is conducted
without precision or control, and in utter disregard of
the principles of contemporary urbanism which have
been laid down by qualified technical specialists.
(…)
75 On both spiritual and material planes, the
city must ensure individual liberty and the ad-
vantages of collective action. (…)
76 The dimensions of all elements within the ur-
ban system can only be governed by human proportions.
(…)
77 The keys to urbanism are to be found in the
four functions: inhabiting, working, recreation (in
leisure time), and circulation. (…)
78 Plans will determine the structure of each of
the sectors allocated to the four key functions and they
will also determine their respective locations within the
whole. (…)
79 The cycle of daily functions-inhabiting,
working, recreation (recuperation)-will be regulated
by urbanism with the strictest emphasis on time sav-
ing, the dwelling being regarded as the very center of
urbanistic concern and the focal point for every meas-
ure of distance. (…)
80 The new mechanical speeds have thrown the
urban milieu into confusion, introducing constant
danger, causing traffic congestion and paralyzing
communications, and jeopardizing hygiene. (…)
81 The principle of urban and suburban traffic
must be revised. A classification of available speeds
must be devised. Zoning reforms bringing the key
functions of the city into harmony will create natural
links between them, in support of which a rational
network of major traffic arteries will be planned.
(…)
82 Urbanism is a three-dimensional, not a
two-dimensional, science. Introducing the element of
height will solve the problems of modern traffic and
leisure by utilizing the open spaces thus created. (…)
83 The city must be studied within the whole of
its region of influence. A regional plan will replace the
simple municipal plan. The limit of the agglomeration
will be expressed in terms of the radius of its economic
action. (…)
84 Once the city is defined as a functional unit,
it s houl d gro w harmoni ously in each o f its part s, hav-
ing at hand the spaces and intercommunications
within which the stages of its development may be
inscribed with equilibrium. (…)
85 It is a matter of the most urgent necessity
that every city draw up its program and enact the
laws that will enable it to be carried out. (…)
86 The program must be based on rigorous
analyses carried out by specialists. It must provide
for its stages in time and in space. It must bring to-
gether in fruitful harmony the natural resources of the
site, the overall topography, the economic facts, the
sociological demands, and the spiritual values. (…)
87 For the architect occupied with the tasks of
urbanism, the measuring rod will be the human
scale. (…)
88 The initial nucleus of urbanism is a cell for
living – a dwelling – and its insertion into a group
forming a habitation unit of efficient size. (…)
89 With this dwelling unit as the starting
point, relationships within the urban space will be
established between habitation, work places, and the
313
facilities set aside for leisure. (…)
90 To accomplish this great task, it is essential
to utilize the resources of modern techniques, which,
through the collaboration of specialists, will support
the art of building with all the dependability that sci-
ence can provide, and enrich it with the inventions
and resources of the age. (…)
91 The course of events will be profoundly in-
fluenced by political, social, and economic factors...
(…)
92 and it is not as a last resort that architecture
will intervene. (…)
93 There are two opposing realities: the scale of
the projects to be undertaken urgently for the reor-
ganization of the cities, and the infinitely fragmented
state of land ownership. (…)
94 The perilous contradiction indicated above
raises one of the most hazardous questions of our day:
the urgency of regulating the disposal of all usable
ground by legal means in order to balance the vital
needs of the individual in complete harmony with col-
lective needs. (…)
95 Private interest will be subordinated to the
collective interest”
(Le Corbusier, 1973: 93-105).
40 “65 Architectural assets must be protected,
whether found in isolated buildings or in urban ag-
gregations. (…)
66 They will be protected if they are the expres-
sion of a former culture and if they respond to a uni-
versal interest… (…)
67 and if their preservation does not entail the
sacrifice of keeping people in unhealthy conditions…
(…)
68 and if it is possible to remedy their detri-
mental presence by means of radical measures, such
as detouring vital elements of the traffic system or
even displacing centers hitherto regarded as immuta-
ble”
(Le Corbusier, 1973: 86-88).
41 The complete list of CIAM meetings,
their dates, locations and general themes is
as follows:
CIAM 1 (1928 – La Sarraz, Switzer-
land), Foundation of CIAM;
CIAM 2 (1929 – Frankfurt am Main,
Germany), or The Minimum Dwelling (also
known as Existenzminimum);
CIAM 3 (1930 – Brussels, Belgium) on
Rational Land Development;
CIAM 4 (1933 – Athens, Greece), on
The Functional City;
CIAM 5 (1937 – Paris, France), on
Dwelling and Recovery;
CIAM 6 (1947 – Bridgewater, Eng-
land), on Reconstruction of Cities;
CIAM 7 (1949 – Bergamo, Italy), on Art
and Architecture;
CIAM 8 (1951 – Hoddesdon, England),
on the Heart of the City;
CIAM 9 (1953 – Aix-en-Provence,
France), on Habitat;
CIAM 10 (1956 – Dubrovnik, Yugosla-
via), on Habitat;
CIAM 11 (1959 – Otterlo, The Nether-
lands), with organized dissolution of CIAM
by Team 10.
42 Cf. Giedion (2004).
As Heynen (1999: 40-41) writes: “in
Space, Time and Architecture Giedion (builds)
up a case for the thesis that modern architecture, as
a legitimate heir to the most relevant architectural
trends of the past, is capable of contributing to bridg-
ing the gap between thought and feeling because it
relies upon the concept of space-time, just as the sci-
ences and the arts do. The whole aim of Space, Time
and Architecture was thus to canonize modern ar-
chitecture as a ‘new tradition’. Space, Time and
Architecture is not a pioneering text in the strict
sense of the word: the book does not break new
ground or announce a completely new paradigm. A
number of elements of this paradigm had been
around for some time already: the moral appeal
(Morris, Loos); the concept of space-time and its ap-
plication in architecture (van Doesburg, Lissitzky);
the relating of new materials and construction tech-
nologies on the one hand with architectural design on
the other (Le Corbusier); the fact that architecture
and city planning influence each other and are mutu-
ally dependent (CIAM texts); the concern with the
organic and the functional (Moholy-Nagy, the Bau-
haus). It was Giedion, however, who forged these var-
ious elements of the modern movement into a closely-
knit whole and who gave it a historical legitimiza-
tion, tracing its roots back to the tradition of baroque
architecture and to nineteenth century technological
developments”.
43 Cf. Aymonino (1976).
44 With the WWI (1914-1918), the house
deficit derived from industrialization would
worsen in the city. The construction indus-
try declined and eventually all activity
stopped. After the war, conditions would
deteriorate even further due to the precari-
ous economic situation and the growth of
inflation rate. As a way to mitigate the prob-
lem, one of the most consensual proposals
was to implement housing controlled by the
state.
The construction industry ought to be
socialized, regulations reviewed, prices of
construction materials regulated, credit and
lease policies defined. Some of the key
points, such as the policy of land use and re-
distribution of wealth, came into conflict
with the class and power structures, which
remained unchanged, raising substantive is-
sues in German society and democracy. To
what concerns ordinary practices, the actual
management policy was taken over by super-
visors at a municipal and regional level.
The first period, until 1920, was charac-
terized by transitory and urgent provisions,
such as restrictions on luxury buildings, reg-
ulation of prices of construction materials,
attempt to achieve economies of scale
through mass actions of long-term funding,
or creation of public deposits of construc-
tion materials. In the second period, until
1923, the measures were mainly based on
funding grants and the concession of mort-
gages at very low interest.
However, a rampant inflation would
nullify the effectiveness of the estimated
funding forms. The problem only begins to
be solved with the currency stabilization and
attraction of foreign investment. The oppor-
tunities offered by the reactivation of the
construction and financing mechanisms
contributed to consolidate the cooperative
societies, which, during these years, would
do most of the residential interventions
through public housing subsidies.
Despite all the efforts, the housing def-
icit remained, determined by multiple phe-
nomena of urban migration that ultimately
lead to overcrowding and deterioration of
the old heritage. Stability in these terms
would be kept until 1931, the year that the
global economic crisis bursted. From then
on, there was a sharp drop in new construc-
tion due to a contraction in demand, as a
there was a widening gap between rising
rents and household incomes.
Cf.Klein (1980: 7-14).
45 Cf. Marques (2012: 67-90).
46 Cf. Aymonino (1976: 29-36).
47 Cf. Aymonino (1976: 50-55).
48 Aymonino (1976: 75).
49 Le Corbusier (1967: 143).
50 Evers and Thoenes (2003: 725).
51 Cf.Klein (1980).
52 Aymonino (1976: 120).
53 Gropius (1955: 99) writes: “To allow for
the increasing development of more pronounced indi-
viduality of life within the society and the individual’s
justified demand for occasional withdrawal from his
surroundings, it is necessary, moreover, to establish
the following ideal minimum requirement: every
adult shall have his own room, small though it may
be! The basic dwelling implied by these fundamental
requirements would then represent the practical min-
imum which fulfills its purpose and intentions: the
standard dwelling.
The same biological considerations which deter-
mine the size of the minimum dwelling are also de-
terminative in regard to its grouping and incorpora-
tion into the city plan. Maximum light, sun and air
for all dwellings!”.
54 Klein (1980: 33).
55 Le Corbusier (1973: 44) writes: “2 Jux-
taposed with economic, social, and political values are
values of a physiological and psychological origin
which are bound up in the human person and which
314
introduce concerns of both an individual and a col-
lective order into the discussion. Life flourishes only
to the extent of accord between the two contradictory
principles that govern the human personality: the in-
dividual and the collective”(Le Corbusier, 1973:
44)(Le Corbusier, 1973: 44).
56 Aymonino (1976: 93).
57 Cf. Klein (1980).
58 Cf. Teige (2002).
59 Teige (in Hays, 1998: 585-615) writes:
“The error of Le Corbusier’s proposal is the error of
monumentality (…). It reveals the danger (…) of
the definition that a palace is a house, a ‘machine for
living in’ which is endowed with a certain dignity and
architectonic potential. Le Corbusier sins against
harmony; having formulated such a clear and com-
prehensible notion as the ‘machine for living in’, he
depreciates it by adding vague attributions of dignity,
harmony and architectonic potential, through which
he can then embrace all aestheticism and academi-
cism (…).
In its obvious historicism and academicism, the
Mundaneum project shows the present non-viability
of architecture thought of as art. It shows the failure
of Le Corbusier’s aesthetic and formalistic theories
(…). In short, all those a priori aesthetic formulae
which have formalistically been deduced from histor-
ical styles, in our times are unproven and unsup-
ported. (…) In our century of machine civilization,
which has no time for ‘art’ and monumental archi-
tecture, any intention to make art instead of houses,
and monuments instead of schools, leads to hybrid
shapes and impoverishes that work of natural and
modern beauty which is characteristic of real, perfect
things. (…) The Mundaneum is Reissbrett-orna-
mentik, a project born not from real and rational
analyses of the program (…) but from a priori aes-
thetics and abstract geometric speculation, following
a historic stereotype. It is not a solution for realiza-
tion and construction, but a composition. Composi-
tion: with this word it is possible to summarize all
the architectural faults of the Mundaneum (…). If
we have occupied ourselves so carefully with the Mun-
daneum project, it is because we believe this work,
whose author is a leading and foremost representative
of modern architecture, should serve as a warning to
its author and to modern architecture generally.
The Mundaneum illustrates the fiasco of theo-
ries and traditional prejudices, of all the dangers of
the slogan ‘house-palace’, and thus of utilitarian ar-
chitecture with an artistic ‘addition’ or ‘dominant’.
From here it is possible to go all the way to full acad-
emicism and classicism, or on the other hand, to re-
turn to the solid reality of the starting point demon-
strated so precisely by the motto, the ‘house as a
machine for living in’, and from there, once again to
work towards a scientific, technical, industrial archi-
tecture. Between these two poles, there is space only
for half-baked projects and compromised solutions”
60 Mumford’s (cf. 2000) The CIAM dis-
course on urbanism, 1928-1960 is a comprehen-
sive reference in that respect.
61 Cf. Conrads (1970: 109-114).
62 Cf. Grassi (1983).
63 Le Corbusier writes an open letter sent
to the CIAM 10 revealing all his sharpness,
recognizing the inevitability of generational
shifts: “It is those who are forty years old, born
around 1916 during wars and revolutions, and those
unborn, now twenty-five years old, born around
1930 during the preparation for a new war and
amidst a profound economic, social, and political cri-
sis, who thus find themselves in the heart of the pre-
sent period the only ones capable of feeling actual
problems, personally, profoundly, the goals to follow,
the means to reach them, the pathetic urgency of the
present situation. They are in the know. Their pre-
decessors no longer are, they are out, they are no
longer subject to the direct impact of the situation”
(Frampton, 2007b: 271-272).
64 Kostof (1995: 747) described the
change in terms of tribal ritual: “Team 10 re-
jected the establishment guise of postwar Modernism,
in which a handful of elders dominated the CIAM,
setting the official agenda for design practice and the-
ory… Team 10 staged a court rebellion stoked by
intergenerational conflict”.
65 In Rotterdam, reconstruction priorities
were not immediately given to housing. In-
stead, in the beginnings, they were focused
in the reconstruction of the industrial facili-
ties, as there was no point in providing hous-
ing if there was no conditions for working to
sustain economy. In Rotterdam the dock-
lands were first rebuilt, and large-scale
housing projects only began in the fifties, all
located south of the river, in Kleinpolder
and Schiebroek (cf. Dijk, 1999: 100-121).
66 Due to the housing shortage, the post-
war governments launched programs to
build thousands of prefab houses in a short
time. They were designed to last only 10
years, but some are still inhabited to this day
(cf. Vale, 1995).
67 The Commission I of CIAM 6 writes:
“The aim of CIAM is to work for the creation of a
physical environment that will satisfy man’s emo-
tional and material needs” (Mumford, 2000:
172).
68 Mumford (2000: 196).
69 Old guard portrayed by figures such as
Le Corbusier, van Eesteren, Sert, Ernesto
Rogers, Alfred Roth, Kunio Mayekawa,
Walter Gropius, Hannes Meyer, Siegfried
Giedion, José Luis Sert or Fernand Léger.
70 Younger generation portrayed by fig-
ures such as Alison and Peter Smithson,
Aldo Van Eyck, Jacob Bakema, Georges
Candilis, Shadrach Woods, John Voelcker,
Willliam or Jill Howell.
71 Frampton (2007b: 271).
72 In an interview, Candilis affirms: “it
seemed totally bogus (as was subsequently con-
firmed). By coloring up large surfaces of paper, any-
one could declare himself an urban planner. We tried
to explain that all of this had nothing to do with
post-war development, that habitat could not be dealt
with by coloring things in, that kitchen could not be
drawn up according to the number of steps and to the
gestures of a housewife; instead, social, cultural and
ethnic particularities had to be taken into account.
So the famous habitat charter never happened—
which was a success in and of itself” (Risselada &
Van Den Heuvel, 2005: 321).
73 The Statement on Habitat explicitly re-
jected the Chartre d’Athènes: “Urbanism consid-
ered and developed in the terms of the Chartre
d’Athènes tends to produce ‘towns’ in which vital
human associations are inadequately expressed. To
comprehend these human associations we must con-
sider every community as a particular total complex.
In order to make this comprehension possible, we
propose to study urbanism as communities of varying
degrees of complexity” (Mumford, 2000: 239-
240).
74 “We are of the opinion that we should construct
a hierarchy of human association (house, street, dis-
trict, city) which should replace the functional hierar-
chy of the Chartre d’Athènes. Although it is ex-
tremely difficult to define the higher levels of
association, the street implies a physical contact com-
munity, the district an acquaintance community, and
the city an intellectual contact community. In most
cases the grouping of dwellings does not reflect any
reality of social organization; rather they are the re-
sult of political, technical and mechanical expediency.
The aim of urbanism is comprehensibility, i.e. clarity
of organization; the community is by definition a
comprehensible thing” (Lüchinger, 1981: 31).
75 The Smithson’s diagram was influenced
by the early XXth century sociologically-
based notions of the Scottish urbanist Pat-
rick Geddes, expressed in his Valley Section.
The Valley Section was initially presented by
Patrick Geddes in 1905, in his book Civics: as
applied sociology, and republished in different
versions (cf. Ramos, 2013).
76 In Smithson’s words, “our hierarchy of as-
sociations is woven into a modified continuum repre-
senting the true complexity of human associa-
tion…we are of the opinion that a hierarchy of
human association should replace the functional hi-
erarchy of the Chartre d’Athènes” (Agrest, 1991:
47).
77 As later expressed by Van Eyck, they
were looking to “conglomeration of buildings in
which community lived with all the functions mixed.
We didn’t simply believe in the four functions – that
story was far too simple” (Risselada & Van Den
Heuvel, 2005: 330).
Alongside with a twin, subsequent, and
more popularized Doorn Manifesto, the State-
315
ment on Habitat can be regarded as a core doc-
ument of the referential Team 10 group. The
Doorn Manifesto, written in 1954, started as
follows: “It is useless to consider the house except
as a part of a community owing to the interaction of
these on each other. (One had to) study the dwelling
and the groupings that are necessary to produce con-
venient communities. (But also emphasizing) that
appropriateness of any solution may lie in the field of
architectural invention rather than social anthropol-
ogy”.
Commented comparison on both the
Statement of Habitat and the Doorn Manifesto
can be found in Ramos (2013).
78 To the records stands that a team of ten
people would organize CIAM 10 in 1956,
“hence Team 10”—as affirmed by Georges
Candilis, “there were ten of us who worked on setting
up the tenth CIAM conference – hence, Team 10”
(Risselada & Van Den Heuvel, 2005: 321).
The Team 10 was a loose group of individuals,
with various compositions, spanning
throughout the years. The group was hard to
delimitate as such, as some elements attended
all meetings, while others just a few or even
only to one. With time, a core group became
recognizable in elements such as Jaap
Bakema, George Candilis, Giancarlo di Carlo,
Aldo Van Eyck, the Smithon’s and Shadrach
Woods. “According to the perspective taken, the his-
torical source and the time under consideration, one
may also include José Coderch, Ralph Erskine,
Amancio Guedes, Rolf Gutmann, Geir Grung, Os-
kar Hansen, Charles Polonyi, Brian Richards, Jerzy
Soltan, Oswald Mathias Ungers, John Voelcker and
Stefan Wewerka; but even this list can in no way be
considered complete, considering the broad context of
Team 10”(Risselada & Van Den Heuvel, 2005:
11). There was no such thing as membership;
they liked to call themselves participants,
which was in itself a statement implying de-
tachment from the CIAM organization.
79 Risselada and Van Den Heuvel (2005:
321).
80 With a new avant-garde pointing to the
inadequacies of functionalist theories, Le Cor-
busier’s drawing on a copy of a letter illus-
trates CIAM’s dethronement, blessing the as-
pirations of the “gens d’Otterlo”. “Le Corbusier’s
drawing on a copy of a letter illustrates how CIAM
found itself being dethroned at the end of the 50s by a
new movement. He saw how a younger generation was
facing up to the future with self-assurance and with a
concept of its own, and how it was making use of the
experiences of the previous 30 years, (to which he him-
self had contributed so much). In spite of this, and with
some generosity, he was able to give his blessing to the
aspirations of the ‘gens d’Otterlo’, as he described them
in his letter” (Lüchinger, 1981: 8-11).
81 Participants of the Team 10 informal
organization would continue meeting until
1981, the year of Jaap Bakema’s death, the
dynamo who had always managed the secre-
tariat of the group and one of the greatest
responsible for keeping it in activity. In Aldo
Van Eyck’s words Bakema “was Team 10 post
box” and “had an unbounded energy (…) a dy-
namo, a huge dynamo” (Risselada & Van Den
Heuvel, 2005: 331).
82 Benevolo (2009: 15).
83 Aldo Van Eyck, one of the most prom-
inent Team 10 participants, notably ex-
pressed a livened ordinary through his built
designs of children’s playgrounds (cf.
Strauven, 1998: 150-169). He was also
known for his scientific and philosophical
interests, with recognized affinities with the
works of great physicists as Heisenberg or
Einstein, the phenomenology of Merleau-
Ponty, or the metaphysics of Bergson. He
also empathized with Lévi-Strauss’s struc-
turalist work in anthropology, but generally
had no particular affinity with the poststruc-
turalist philosophers (cf. Strauven, 1998).
In 1953, he published an article in the
Forum magazine, presenting a photographic
report of his trip to different settlements in
the Algerian Sahara. Seven years later, he
would travel to Mali to study the Dogon set-
tlements. The article was evidence of his in-
terest in the bonds between social and built
structures. He would later describe those
vernacular settlements as prompts of an age-
old tradition that do not differ much from
the situation five thousand years ago. Ac-
cording to Van Eyck these vernacular settle-
ments are “the same laboriously fashioned bricks
of sandy mud, then and now; the same sun weakly
bonding and then harshly disintegrating them; the
same spaces around a courtyard; the same enclosure;
the same sudden transition from light into darkness;
the same coolness after heat; the same starry nights;
the same fears perhaps; the same sleep” (Strauven,
1998: 149). He too considered the vernacu-
lar traditions intelligibly complementary to
other traditions that western thinking had
put between the classical and the modern.
84 In the first circle, three great traditions
are blended: the classical, immutability and rest,
with the Parthenon; the modern, change and
movement with a Van Doesburg design; and
the archaic, the vernacular of the hearth, with a
plan of a vernacular village. These were not
to be considered disjointedly, but integrated
so to enrich architecture’s formal and struc-
tural potential, in order to meet the com-
plexity of contemporary demands. These
three paradigmatic elements, united in a cir-
cle, stood for the realm of architecture,
strengthened with the plea: “when is architec-
ture going to bring together opposite qualities and so-
lutions?”. That is connected to a second cir-
cle, which stands for the human
relationships, portrayed by a figure of danc-
ing Kayapó Indians. The dancers form a spi-
ral wall around an open center, expanding or
shrinking, relaxing or tightening as it moves
in the rhythm of the dance, breathing with
life, and as life: “for each man and all man”; “get
closer to the center—the shifting center—and build”
(Strauven, 1998: 346-354).
85 Benevolo (2009: 7-8) confirms the idea
of a modernity closure: “Without question, the
decisive innovations in our areas took place in the
period between the two world wars; and this is a very
clear historical fact that is even confirmed by recent
experiments (postmodernist movements themselves,
seeking to recover the ties with the past, only made
possible thanks to the intellectual aloofness made af-
ter the first postwar). These years seem prodigious,
however, they seem to be increasingly distant and
Smithson evoke us precisely (in 1981) as ‘the heroic
period of modern architecture’. The present moment
can in no way be defined as heroic and the problems
we face have become radically different”.
86 Cf. Strauven (1998).
87 Le Corbusier (1986: 29) writes: “Our eyes
are made to see forms in light; light and shade reveal
these forms; cubes, cones, spheres, cylinders or pyra-
mids are the great primary forms which light reveals
to advantage; the image of these is distinct and tan-
gible within us without ambiguity. It is for this rea-
son that these are beautiful forms, the most beautiful
forms”.
88 Strauven (1998: 359).
89 Cf. Jencks (1987).
90 Venturi’s (1966: 23) words are eloquent:
“Architects can no longer afford to be intimidated by
the puritanically moral language of modern architec-
ture. I like elements which are hybrid rather than
‘pure’, compromising rather than ‘clean’, distorted
rather than ‘straightforward’, amibiguous rather
than ‘articulated’, perverse as well as impersonal,
boring as well as ‘interesting’, conventional rather
than ‘designed’, accommodating rather than exclud-
ing, redundant rather than simple, vestigial as well
as innovating, inconsistent and equivocal rather than
direct and clear. I am for messy vitality over obvious
unity. I include the non sequitur and proclaim the
duality…. I am for richness of meaning rather than
clarity of meaning; for the implicit function as well as
the explicit function. I prefer ‘both-and’ to ‘either-
or’, black and white, and sometimes gray, to black
or white. A valid architecture evokes many levels of
meaning and combinations of focus: its space and its
elements become readable and workable in several
ways at once. But an architecture of complexity and
contradiction has a special obligation toward the
whole: its truth must be in its totality or its implica-
tions of totality. It must embody the difficult unity of
inclusion rather than the easy unity of exclusion.
More is not less”.
91 Cf. Venturi, Scott Brown, and Izenour
316
(1972).
92 Cf. Tafuri (1976).
93 Evers and Thoenes (2003: 725).
94 Cf. Gropius (1919).
95 Cf. Hüttemann (2017).
96 For instance, Roland Barthes (cf. 1972:
213-220) defines it as a mode of studying the
rules, norms, and organizing structures
which make meaning possible, an activity, a
(mental) means not and end.
97 Ferdinand de Sausurre’s work would be
rendered into a posthumous book, the Cours
de Linguistique Generale, published in 1915
from students’ notes of his classes. The
book has since been an inspiration, estab-
lishing groundbreaking contributions.
98 It would not be until the interwar period
that the approach would get the label ‘struc-
turalism’ from the Russian formalists group
(1910s-1930s)—with thinkers such as
Viktor Shklovsky, Yuri Tynianov, Vladimir
Propp, Boris Eichenbaum, Roman Jakob-
son, Boris Tomashevsky, Grigory Gu-
kovsky. According to Eagleton (1996: 85),
“Saussure's linguistic views influenced the Russian
Formalists, although Formalism is not itself exactly
a structuralism. It views literary texts 'structurally',
and suspends attention to the referent to examine the
sign itself, but it is not particularly concerned (…)
with the 'deep' laws and structures underlying liter-
ary texts. It was one of the Russian Formalists, how-
ever - the linguist Roman Jakobson - who was to
provide the major link between Formalism and mod-
ern-day structuralism. Jakobson was leader of the
Moscow Linguistic Circle, a Formalist group
founded in 1915, and in 1920 migrated to Prague
to become one of the major theoreticians of Czech
structuralism. The Prague Linguistic Circle was
founded in 1926, and survived until the outbreak of
the Second World War. Jakobson later migrated
once more, this time to the United States, where he
encountered the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-
Strauss during the Second World War, an intellec-
tual relationship out of which much of modern struc-
turalism was to develop”.
The Prague school (1920s-1930s)
would eventually take structuralist notions
outside linguistics, contributing to its expan-
sion to a wider scope of symbolic systems.
Eagleton (1996: 86-87) writes: “The Prague
school of linguistics - Jakobson, Jan Mukafovsky,
Felix Vodicka and others - represent a kind of tran-
sition from Formalism to modern structuralism.
They elaborated the ideas of the Formalists, but sys-
tematized them more firmly within the framework of
Saussurean linguistics. (…) With the work of the
Prague school, the term ‘structuralism’ comes more
or less to merge with the word ‘semiotics’”.
99 It would be mostly in the 1960s in France
that the field of structuralism (or its critical
other: poststructuralism) gained wider noto-
riety, with thinkers such as Jacques Lacan
(b.1901-d.1981), Roland Barthes (b.1915-
d.1980), Louis Althusser (b.1918-d.1990),
Michel Foucault (b.1926-d.1984), or Jacques
Derrida (b.1930-d.2004). It has since be-
come an important method of analysis else-
where. From its inceptions, notable contri-
butions to the field can also be observed
through the works of Charles S. Pierce
(b.1839-d.1914), Noam Chomsky (b.1928),
or Umberto Eco (b.1932), among others.
100 Cf. Barthes (1993).
101 The knowledge of a new language im-
plies an appropriate learning of a vocabulary
and syntax. For instance, each discipline (e.g.
algebra, chemistry, or poetry) has its own
symbolic systems, and practitioners of these
know how to handle them. Language can
also be regarded as a source of social and
cultural values, since by learning new words,
as it is more clearly noticeable in childr en, we
implicitly acquire the social and cultural
principles implied by those words. (cf.
Belsey, 2002: 3-5).
102 For instance, houses can be connoted
in language by their shape (e.g. box-like), by
their style (e.g. clean lines), by their price (e.g.
expensive), and so on. We might want to live
in a so-described art-déco house, but probably
we will not be very enthusiastic about living
in a so-described decrepit house, even if both
refer to the exact same house. In any case, a
real-estate seller would not advertise an art-
déco as decrepit, even if the adjective fits.
103 When we learn our native tongue, it is
as if it is transparent, an invisible frame to
the things in the world, even if some of
those things may be imaginary, as for in-
stance those of children’s stories. The fact is
that we do not realize it, because it comes
naturally as a mediator with reality. Similarly,
when we speak, the language is rendered in-
visible to us. (cf. Belsey, 2002: 6-7).
104 Cf. Saussure (1959: 79-100).
105 Barthes (1972: 219) writes: “structuralism
does not withdraw history from the world: it seeks to
link to history not only certain contents (…) but also
certain forms, not only the material but also the in-
telligible, not only the ideological but also the es-
thetic”.
106 In Lévi-Strauss’ Structural Anthropology
(1958), social life is portrayed as a system in
which all aspects are linked with one an-
other. In Pensée Sauvage (1962), he argues that
primitive man thinks just as rationally as to-
day’s man. This mode of thinking is of a dif-
ferent degree of a Darwinist sort of view: it
is transformative, instead of evolutionary
(cf. Lüchinger, 1981: 15-16).
In his works, Lévi-Strauss focused that
linguistics and anthropology had erred in
aiming in on the terms (notions, structure)
and not on the relations between these (the
value), that although we consciously perceive
things, unconsciously we perceive relations.
By studying numerous tribes, he concluded
that among early humans, communication
was non-verbally conducted, and that was
only in a later stage that language begun to
take its use for verbal communicative func-
tion. Language had evolved for cognitive
modeling purposes, rather than for the pur-
poses of communication, and therefore it
could be regarded more as a mental process
than as an instrument for communication.
107 Saussure (1959: 122).
108 “Everything that has been said up to this point
boils down to this: in language there are only differ-
ences. Even more important: a difference generally
implies positive terms between which difference is set
up; but in language there are only differences without
positive terms. Whether we take the signified or the
signifier, language has neither ideas nor sounds that
existed before the linguistic system, but only concep-
tual and phonic differences that have issued from the
system. (…) But the statement [of negative differ-
ence] is true only if the signified and the signifier are
considered separately; when we consider the sign in
its totality, we have something that is positive in its
own class (…), their combination is a positive fact”
(Saussure, 1959: 120).
109 “Beside the phonology of species, there is then
room for a completely different science that uses bi-
nary combinations and sequences of phonemes as a
point of departure, and this is something else en-
tirely” (Saussure, 1959: 50); and “The opposi-
tion of two terms is needed to express plurality: either
fōt: fōti or fōt: fēt; both procedures are possible,
but speakers passed from one to the other, so to
speak, without having a hand in it. Neither was the
whole replaced nor did one system engender another;
one element in the first system was changed, and this
change was enough to give rise to another system”
(Saussure, 1959: 85). Barthes adds his own
thoughts on this issue: “the binary classification
of concepts seems frequent in structural thoughts as if
the metalanguage of the linguist reproduced, like a
mirror, the binary structure of the system it is de-
scribing” (Barthes, 1993: 14).
110 Cf. Saussure (1959: 7-20).
111 Indeed, all things we come to know,
previously unknown to the entire humanity
or to each of us individually, a name is given
to. Heidegger notes it when writing: “Lan-
guage, by naming beings for the first time, first brings
beings to word and to appearance. This naming nom-
inates beings to their being and from out of that be-
ing” (Heidegger, 2002: 46).
112 Cf. Sturrock (1979: 8).
317
113 Cf. Barthes (1993).
114 Cf. Saussure (1959: 65-70).
“The linguistic sign unites, not a thing and a
name, but a signified (concept) and a signifier
(sound-image). (…) The linguistic sign, as defined,
has two primordial characteristics” (Saussure,
1959: 66-67).
115 This conception also suggests that
meaning does not depend on a reference to
the world or to ideas. Such can be illustrated
by the issues of translation, which, as non-
native speakers know, can sometimes cause
embarrassment, as unaware of certain con-
notations carried by certain words they can
cause offence on the native speaker by inap-
propriate use. For instance, the word horse is
possibly quite straightforwardly translatable
among different natural languages. How-
ever, other words may not be so much. For
instance, different words with equivalent
meaning (e.g. Portuguese gato vs English cat),
same words with equivalent meaning, (e.g.
Portuguese nostalgia vs English nostalgia), or
no straightforward translation (e.g. Portu-
guese saudade).
116 Expressing a trichotomic reasoning, ra-
ther than dichotomic, Pierce adds a new ele-
ment to Sausurre’s methodological distinc-
tion. He expressed a preference throughout
his work of grouping things in threes, of tri-
adic relations: trichotomies. Although the
reasons for such preference are not entirely
clear, it was seemingly based in what he
called phaneroscopy, that is the observation of
phenomenal appearances, of which he regu-
larly commented in the phaneron the phe-
nomena just fall into threes, irreducibly ex-
pressing triadic relations. “He regularly
commented that the phenomena in the phaneron just
do fall into three groups and that they just do display
irreducibly triadic relations. He seemed to regard this
matter as simply open for verification by direct in-
spection”. There are phenomena that seem to
naturally fall in such a tripartite division,
however Pierce’s recurrence is such for any-
thing imaginable is likely to be driven by
something other than the mere acknowl-
edgement of examples. “Perhaps it was the in-
fluence of Kant, whose twelve categories divide into
four groups of three each. Perhaps it was the triadic
structure of the stages of thought as described by He-
gel. Perhaps it was even the triune commitments of
orthodox Christianity (which Pierce seemed in some
extent to subscribe). Certainly involved was Peirce's
commitment to the ineliminability of mind in nature,
for Peirce closely associated the activities of mind with
the triadic relation that he called the ‘sign’ relation
(…). It is difficult to imagine even the most fervently
devout of the passionate admirers of Peirce, of which
there are many, saying that his account (or, more ac-
curately, his various accounts) of the three universal
categories is (or are) absolutely clear and compelling”
(cf. Burch, 2013).
Besides the concepts of signified (in
Pierce’s also thing or object) and signifier (in
Pierce’s also sign or representamen, that is, the
representation medium), the concept of in-
terpretant is acknowledged. In language there
is the sound, what it represents, and its rep-
resentation in a mental status derived from
cognition. When a significate effect is produced,
that is, when the representation occurs, it
can become a new signified, producing a re-
gression, now needing a further signifier and
an interpretant. In other words, there is a rep-
resenting relation, where whenever there is
an occurrence, there is one thing (the signified,
or object) being represented by (or: in) an-
other thing (the signifier, or representamen), and
being represented to (or: in) a third thing
(the interpretant). In subsequent levels, the in-
terpretant may become thing, or representamen,
of a yet another interpretant. Hence, these
may possibly produce an infinite unfolding
sequence, where signs may (de)generate
from the original, producing new meanings.
“One of Peirce's central tasks was that of analyzing
all possible kinds of signs. For this purpose he intro-
duced various distinction among signs, and discussed
various ways of classifying them. One (early) set of
distinctions among signs was introduced by Peirce
(was) on whether the particular instance of the sign
relation is ‘degenerate’ or ‘non-degenerate’. The no-
tion of ‘degeneracy’ here is the standard mathemati-
cal notion, and as applied to sign theory non-degen-
eracy means simply that the triadic relation cannot
be analyzed as a logical conjunction of any combina-
tion of dyadic relations and monadic relations. More
exactly, a particular instance of the obtaining of the
sign relation is degenerate if and only if the fact that
a sign s means an object o to an interpretant i can
be analyzed into a conjunction of facts of the form
P(s) & Q(o) & R(i) & T(s,o) & U(o,i) &
W(i,s) (where not all the conjuncts have to be pre-
sent). Either an obtaining of the sign relation is non-
degenerate, in which case it falls into one class; or it
is degenerate in various possible ways (depending on
which of the conjuncts are omitted and which re-
tained), in which cases it falls into various other clas-
ses” (cf. Burch, 2013). As in Sausurre, here
again, the distinction is purely methodologi-
cal.
117 Cf. Belsey (2002: 11).
118 One of the most well-known features
of his work is the devising of universal laws
through the study of myths of different cul-
tures around the world. As he asserted, from
the multiple products derived from culture
and cultural practices, myths can certainly be
regarded as the most random and fantastic.
However, paradoxically, if abstractly regard-
ing their essential narrative elements, they
seem to possess many similarities. Their to-
tality is made up of basic, constant, universal
structures, through which they can be ex-
plained.
The most general version of a myth is
composed of elements that oppose or con-
tradict each other; and of elements that re-
late them together, resolving or mediating
their oppositions. The myth is seen as a lan-
guage system, which may be broken into
smaller individual units, which in turn can be
read in relation to each other rather than as
reflecting a particular version. In the myth,
there is hence an underlying set of relations, or
a type of grammar, which is common in their
narrative structures. Lévi-Strauss claims that
if even the fantastical and unpredictable
products of mythical thought obey universal
laws, then all human thought must obey uni-
versal laws. It is most likely impossible to
verify such idea without any remaining rea-
sonable doubt. Anyhow, in smaller sets of
inquiry, analogous processes can be verified,
or in the least be given a more tangible sense.
For instance, in the example of chess, it can
be observed that there is a limited set of ele-
ments and rules, which nonetheless provide
ever-different, endless outcomes. Likewise,
such universality, rather than being regarded
as limiting or reducing scope, can instead be
regarded as a solid argument for nurturing
richness and diversity.
119 Cf. Damásio (1996).
In last instance, the arguments may re-
sult in a sort of discussion of neurological
processes, in understanding the body’s ways
to produce memories, language, movement,
or to regulate its own temperature or other
functions, and so forth. In another perspec-
tive, the arguments may eventually redound
to a point where there are no longer imagi-
nable words good enough to describe such
processes, as in the interplay of signifier and
signified we would ultimately enter in a cy-
clically redundant process from where noth-
ing could be extracted.
120 Cf. Barthes (1993).
121 Cf. Sturrock (1979: 6-8).
122 As Fromm (1966) writes: “Freud and
Marx have in common that both (…) are concerned
not as much with superficial phenomena as rather
with driving forces, which act in certain directions
and with varying intensity, and evoke phenomena
that are changing and temporary. Psychoanalysis is
the only scientific form of psychology, as Marxism is
the only scientific form of sociology. Only these two
systems allow us to understand the hidden driving
forces behind the phenomena and to predict what
happens to an individual in a certain society when,
under certain conditions, the acting forces evoke phe-
nomena that seem to be exactly the opposite of what
they actually are. (…) This does not mean that
Marx or Freud were absolute determinists (…)
Freud’s and Marx’s theories have a common element
in the assumption that man is driven by forces. Re-
alization and awareness of these will lead to libera-
tion, even though only within the boundaries set by
318
society and human nature”.
123 Cf. Wittgenstein (1995).
124 Cf. Sturrock (1979: 3-5).
125 Cf. Sturrock (1979: 5-6).
126 Sartre (1994: 567-568) writes: “Freedom
in fact, (…) is strictly identified with nihilation. The
only being which can be called free is the being which
nihilates its being. (…) Freedom is precisely the be-
ing which makes itself a lack of being. But since de-
sire, (…) is identical with lack of being, freedom can
arise only as being which makes itself a desire of be-
ing; that is, as the project-for-itself of being in-itself-
for-itself. Here we have arrived at an abstract struc-
ture which can by no means be considered, as the na-
ture or essence of freedom. Freedom is existence, and
in it existence precedes essence. The upsurge of free-
dom is immediate and concrete and is not to be dis-
tinguished from its choice; that is, from the person
himself. But the structure under consideration can be
called the truth of freedom; that is, it is the human
meaning of freedom”.
127 Heidegger (2002: 45-46) writes: “Accord-
ing to the usual account, language is a kind of com-
munication. It serves as a means of discussion and
agreement, in general for achieving understanding.
But language is neither merely nor primarily the au-
ral and written expression of what needs to be com-
municated. The conveying of overt and covert mean-
ings is not what language, in the first instance, does.
Rather, it brings beings as beings, for the first time,
into the open. Where language is not present, as in
the being of stones, plants, or animals, there is also
no openness of beings, and consequently no openness
either of that which is not a being [des
Nichtseienden] or of emptiness”.
128 Belsey (2002: 52) writes: “Identity implies
sameness: that’s what the word means. Subjects can
differ from themselves”.
129 Belsey (2002: 57-58) writes: “We are born
organisms (of course), and we become subjects. How?
By internalizing our culture, which is inscribed in the
signifying practices that surround us from the mo-
ment we come into the world. We turn into subjects
in the process of learning language, which means that
we become capable of signifying”.
130 Cf. Barthes (1972: 213-220).
131 Cf. Gil (2010).
132 Cf. Wittgenstein (1995).
133 Barthes (1972: 215).
134 Barthes (1972: 216) writes: “It is not the
nature of the copied object which defines an art
(though this is a tenacious prejudice in all realism),
it is the fact that man adds to it in reconstructing it.
(…) We recompose the object in order to make cer-
tain functions appear, and it is, so to speak, the way
that makes the work; this is why we must speak of
the structuralist activity rather than the structuralist
work”.
135 Peirce (1931-58: (2)308).
136 Lacan (1966: 9).
137 Cf. Baudrillard (1994).
138 Cf. Barthes (1972: 218).
139 Ultimately, as Barthes (1977: 42-43)
notes in his essay on Rhetoric of the Image, the
denotation is purely utopian: “the denoted im-
age can appear as a kind of Edenic state of the im-
age; cleared utopianically of its connotations, the im-
age would become radically objective, or, in the last
analysis, innocent. This utopian character of denota-
tion is considerably reinforced by the paradox (…)
that the photograph (in its literal state), by virtue of
its absolutely analogical nature, seems to constitute a
message without a code. Here, however, structural
analysis must differentiate, for of all the kinds of im-
age only the photograph is able to transmit the (lit-
eral) information without forming it by means of dis-
continuous signs and rules of transformation. The
photograph, message without a code, must thus be
opposed to the drawing which, even when denoted, is
a coded message”.
140 Călinescu (1987: 92) writes: “(…) Moder-
nity as a ‘tradition against itself’. When modernity
comes to oppose concepts without which it would have
been inconceivable (…) it is simply pursuing its deep-
est vocation, its constitutive sense of creation through
rupture and crisis”.
141 Călinescu (1987: 68-69) writes: “(…) the
suffix ism – indicative, among other things, of irra-
tional adherence to the principles of a cult – was
added to the term modern not by the moderns them-
selves but by their adversaries. The defenders of clas-
sical tradition were thus able to suggest that the atti-
tude of the moderns was biased, that their claim of
being superior to the ancients contained an element of
dubious and finally disqualifying partisanship. An
expression of intellectual contempt, ‘modernism’ was
little more than a terminological weapon in the hands
of the antimoderns”.
142 Heisenberg (2000: 25).
143 Barthes (1972: 219-220).
144 Cf. Craige (1982: 15-26).
145 Lévi-Strauss (1979: 19-20).
146 For instance, Doxiadis (cf. 1968) devel-
oped the cross-disciplinary Ekistics. The
term, coined by himself, refers to a cross-
cultural study of human settlements, over-
lapping fields such as human geography, en-
vironmental psychology, and sciences of the
built environment. The human settlements
are organized through five ekistics elements:
nature, anthropos, society, shells, and net-
works.
147 For instance, in theoretical develop-
ment, manifestations can be found in works
such as Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City
(cf. Lynch, 1960), or Gordon Cullen’s Town-
scape (cf. Cullen, 1988), first published in
1961.
148 Rapoport (1969: 5-6) defines the ver-
nacular building as being characterized by:
“lack of theoretical or aesthetic pretensions; working
with the site and micro-climate; respect for other peo-
ple and their houses and hence for the total environ-
ment, man-made as well as natural; and working
within an idiom with variations within a given order.
(…) Although a vernacular always has limitations
in the range of expression possible, at the same time
it can fit many different situations, and create a place
at each. It is, of course, precisely this limitation of
expression which makes any communication possi-
ble. To communicate, one must be prepared to learn
as well as use language – which implies the ac-
ceptance of authority, trust, and a shared vocabulary.
Another characteristic of vernacular is its additive
quality, its unspecialized, open-ended nature, so dif-
ferent from the closed, final form typical of most high-
style design. (…) Vernacular is also characterized
by the greater importance and significance of relation-
ships between elements, and the manner in which
these relationships are achieved, rather than by the
nature of the elements themselves. (…) Since
knowledge of the model is shared by all, there is no
need for drawings or designers. A house is meant to
be like all the well-built houses in a given area. The
construction is simple, clear, and easy to grasp, and
since everyone knows the rules, the craftsmen is called
in only because he has a more detailed knowledge of
these rules. (…) As long as the tradition is alive,
this shared and accepted image operates; when tradi-
tion goes, the picture changes. Without tradition,
there can no longer be reliance on the accepted norms,
and there is a beginning of institutionalization”
(Rapoport, 1969: 5-6).
149 To a degree, this kind of description re-
flects what perhaps is one of the greatest
myths of anthropological functionalism, ex-
pressed by Bronisław Malinowski, where
different cultures in different people are de-
terministically related through the habitat,
via natural conditions and the like—steep
mountains, plains, rain, snow, heat, cold,
flood, dry, and so on. To some extent, the
notion also reflects structuralism’s Univer-
salist intentions, as expressed by Lévi-
Strauss, but also inevitably an evolutionary
perspective.
Lévi-Strauss (1979: 15-16) writes: “the
feeling in Malinowski was that the thought of the
people he was studying was, and generally speaking
the thought of all the populations without writing
which are the subject matter of anthropology was en-
tirely, or is, determined by the basic needs of life. If
you know that a people, whoever they are, is deter-
mined by the bare necessities of living – finding sub-
sistence, satisfying sexual drives, and so on – then
you can explain their social institutions, their beliefs,
their mythology, and the like This very widespread
conception in anthropology generally goes under the
319
name of functionalism. The other fashion is not so
much that theirs is an inferior kind of thought, but
a fundamentally different kind of thought. This ap-
proach is exemplified by the work of Levy-Bruhl,
who considered that the basic difference between
'primitive' thought - I always put the word 'primi-
tive' within quotes - and modern thought is that the
first is entirely determined by emotion and mystic rep-
resentations. Whereas Malinowski's is a utilitarian
conception, the other is an emotional or affective con-
ception; and what I have tried to emphasize is that
actually the thought of people without writing is, or
can be in many instances, on the one hand, disinter-
ested - and this is a difference in relation to Mali-
nowski - and, on the other hand, intellectual - a dif-
ference in relation to Levy-Bruhl”.
150 Rapoport (1969: 108-109) refers that “it
has been suggested that primitive and preindustrial
vernacular builders always use materials most con-
veniently available, and that, since materials deter-
mine form, the nature of local materials determines
form. These oversimple beliefs are not necessarily
true; it has already been shown that the same mate-
rials may produce very different forms (…) There are
many instances where choice of materials is deter-
mined by the tendency to use permanent solid mate-
rials, such as stone, for cult buildings and tombs,
while houses are built of more perishable materials.
(…) It remains true that what is not available can-
not be used, which is another example of negative
impact – of things becoming impossible rather than
inevitable. Because of the low criticality a choice ex-
ists, and use of materials is decided by fashion, tra-
dition, religious proscription, or prestige value.
151 Evolutionary cultural processes have
been subject of intensive research, namely
from anthropological perspectives. The
2002 book by Stephen Shannon, Genes,
memes, and human history: Darwinian archaeology
and cultural evolution, is a good example of
such research trend (cf. Shennan, 2002).
152 Stewart Brand notes that ordinary
buildings traditionally built have a deep cul-
tural embedment, raised from evolutionary
principles. To build these people use quite
straightforward rules of thumb. For in-
stance, ‘this is how you build a roof so it
doesn't leek’ or ‘this is how you build a fire-
place so it doesn't smoke’. These are clear,
logical rules, that everyone within a certain
cultural context will under-stand, rules that
are embedded in a culture and do not change
or are only slowly changed. The clear princi-
ples guiding them makes it possible for rules
to be slowly and gradually tested, and by that
slowly and gradually embedding new princi-
ples into it. By this process, when a rule gets
improved slightly, it gets embedded in the
culture (cf. Brand, 1995).
153 Cf. Gonçalves (2012).
154 Cf. Le Corbusier (2007).
155 Cf. Rudofsky (1987).
156 Cf. Thompson (1945).
157 Cf. Sindicato Nacional dos Arquitectos
(1961).
158 Frank Lloyd Wright writes: “The three
major inventions at work building Broadacres,
wheter the powers that over-built the old cities like it
or not, are: (1) The motor car: general mobilization
of the human being; (2) Radio, telephone and tele-
graph: electrical intercommunication becoming com-
plete; and (3) Standardized machine shop produc-
tion: machine invention plus scientific discovery”
(Sergeant, 1976: 130).
159 Cf. Sergeant (1976: 121-136).
160 Cf. Aymonino (1976: 245-249).
161 Frank Lloyd Wright writes: “What would
be really sensible in this matter of the modest dwelling
for our time and place? This house for a young jour-
nalist, his wife, and small daughter is now under
roof. Cost: Fifty-five hundred dollars including ar-
chitect’s fee of four hundred and fifty. Contract let to
Bert Grove. To give the small Jacobs family the ben-
efit of the advantages of the era we live, many simpli-
fications must take place. Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs must
themselves see life in somewhat simplified terms.
What are the essentials in their case, a typical case?
It is not necessary only to get rid of unnecessary com-
plications in construction, necessary to use work in
the mill to good advantage (off-site prefabrication),
necessary to eliminate, so far as possible, field labor,
which is always expensive: it is necessary to consoli-
date and simplify the three appurtenance systems –
heating lighting and sanitation… At least this must
be our economy if we are to achieve the sense of spa-
ciousness and vista we desire in order to liberate the
people living in the house” (Sergeant, 1976: 16).
162 The Usonian houses would develop
through diverse concepts, addressed to dif-
ferent audiences (and pockets). The do-it
yourself, as expressed in the Berger House
(1950), was designed to be built by its own-
ers in stages. The usonian automatic, as exem-
plified in the Adelman House (1953), elimi-
nated unions, masonry and plasters in favor
of a dry construction. The prefabricated houses,
such as the Raymond Carlson House (1951),
where despite the intentions to economize,
and as shipping and assembling doubled the
costs, it became unaffordable. Or the self-
build methods, where a set of recommenda-
tions such as for designing houses to look big-
ger or work better inside and outside were
widely publicized in popular magazines (cf.
Sergeant, 1976).
Albert Frey would also make a very par-
ticular account on his perspective of the
bonds of nature, industry and man, sensi-
tively expressed in his book In S earch of a Liv-
ing Architecture (1939) and thoughtfully de-
signed in his House Frey I (1941-53), where
furthermore a sense of open-endedness is
too present (cf. Frey, 1999).
163 Cf. Reed (1998).
164 According to Alvar Aalto, “still the main
task of architecture is to humanize the Machine
Age. In doing this, however, it must always work
with form” (Schildt, 1998: 179).
165 Alvar Aalto affirms: “Nature, biology, has
rich and luxurious forms; with the same construc-
tion, the same tissues, and the same principlesof cel-
lular organization, it can create billions of combina-
tions, each of which represents a definitive, highly-
developed form. Man’s life belongs to the same cate-
gory” (Schildt, 1998: 93).
166 With notions such as these, it is opened
up a perspective on which the architectural
experience is sensorially engaged with the
entire body. It is not to be merely formalis-
tically retrieved, as if bold photos could ever
reflect the spatial experience. While pictures
may pick particular details or individual ar-
chitectural gestures, spaces are ought to be
imperceptibly engaging, as, unlike their pub-
licizing photos, they have no ideal view-
point: spaces need not to be asked for per-
mission.
167 Cf. Weston (2002).
168 “(We) saw in (Nigel Henderson’s) photo-
graphs a perceptive recognition of the actuality
around his (neighborhood): children’s pavement play-
graphics; repetition of ‘kind’ in doors used as site
hoardings; the items in the detritus on bombed sites,
such as the old boot, heaps of nails, fragments of sack
or mesh and so on. Setting ourselves the task of re-
thinking architecture in the early 1950’s we meant
by the ‘as found’ not only adjacent buildings but all
those marks that constitute remembrances in a place
and that are to be read through finding out how the
existing built fabric had come to be as it was... Thus
the ‘as found’ was a new seeing of the ordinary, an
openness as to how prosaic ‘things’ could re-energize
our inventive activity”(Heuvel et al., 2004: 18).
169 The Smithson’s would later affirm: “we
were concerned with the seeing of materials for what
they were: the woodiness of wood; the sandiness of
sand” (Heuvel et al., 2004: 18).
170 Cf. Lynch (1960).
171 Cf. Cullen (1988).
172 In House form and culture cf. Rapoport
(1969).
173 In Housing by people: towards autonomy in
building environments (cf. J.F.C. Turner, 1976).
174 With the development of the Segal Sys-
tem, and his book Home and Environment (cf.
Segal, 1953).
175 In Supports. An Alternative to Mass Hous-
ing (cf. Habraken, 1972). With the posterior
The Structure of the Ordinary: Form and Control
in the Built Environment, (cf. Habraken &
320
Teicher, 1998) a synthesis of the principles
is made, distinguishing form, the physical order,
from place, the territorial order and understanding,
the cultural order, observing those through
concepts such as levels, hierarchies, structures,
patterns, systems and types.
176 With his How Buildings Learn, What Hap-
pens after they are Built (cf. Brand, 1995).
177 Cf. Antonio Lopes Correia, Simões da
Silva, and Murtinho (2016).
178 Cf. Tafuri (1976).
179 Cf. Rossi (1969).
180 Cf. Grassi (1983).
181 Cf. Paola (2013).
182 “So here I stand before you preaching organic
architecture: declaring organic architecture to be the
modern ideal and the teaching so much needed if we
are to see the whole of life, and to now serve the whole
of life, holding no ‘traditions’ essential to the great
TRADITION. Nor cherishing any preconceived
form fixing upon us either past, present or future,
but – instead – exalting the simple laws of common
sense – or of super-sense if you prefer – determining
form by way of the nature of materials, the nature of
purpose so well understood… Form follows func-
tion? Yes, but more important now, Form and
Function are One”— Frank Lloyd Wright, An
Organic Architecture, 1939 (cf. Wright &
Pfeiffer, 1992).
183 Cf. Lobos and Donath (2010).
184 Cf. Whyte (1985).
Étienne-Louis Boullée’s both astound-
ing, and somewhat credible, utopian imagery
had been leaving a referential imprint in the
architect’s imaginary since the XVIIIth cen-
tury, with designs such as the Cénotaphe de Tu-
renne (1786) or the Cénotaphe a Newton (1795).
In the XXth century, the utopian theme had
left its mark in the 1920s with the Crystal
Chain Letters [Die glaserne Kette] of Bruno and
Max Taut, Walter Gropius, Hans and Was-
sili Luckhardt, and Hans Scharoun, with
their visions of an ideal communal society in
a series of astounding descriptions and
drawings of a fantasy world. Among these,
probably the most famous is Bruno Taut’s
mystical Alpine Architecture.
185 Cf. Le Corbusier (1980).
186 The Smithson’s entry for the Golden
Lane competition (1952), alongside Robin
Hood Gardens (1972), can be considered as a
re-interpretation of Le Corbusier’s Unité
d’Habitation (1947). Instead of corridors in
the middle, there are corridors on the sides,
and the contact with the ground floor is dif-
ferent, nonetheless, the sociability principles
are all there, through large circulation spaces
and the intention to bring nature to the
block.
187 Heuvel et al. (2004: 18).
188 Cf. Reyner Banham (1955).
189 Reyner Banham (1955) makes reference
to an Alison Smithson’s article where, about
a small apartment renovation in the Soho,
she refers: “It is our intention in this building to
have the structure exposed entirely, without interior
finishes wherever practicable. The contractor should
aim at a high standard of basic construction, as in a
small warehouse”.
190 Cf. Reyner Banham (1955).
191 Cf. Calabuig, Gomez, and Ramos
(2013).
192 Cf. Herman Hertzberger (2000: 218-
219).
193 Alison Smithson (cf. 1974) writes: “Still
existing in the simple Arab town, an interchangea-
bility, in which the neutral cube contains a calm cell
that can change; from home to workshop; green-gro-
cery to paraffin store; an alley of houses in whose
midst is a baker, made into a Souk by simple expe-
dient of adding pieces of fabric over the public way…
as needs grow”.
194 Cf. Calabuig et al. (2013).
195 Cf. Smithson (1974).
196 Cf. Feliciano (2009).
197 With members such as Kiyouori
Kikitake, Kisho Kurokawa, Fumiko Maki,
Kenzo Tange, or Arata Isosaki.
198 The latter is one of the few remaining
built metabolist specimens to these days. The
construction, which took only one month to
complete, consisted of 144 pre-cast concrete
capsules of 2.3×3.8×2.1m attached to one
of the two shaft cores. The capsules were to
be individually removed or replaced as
needed, as if a space-station. Nevertheless,
the constructive interface between the cap-
sules and the shafts, led such to be econom-
ically prohibitive practice (cf. Bergdoll, 2008:
144-147).
199 Cf. Andreotti and Costa (1996).
200 Sadler (2005: 137).
201 Herman Hertzberger (2005: 92).
202 For that matter, we can refer Reinhard
Köning’s arguments: “The structuralist activity
consists primarily of the combination of particular el-
ements within a particular framework or set of rules.
The rules are understood as a kind of deep or pri-
mary structure that serves to organize different ele-
ments within a whole, (where) the whole is more im-
portant than the sum of its parts. (…) It is
important not only what parts belong to the whole,
but also how these parts relate to each other. How-
ever, a valid criticism of this approach to what is
supposedly a structuralist design method that it runs
the risk of trivializing structuralism in architecture.
The assertion that certain elements have to be com-
bined according to certain rules is so vague as a de-
scription of the approach to the design that it can
ultimately be applied to almost any architectural or
design activity” (Valena et al., 2011: 275).
203 In his Critique of Pure Reason, Kant ana-
lyzes the limits of human reason. He con-
cludes that the three things that involve our
moral concerns, God, immortality, and freedom,
can only be thought and not known effec-
tively. Thus, our reason cannot objectively
know the objects that correspond to the
concepts of thought: God, immortality and free-
dom. In this way, Kant sees the need to go
beyond the reflexive and intellectual use we
make of reason for a reason that also has a
practical use. This is what Kant called practi-
cal reason. Thus, if we do not get to know
these concepts intellectually, and for not to
accept them dogmatically, it is necessary to
fundament them through practical reason. It is
inherent in practical reason to admit the reality
of freedom, of immortality and of God. Kant
wrote: “I have therefore found it necessary to deny
knowledge in order to make room for faith”. But in
this phrase ‘faith’ presupposes a fundament
by practical reason, not by revelation and be-
lief.
204 Cf. Schwartz (2004).
205 Cf. Brand (1995).
206 Herman Hertzberger (2005: 22) writes:
“The character of each area will depend toa
large extent on who determines the furnish-
ing and arrangement of space, who is in
charge, who takes care of it and who is or
feels responsible for it”.
207 Herman Hertzberger (2005: 92).
208 André Malraux (1901-1976), created the
concept of Musée Imaginaire, (from the ho-
monymous essay published in 1947), consid-
ering that the reproduction of works of art
through photographic print would be an ex-
cellent way of boosting contact the general
public with the art world, promoting an in-
dividual or collective imaginary. When the
museum gained popularity, its function was
to bring together works of art deemed of
quality and to use them to better teach a
story of culture and history. With photog-
raphy, it became practical to make reproduc-
tions of art works and put them into books.
Anyone who could look at a book had access
to a virtual museum, democratizing learning.
The concept would be used among the Fo-
rum group, regarded as an unconscious field
of knowledge within which the architect
finds forms (cf. Lüchinger, 1981: 19).
209 Cf. Brand (1995).
321
210 John John F. C. Turner (1976: 18)
writes: “How many admirers of Brazilia, for ex-
ample, stay longer than necessary to see the principal
buildings and, perhaps, one of the superblocks? And
how many designers of such places, prefer to spend
their holidays in places like Mykonos?”.
211 In such context stand theoretical works
such as Edward Hall’s The Hidden Dimension
(1966), Amos Rapoport’s House Form and
Culture (1969), or Constantinos Doxiadis’
Ekistics (1968). Edward T. Hall argues that
“one of man’s most critical needs (…) is for princi-
ples for designing spaces that will maintain a healthy
density, a healthy interaction rate, a proper amount
of involvement, and a continuing sense of ethnic iden-
tification. The creation of such principles will require
the combined efforts of many diverse specialists all
working closely together on a massive scale” (Hall,
1990: 168). Rapoport writes: “The more ex-
treme the constraints, the less the choice, but some
choice is always available. Constraints make it nec-
essary to provide spaces desired for various human
activities by the most direct means. Limited materi-
als and techniques, used to their ultimate, must be
used to define place”.
212 Herman Hertzberger (2005: 47) writes:
“The whole suppressive system of the established or-
der is geared to avoiding conflicts; to protecting the
individual members of the community from incur-
sions by other members of the same community, with-
out the direct involvement of the individuals con-
cerned. This explains why there is such a deep fear
of disorder, chaos and the unexpected, and why im-
personal, ‘objective’ regulations are always preferred
to personal involvement. It seems as if everything
must be regulated and quantifiable, so as to permit
total control; to create the conditions in which the
suppressive system of order can make us all into
lesses instead of co-owners, into subordinates instead
of participants. Thus the system itself creates the al-
ienation and, by claiming to represent the people, ob-
structs the development of conditions that could lead
to a more hospitable environment”.
213 Matthew Breatore (2013: 18-19) writes:
“Of the many complications between the two parties
[Mies and Farnsworth], perhaps the principle prob-
lem was a lack of mutually agreed upon terms. That
the house was designed as a weekend retreat for a
single person rather than a full-time residence further
unburdened Mies – or so he believed – of the require-
ment to account for domesticity and its inherent effects
on a living space, aspects of modern life for which he
had little patience. Consequently, he and Farnsworth
disagreed on what constituted the essential with re-
gard to possessions to be kept at the house. One such
dispute was over the necessity of a clothes closet.
Farnsworth insisted that, as a resident of the. house-
hold, she needed a place to hang her dresses. In
Mies’s opinion the doctor required no more than a
single dress to keep at the weekend house. This inci-
dent demonstrates the extent to which the architect
desired to minimize not only the house’s presence in
nature, but also traces of the occupant within the
house. Mies would in fact go to great extents, perhaps
absurd, to curtail indications of residency. Though
the house was designed as a weekend retreat for a
single person, the architect incorporated a second
bathroom. During those occasions in which the doc-
tor, or Mies himself, had company, the additional
bathroom was to eradicate traces of occupancy, con-
cealing the domestic in favor of formal purity. Mies’s
assistant Myron Goldsmith explained simply that
designing and building an additional bathroom was
more elegant than for a guest to come in and see
Farnsworth’s nightgown hanging. The architect did
acknowledge some of Farnsworth’s needs and ulti-
mately conceded to design a freestanding wardrobe,
but not without protest”.
214 Cf. Ábalos (2003).
215 Cf. Breatore (2013).
216 Schneider and Till (2007) have classifie d
these two notions as hard and soft. In hard,
elements that more specifically determine
the way design may be used, with a certain
tendency to both visually and technically,
foreground their flexibility. Whereas in soft
referring to tactics which allow a certain in-
determinacy, generally working on the back-
ground. These may work at different levels,
depending on a user or designer perspective,
and even may occur simultaneously.
217 Cf. Leupen (2006).
218 Cf. Leupen (2006).
219 The related Einstellung effect, describes
a state of mechanization of complexity in
problem solving, where the prior knowledge
of a certain solution leads to mechanize anal-
ogous problems in similar complex fashion
(even if not adjusted), instead of using the
simpler routes that are engaged in non-pre-
viously informed cases (cf. Luchins, 1942).
220 The original expression, das Ganze ist
mehr als die Summe seiner Teile, is often trans-
lated as “the whole is greater than the sum of its
parts”. However, according to Koffka, it
should be translated instead as “the whole is
other than the sum of its parts”, since notions
such as ‘greater’ or ‘bigger’ would imply an
unwanted additive valuation (cf. Hothersall,
2004).
221 Lévi-Strauss (1979: 9).
222 Both terms, which find a correspond-
ence in the theoretical developments of
Structuralism or of Systems Theory, have
aroused in the natural sciences, although in
a later stage the notion of structure would
assume a great notoriety from the social im-
plications of the studies of language. The no-
tion of structure can early be found related
with the idea of form reflecting the internal
disposition of bodies. In the Enlightenment,
it would enter the vocabulary of biology and
the study of minerals, and later to linguistics
and thereon to humanities, anyhow related
to an essential condition of things or of
Form. Structure derives from the Latin struc-
tura (from the verb struere, i.e. ‘to build’),
originally used to mean both (1) the archi-
tectural schema of a building, (2) the order-
ing of organs in the human body, and (3) in
rhetoric, the ordered connection between
the thoughts and the words in a speech. The
meanings have broadly persisted until the
present times (cf. Cornelis, 1967). As to the
notion of system, it can early be found in the
realms of diverse areas such as philosophy,
theology or law. From its most primitive us-
ages, the concept has been related with the
question of the organization and codifica-
tion of knowledge. Modernly, that became
clearer in philosophical thinking since Leib-
niz’s (b.1646–d.1716) System Nouveau, first
published in 1695 (cf. Bertalanffy, 1969: 10-
17). With the Enlightenment, it becomes in-
delibly related with an idea of method, epit-
omizing a materialistic and mechanistic per-
spective typically associated with scientific
thinking.
However, it should also not be forgotten its
understanding through the Kantian notion
of architectonic—and thus of systematicity. In-
deed, more than speaking of a system, instead
it often makes more sense to speak in the
Kantian architectonic sense of systematicity.
In his The Critique of Pure Reason, first pub-
lished in 1781, Kant described it as “the unity
of the end, to which all the parts of the system relate,
and through which all have a relation to each other,
communicates unity to the whole system, so that the
absence of any part can be immediately detected from
our knowledge of the rest; and it determines a priori
the limits of the system, thus excluding all contingent
or arbitrary additions”(cf. Kant, 2013). In a
Kantian sense, reason cannot be fulfilled
simply with a mechanical conception. How-
ever, Kant too acknowledges two key dis-
tinct faces of reason, the theoretical and the
practical reason. If the metaphysical ground
of the unity of nature is an indispensable no-
tion for both the theoretical and practical
functions of reason, on the other hand such
can only be satisfied in the latter. Thus, in
this perspective, the objective reality of the
theoretical reason can only find its suitable
proof in the practical (cf. Ostaric, 2009). Ob-
serving the issue from the opposite direc-
tion—i.e. following the system over the system-
aticity way—for instance we have that
numerous environments pose questions
such as: what is a system?, how is it mani-
fested?, on what boundaries?, exhibiting cer-
tain distinctions that are susceptible of lead-
ing to certain areas of though. Thus posed
from a practical side, the problem is ex-
tremely vast, and it would not likely conduct
to an examination of all the variants of the
322
term. From the biological systems, to the
systems of coordinates, to systems of values,
and so on, we would have to go through
every area of knowledge, and that is simply
unfeasible.
223 Cf. Staib (2008).
224 Cf. Knaack, Chung-Klatte, and
Hasselbach (2012).
225 The notion departs from Systems Theory
body of work, which was primarily devel-
oped by the biologist Ludwig von Ber-
talanffy, constituting a broadly-purposed ef-
fort to bind a conceptual with an operational
sense of systems. It fundamentally refers to
the interdisciplinary study of the abstract or-
ganization of phenomena, regardless their
type, substance, spatial or temporal scales of
existence, investigating the common princi-
ples to complex units, as well as the models
that can be used to describe them. Its intents
are not to establish a unique general theory of
everything, replacing the role of other theories
in specific subjects. Its aims are, however,
located somewhere in between the specific-
ity of the content and the generality of its
frame, searching an optimum degree of gen-
erality, close enough not to lose the object,
distant enough to be able to regard the ob-
ject in a larger context.
In Systems’ praxis, evolutionary sys-
tems design is one of the most recent ad-
vances, and one example of the conceptual
tools which would fit as an outcome would
be the diagrammatic-like cognitive maps.
More direct applications can be found
among e.g., Biology, Engineering, Sociology,
Psychology, Communication, Cybernetics
or Information Theories. In more recent ap-
proaches, dynamical systems theory, family
systems theory, dissipative structures and
holistic paradigms are the areas that have
been subject to more intensified exploration
among researchers (cf. Laszlo & Krippner,
1997).
In the history of Systems Theory, as a
more or less defined branch of research,
many relevant thinkers can be named, rang-
ing from diverse fields such as Philosophy,
Physics, Computer Sciences, or Economics,
however, a Biologist, Ludwig von Ber-
talanffy, stands out for its precursor role.
With an implicit aspiration of answering to
the increasing fragmentation and redun-
dancy of scientific and technological re-
search and decision-making, von Bertalanffy
developed what he called the Allgemeine Sys-
temlehre (General Systems Theory), a found-
ing and referential work for the Systems
Theory movement.
In the 1930's Bertalanffy had “formulated
the organismic system theory. His starting point was
to deduce the phenomena of life from a spontaneous
grouping of system forces – comparable, for instance,
to the system developmental biology nowadays. (…)
In the 1940's he conducted his theory of open systems
from a thermodynamical point. (…) As a metathe-
ory derived from both theories, Bertalanffy introduced
the GST as a new paradigm which should control
the model construction in all the sciences (…). As
opposed to the mathematical system theory, it de-
scribes its models in a qualitative and non-formal-
ized language. Thus, its task was a very broad one,
namely, to deduce the universal principles which are
valid for systems in general. In a first step he refor-
mulated the classical concept of the system and deter-
mined it as a category by which we know the relations
between objects and phenomena. The new system con-
cept now represents a set of interrelated components,
a complex entity in space-time which shows struc-
tural similarities (isomorphisms). It constitutes itself
in such a way that the systemic particles maintain
their structure by an assemblage process and tend to
restore themselves after disturbances – analogous to
the features of a living organism. Since those isomor-
phisms exist between living organisms, cybernetic
machines, and social systems, one can simulate inter-
disciplinary models and transfer the data of a scien-
tific realm to another one. (…)” (cf.
Brauckmann, 1999).
226 Cf. Laszlo and Krippner (1997: 7).
227 Ackoff (1981: 15-16) apud Laszlo and
Krippner (1997).
228 Cf. UT (2013).
229 For instance, in “The fundamental systems-
interactive paradigm of organizational analysis fea-
tures the continual stages of input, throughput (pro-
cessing), and output, which demonstrate the concept
of openness/closedness. A closed system does not in-
teract with its environment. It does not take in infor-
mation and therefore is likely to atrophy, that is to
vanish. An open system receives information, which
it uses to interact dynamically with its environment.
Several system characteristics are: wholeness and in-
terdependence (the whole is more than the sum of all
parts), correlations, perceiving causes, chain of influ-
ence, hierarchy, suprasystems and subsystems, self-
regulation and control, goal-oriented, interchange
with the environment, inputs/outputs, the need for
balance/homeostasis, change and adaptability (mor-
phogenesis) and equifinality: there are various ways
to achieve goals. Different types of networks are: line,
commune, hierarchy and dictator networks” (UT,
2013).
230 As entropy implies, systems will dissi-
pate energy unless they are maintained by an
external entity, that is, unless if energy is pro-
vided from outside the system. Internal rela-
tions within a system towards which energy
is not externally inputted, will tend to de-
grade until reaching a state of thermody-
namic equilibrium, where it stagnates. For
instance, observing the classic open/closed dis-
tinction, we have that, as opposed to an
open system, a closed system is fundamen-
tally a system that does not interact with the
environment. In a closed system, its ‘walls’
do not allow energy or matter transfers, and
hence is more likely to weaken or even dis-
appear than an open system, unless an out-
side entity ‘holds’ it, exogenously inputting
energy into it. On the other hand, the more
open it is, the more likely it is for the system
to thrive in the long run, as it is exchanging
energy by dynamically interacting with its
surroundings.
231 If not more, ultimately a thermody-
namic system would be subjected to gravity,
with eventual interactions that are (still) un-
known to physicists
232 For instance, an analogy could be made
when a company has severe financial prob-
lems and as consequence is bought by an-
other, injecting the first with fresh currency.
Another known example occurs in current
software development technologies, where
two trends can be observed, with the said
open or closed philosophies, each potentiating
their digital ecosystem through different
sorts of constraints (and freedoms).
233 Systems’ concepts such as openness vs
closeness, along with other systems’ character-
istics that can be inferred, such as hierarchy,
interchange or adaptability, are architectural
conceptions that have seen a great boost of
theoretical development from the 1960s on-
wards, following a methodological trend in
the discipline. Some of its children develop-
ments in architectural theory and practice
can still be observed, such as in the Open-
Building movement (cf. Kendall & Teicher,
2000), where both stability and change are
addressed as realities in the building envi-
ronment, regarding them not as static pieces
stagnant in time, but as flowing living organ-
isms which are hard-wired to cope with
change. Nonetheless, to these days it re-
mains dubious how to proceed with some of
such approaches, given that they must be
framed within contexts where there is nec-
essarily a social and cultural control exerted
through building regulations and the like.
234 Cf. Marchal (1975).
235 Marchal (1975: 464).
236 In The Human Condition, Hanna Arendt
(2013: 154) writes: “The ideal of usefulness itself,
like the ideals of other societies, can no longer be con-
ceived as something needed in order to have something
else… Obviously there is no answer to the question
which Lessing once put to the utilitarian philoso-
phers of his time: ‘And what is the use of use?’ The
perplexity of utilitarianism is that it gets caught in
the unending chain of means and ends without ever
arriving at some principle which could justify the cat-
egory of means and end, that is, of utility itself…
323
Utility established as meaning generates meaning-
lessness… In the world of homo faber, where eve-
rything must be of some use, that is, must lend itself
as an instrument to achieve something else, meaning
itself can appear only as an end, as an ‘end in itself’
which actually is either a tautology applying to all
ends or a contradiction in terms”.
237 For instance, when designing a house,
enerally, unless of an exceptional im-
portance, the architect most likely will not be
prioritizing the thinking of say, the chemical
properties of a certain material in use, over
say, the spatial or structural considerations.
Likewise, to assure that a certain paint will
endure a certain amount of time, the archi-
tect will just have to trust in the product
specifications, as he will not likely be testing
it himself.
238 Cf. Rapoport (2005).
239 According to Agudin (1995: 373), “the
notion of a primitive form, considered as the model
or principle from which architecture derives, is one of
the fundamental ideas associated with the notion of
Type. Every theorist, who has been concerned with
the issue of the origins of architectural form, has as-
signed to the primitive form a different meaning, in
accordance with the conceptual framework within
which he operated. Vitruvius, for example, was
working within the frame of the Greek doctrine of
imitation. According to this, the original form or
model from which architecture would have derived
was provided by nature. Laugier's frame of reference
was the emerging epistemology of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, which put the emphasis on the
relation between perception and acquisition of
knowledge. Accordingly, his primitive hut was more
a concept in the mind than a physical structure cre-
ated by nature.”
240 In The Prodigious Builders, first published
in 1977, Bernard Rudofsky (1977: 13) writes:
“Vernacular architecture owes its spectacular longev-
ity to a constant redistribution of hard-won
knowledge, channeled into quasi-instinctive reactions
to the outer world. So-called primitive peoples have
none of the devil-may-care attitude when confronted
with the reality of their environment. Above all, they
have no desire to dominate it. Admittedly, the ver-
nacular’s unforgivable weakness is constancy. Un-
like the apparel arts or pedigreed architecture, it fol-
lows no fads and fashions but evolves only
imperceptibly in time. As a rule, it is tailored to hu-
man dimensions and human needs, without frills,
without the hysterics of the designer. (…) In some
places the exclusive reliance on local building materi-
als alone guarantees the persistence of time-honored
construction methods. Conversely, when alien mate-
rials and alien methods are introduced, local tradi-
tions wither away, customs are displaced by trends,
and the vernacular perishes”.
241 For a broad, class-based social perspec-
tive on high culture and ‘taste’, cf. Pierre
Bourdieu’s Distinction: A Social of the Judgement
of Taste (1979). For a perspective on the blur-
ring of distinctions between a high culture of
the elite and a low culture of the masses, the
Frankfurt School enquiry is referential. As it
has been scholarly observed, the distinction
between high and culture has disappeared, fol-
lowing an interest in popular culture, which
includes such diverse media as magazines,
comic books, television, or the internet. Ac-
companying it, has occurred a reevaluation
of the conservative view regarding mass cul-
ture as degraded, and elite culture as uplift-
ing. Following it, rather than an aesthetical
or intellectual difference, the distinction be-
tween high and low have been gradually re-
garded as political distinction. For a perspec-
tive of high culture in the formulation of
national identity, cf. Ernest Gellner’s Nations
and Nationalism (1983).
242 Cf. Tafuri (1976: 24-39).
243 There are Egyptian references to the
human anatomy as early as 1600 BC. The
Greeks made considerable advances in no-
menclature and methods. Leonardo da Vinci
himself was trained in human anatomy, be-
ginning in 1489 a series of drawings depict-
ing the ideal human form (cf. Persaud,
Loukas, & Tubbs, 2014).
244 The requirement for a type specimen is just
one of the many rules of scientific nomen-
clature and alpha taxonomy for describing a
new species. In older usage (pre-1900 in
botany), a type was understood more as a
taxon rather than a specimen (cf. A. S.
Hitchcock, 1921).
245 Quatremère de Quincy writes (in Hays,
1998: 618-619): “the word type presents less the
image of a thing to copy or imitate completely than
the idea of an element which ought itself to serve as
rule for the model… The model, as understood in
the practical execution of an art, is an object that
should be repeated as it is; the type, on the contrary,
is an object after which each [artist] can conceive
works of art that have no resemblance. All is precise
and given in the model; all is more or less vague in
the type. At the same time, we see that the imitation
of types is nothing that feeling and intellect cannot
recognize, and nothing that cannot be opposed by
prejudice and ignorance. This is what has occurred,
for example, in architecture. In every country, the art
of regular building is born of a pre-existing source.
Everything must have an antecedent. Nothing, in
any genre, comes from nothing, and this must apply
to all inventions of man. Also we see that all things,
in spite of subsequent changes, have conserved, al-
ways visibly, always in a way that is evident to feeling
and reason, this elementary principle, which is like a
sort of nucleus about which are collected, and to
which are coordinated in time, the developments and
variations of forms to which the object is susceptible.
Thus, we have achieved a thousand things in a genre,
and one of the principal occupations of science and
philosophy, in order to understand the reasons for
them, is to discover their origin and primitive cause.
This is what must be called ‘type’ in architecture, as
in every other field of inventions and human institu-
tions”.
246 The currently pervasive characterizing
notions of genotype and phenotype, would only
be introduced by Wilhelm Johannsen, in
1908. The genotype is the descriptor of the ge-
nome, which is the set of physical DNA
molecules inherited from the organism's
parents, whereas the phenotype is the de-
scriptor of the phenome, i.e., the manifest
physical properties of the organism, its phys-
iology, morphology and behavior (cf.
Lewontin, 2011).
247 Cf. Habraken and Teicher (1998: 248-
250).
248 Durand had worked for the architect
Étienne-Louis Boullée and the civil engineer
Jean-Rodolphe Perronet. In 1795, he would
become a Professor of Architecture at the
École Polytechnique, exerting a wide influence.
The poetic symbolism of Boulée’s approach
contrasts with Durand’s rationality. The
technological demands of an enlightened
post-Revolutionary France where imbued in
the Polytechique philosophy. Architectural
students were given a solid mathematical
and scientific ground.
249 These include Egyptian, Greek or Ro-
man temples, orders details or decorative
objects, but also mosques, Gothic churches,
domes, thermal buildings, amphitheaters,
Roman, Greek or Palladian houses and pal-
aces, gardens, and so forth.
250 Cf. Rapoport (2005).
251 Cf. Agudin (1995).
252 “We can distinguish that both the idea of ‘type’
and the idea of ‘module’ are two different but inter-
connected ways of perceiving reality. It does not mat-
ter if these are real or mere abstractions as long as
they allow us to obtain a useful model” (Duarte,
1995).
253 In nature, if we would ask what two dis-
tinct animals have in common, we could an-
swer animal cells. If we included a tree, we
could say cells. If we included a mineral: at-
oms. If we would stop here, atoms would be
our type, our most general category, but also
our smallest module. If we would continue,
we would eventually reach the most basic el-
ement to all things in the Universe, which
being the smallest module would also be the
most general type, and vice-versa (cf. Duarte,
1995).
254 Cf. B. Mitchell (1965).
255 Cf. Duarte (1995).
324
256 This notion is quite well illustrated in
the shape grammar’s rationale, which was
“one of the earliest algorithmic systems for creating
and understanding designs directly through computa-
tions with shapes” (Knight, 1989). In it, is con-
veyed the idea of forms to be produced by
basic objects via particular sets of operators
and rules, of relations which are established
to develop (cf. Stiny, 2006). By deriving
shape-grammar rules, multiple shapes can be
obtained with a recognizable pattern, which
has its origins in the grammar’s rules. As in-
creasingly different types are combined, or
more initial objects or rules are added to the
algorithm, also potentially the end result will
be more complex. Additionally, in order to
control of the outputs will require handling
more variables by not letting them to chance.
257 Agudin (1995: 373).
258 In some of the most depurated expres-
sions of a conceptual approach the De Stijl
movement, would be one of the major con-
tributors to explore a direct bond between
the abstract (conceptual) in art with architec-
ture, where too the type acts, if not least as
an implied operator. As van Doesburg
writes, “Elimination of all concepts of form in
the sense of a fixed type is essential to the healthy
development of architecture and art as a whole (…)
The new architecture is elemental (…), functional,
(…), formless and yet exactly defined; that is to say,
it is not subject to any fixed aesthetic formal type.
(…) The new architectural methods know no closed
type, no basic type, (but instead) the new architec-
ture is open (made of) space and time” [van
Doesburg, Theo (1924), Towards a plastic ar-
chitecture, (in Conrads, 1970: 78-80)].
259 With the rise of the cognitive sciences,
fields suc-h as the psychology of form, have
put forth their influence, as with the case of
Arnheim’s structural skeleton conception, de-
rived from his research based on Gestalt’s
psychology: “In speaking of ‘shape’ we refer to
two quite different properties of visual objects: (1)
the actual boundaries produced by the artist (the
lines, masses, volumes), and (2) the structural skel-
eton created in perception by these material shapes,
but rarely coinciding with them. (...) The same struc-
tural skeleton can be embodied by a great variety of
shapes (...). (Moreover), if a given visual pattern can
yield two different structural skeletons, it may be per-
ceived as two totally different objects (...), (as is the
case) of the famous duck-rabbit” (Arnheim, 1974:
92-95).
260 Cf. (Stiny, 2006).
261 Cf. Duarte (2000).
262 Cf. Alexander (1979); Alexander,
Ishikawa, and Silverstein (1977).
263 Agudin (1995: 371).
264 Cf. Frampton (1995).
265 As Laugier notes, to man some fallen
branches in the forest are the right material
for his purpose; he chooses four of the
strongest, raises them upright and arranges
them in a square; across their top he lays
four other branches; on these he hoists from
two sides yet another row of branches
which, inclining towards each other, meet at
their highest point. He then covers this kind
of roof with leaves so closely packed that
neither sun nor rain can penetrate. Thus,
man is housed (cf. Laugier, 1755).
266 Cf. Lavin (1992).
267 Frampton (1995: 4).
268 Cf. Frampton (1995).
269 Pevsner (1969: 30).
270 Viollet-le-Duc’s approach was initially
synthesized in his Dictionnaire Raisonée de l'Ar-
chitecture Française du XIe au XVIe Siècle [“A
Reasoned Dictionary of French Architecture from
the Eleventh to the Sixteenth Century”], first pub-
lished between 1854 and 1868, bonding the
need for a rational, non-arbitrary spirit, with
the Gothic architecture. In the posterior En-
tretiens sur l’Architecture [“Conversations on Ar-
chitecture”], first published between 1863 and
1872, he analyzed the great architecture of
the past, evidencing that each epoch derived
its greatness from an underlying rationality.
In it, he has also concordantly systematized
not only his approach to architecture, but
also to architectural education, in a manner
that totally diverged with the Beaux-Arts
school, which he had avoided and even des-
pised in his youth.
271 In that regard, quoting Viollet-le-Duc,
Summerson (1998: 156) writes: “if we get into
the habit of proceeding by the light of reason, if we
erect a principle, the labour of composition is made
possible, if not easy, for it follows an ordered, me-
thodical march towards results which, if not master-
pieces, are at least good respectable works--and capa-
ble of possessing style”.
272 Pevsner (1969: 26-27).
273 Leupen (2006: 29).
274 Cf. Habraken (1972, 1976, 1988a).
275 Cf. Duffy (1993).
276 Cf. Brand (1995).
277 Cf. Leupen (2006).
278 Cf. O'Neill (1986).
279 Cf. Habraken (1988b).
280 Cf. Habraken (1988b).
281 Cf. Duffy (1993).
282 Cf. Brand (1995).
283 Cf. Leupen (2006). Fundamentally,
Leupen maintained Duffy’s scenery terminol-
ogy, excluded Brand’s stuff because of its
non-architectural character, and added access
(general access to enclosed spaces and/or
individual homes, such as stairs, corridors,
lifts or galleries), detaching it from services.
For instance, the latter makes more sense
under a spatial-constructive flexibility analy-
sis framework, but not so much in a lifecycle
analysis as it often can be part of the structure
or of the these authors call scenery.
284 Leupen (2006: 223) writes: “the effective-
ness of the frame concept and the disconnection be-
tween frame and changeable layers, are first and fore-
most design issues. Choosing the right construction
and materials for the excision is the architect’s job
(…). To leave it entirely to the building industry
brings with it the risk that the technical solution for
the excision would overshadow the architectural im-
pact of the frame”.
285 Cf. Parkes (2011). For instance, in Ja-
pan, the expected and accepted lifespan of a
house is smaller than in Europe, which re-
sults from an ancient tradition of timber
construction, but also from a philosophical
ethos, that of facing basic reality from the
idea of mujō (impermanence).
286 The notions of architecture as its produc-
tion and as its experience often come up inter-
twined. Broadly, we can say that architec-
tural production concerns on the bring into
being of an inhabitable artifact, in a process
that is intrinsically of a social nature. Inhab-
itable because serving for human dwelling,
thus implying a boundary condition (e.g. in-
terior-exterior, open-closed, light-shadow,
heavy-weightless, and so forth) whose dis-
tinction can have different degrees of clarity.
Artifact, because it results of a human-made
construction. In its production, typically there
is a movement from a mental set (design) to
an executive set (construction). These concur
in providing content, manifested in form, to
the experiential stage. In turn, this will inform
subsequent interpretations (e.g. a new de-
sign), and so forth. It is from the bonds of
such a back and forth motion, that architec-
ture evolves and can aspire to deliver a
meaningful sense.
Dwelling is here understood in its
broadest sense of humanly built place, as ex-
pressed by Heidegger (1951): “[…] today’s
houses may even be well planned, easy to keep, at-
tractively cheap, open to air, light, and sun, but-do
the houses in themselves hold any guarantee that
dwelling occurs in them? Yet those buildings that are
not dwelling places remain in turn determined by
dwelling insofar as they serve man’s dwelling. Thus
dwelling would in any case be the end that presides
over all building. Dwelling and building are related
as end and means. However, as long as this is all we
325
have in mind, we take dwelling and building as two
separate activities, an idea that has something correct
in it. Yet at the same time by the means-end schema
we block our view of the essential relations. For
building is not merely a means and a way toward
dwelling—to build is in itself already to dwell”.
287 Cf. Fitchen (1981).
As Fitchen (1981: 1) writes: “the primary struc-
tural problem in building is that of spaning space.
Basically, there are not very many systems of doing
this: the post and lintel, the arch with its vault and
dome derivatives, the truss, the metal skeleton, the
suspension cable, and, largely in the twentieth cen-
tury, the thin shell, typically of double curvature. In
the medieval period, in western Europe, it was the
vault that was almost exclusively the system for span-
ning space in masonry. But the medieval vault system
underwent remarkable diversity of shape, and devel-
oped the most effective, the most daring and expres-
sive forms by the time the Gothic era was in full
flower”.
288 According to Christian Schädlich (in
Staib, Dörrhöfer, & Rosenthal, 2008: 19),
“the iron industry performed the function of a pece-
maker for the general industrialization of the build-
ing industry. It developed those elements of industrial
technologies relevant to building: from the disman-
tling of the product into large elements, their prefab-
rication in the factory and mechanized assembly, to
the standardization of dimensions and forms for the
purpose of serial production, and on to new organi-
zational structures of the construction business”.
289 Cf. Passanti (1997).
290 Aymonino (1976: 126).
291 Le Corbusier (1986: 6-7).
292 Dom-Ino was to be fabricated out of
standardized elements to be attached to one
another. It reflected Le Corbusier’s famous
motto that “house is a machine for living” since
it related both industrial cutting-edge (con-
crete use was yet not very common at the
epoch), a social answer to dwell the masses
and the ability to do so using industrialized
and standardized components. Dom-Ino is
first, and foremost, a theoretical exercise in-
spired in industrial mass-production con-
cepts. However, by using concrete technol-
ogy, the system is conceived to a high degree
of in-situ production and therefore, to some
extent, contradictory to its own industriali-
zation proposal. Nevertheless, despite some
observable misunderstandings about what is
industrial-production and mass-production,
it stands a major influential design proposal.
Cf. 'Fondacion' (2012); Le Corbusier (1960,
1986).
293 Cf. 'Building' (2014).
294 The Gaiola Pombalina is a groundbreak-
ing complex system, acting in multiple de-
sign scales, which was developed as part of
the concerted efforts of reconstruction ap-
plied in Lisbon, in the aftermath of an earth-
quake in 1755. The name stands for cage
(gaiola) and as reference to the political leader
responsible for its undertaking, the equiva-
lent to today’s prime-minister, known as
Marquis of Pombal.
295 Cf. NESDE (2005). The example of the
Portuguese Gaiola Pombalina is remarkable in
this respect. The construction system, which
became an architectural and engineering
landmark at the time, used wood elements
whose juxtaposition resembled a cage
(‘gaiola’ in Portuguese), and was influenced
by naval construction and used standardized
principles. Nonetheless, the system is not
merely a constructive system, it is part of a
typical enlightenment-style proposal acting
on a considerably large urban ground, affect-
ing it at all levels: functionally, programmat-
ically, urban, and so on. To prevent future
disasters, the gaiola pombalina was thought of
to have anti-seismic properties. Construc-
tively, it is a tridimensional wooden s tructure
embedded in masonry walls. The earthquake
had demonstrated that the masonry walls of
current use at the time were simply not ca-
pable enough to absorb and dissipate the en-
ergy produced by such a powerful force. In-
spiration came from naval construction,
namely on the great structural performance
of ships relatively to the dynamic actions
transferred by the seas. The military engi-
neers involved in the reconstruction made
an analogy of such behavior with the build-
ings’ behavior during an earthquake. There
was no doubt that the great behavior of the
boats was related to a tridimensional struc-
tu re ma de up o f def orm able ele ment s, w hich
simultaneously resisted to tensile and com-
pressive strengths and to the way the con-
nections between the different elements was
made, enabling an articulated whole of dif-
ferent elements.
296 Cf. Bigott (2005); Ibach (2003).
297 Cf. Bigott (2005); Giedion (1941).
298 “What a linguist should never do is just define
a very expressive language which allows self-reference,
or reference to truth or reference to knowledge and
belief, and then proceed as if nothing could ever go
wrong” (Van Eijck, 1995).
299 Cf. 'Building' (2014).
300 Cf. Kieran and Timberlake (2004);
Woudhuysen and Abley (2004).
301 Cf. Edge (2002).
302 The values are retrieved from the Ger-
man context, a highly industrially developed
country with great tradition of industrializa-
tion in construction, from which the figures
can plausibly be regarded as a benchmark.
303 Larousse dictionary defines prefabrica-
tion as a “construction system to carry out
works using standardized components, or
components, manufactured in advance and
that are assembled according to a predeter-
mined plan”. In Oxford dictionary, is de-
scribed as “manufacture sections of (a build-
ing or piece of furniture) to enable quick
assembly on site”. As to Webster dictionary,
it is defined as “to fabricate the parts of at a
factory so that construction consists mainly
of assembling and uniting standardized
parts”. Encyclopædia Britannica defines it as
“the assembly of buildings or their compo-
nents at a location other than the building
site”.
304 Many have sought to define prefabrica-
tion, or to use other words to describe the
basic principles behind the approach. In a
1951, a study by Burnham Kelly (Kelly,
1951), through the Albert Farwell Bemis Foun-
dation– one of the most relevant institutions
producing research on housing in the pre-
fabrication-wise important post-WWII pe-
riod in the USA – it is acknowledged the dif-
ficult consensus on a definition for the term
prefabrication.
Definitions of fellow contemporary au-
thors are cited in this study, ranging from a
specific to a generic extreme definition,
starting by the one considered has being the
most consensual: (1) A prefabricated home
is one fabricated prior to erection, in con-
trast to the conventionally built home which
is constructed piece by piece on the site
(1947 apud Kelly, 1951); (2) Prefabrication
is a question of degree, if the field operation
is essentially assembly, rather than manufac-
ture, you have prefabrication. The amount
of scrap and waste may be taken as a rough
index of the degree of prefabrication
(Fisher, 1948 apud Kelly, 1951); (3) Prefab-
rication is a movement to simplify construc-
tion by increasing the proportion of work
completed before erection (1945 apud Kelly,
1951); or (4) Prefabrication is a state of mind
(McLaughlin, 1945 apud Kelly, 1951). While
the latter statement may be seen as ex-
tremely generalist, making virtually any defi-
nition possible within it, it may also be un-
derstood as a conceptual frame, set for
enabling different levels of what might be
established for the term according to the
scope in which is used in each case.
Three main ideas arise from the defini-
tion survey portrayed in Kelly’s work: (1) as
the dictionary definitions also implied, it
seems to convey a spatial and temporal lapse
between a sort of previous controlled con-
struction environment and a final in-situ,
not so controlled, construction environ-
ment; (2) a sort of layering, or hierarchy of
processes, through the acknowledgement of
326
the notion of degree; (3) finally it is described
as a way towards simplification of construc-
tion processes.
In a contemporary work by Senaratne,
Ekanayake, and Siriwardena (2010), an over-
view on more recent definitions is described:
(1) Prefabrication is the transferring stage of
construction from field to offsite (Tatum,
Vanegas, & Williams, 1986); (2) Prefabrica-
tion is making of construction components
at place different from the point of final as-
sembly with a likely better control of the in-
herent complexity within the construction
process (Bjornfot & Sarden, 2008, apud
Senaratne et al., 2010); (3) Prefabrication is a
manufacturing and pre-assembly process,
generally taking place at a specialized facility,
in which various materials are joined to form
a component part of the final installation
(Chiang et al., apud Senaratne et al., 2010).
From these, Senaratne et al. (2010) reach
their own definition: “Prefabrication is a manu-
facturing and pre-assembly process, whereby, con-
struction components are made at a location different
from the place of final assembly, under specialized
facilities with different materials, may lead to better
control of the inherent complexity within the con-
struction process”.
As with Kelly’s, the idea of a temporal
lapse between two different construction
environments is also present, as it is the idea
of layering (in Senaratne et al. referred as
components within different spatial and tem-
poral frames) or even the idea of simplification
(in Senaratne et al. referred as control, if one
understands it as a means for the end of sim-
plifying).
The sixty years separating Kelly’s from Sena-
ratne’s surveys on the word, apparently do
not reveal major differences, albeit the major
differences on how processes that surround
it are referred. These are, to say the least,
demonstrative of an updated technological
state of the art, which as in any case safe-
guarded the word in its popular, common
use. These are just two examples of ap-
proaches towards a definition, yet their com-
prehensiveness seems through enough for
admitting a good level of plausibility in the
conclusions.
305 Etymological root is fabricate: from
Latin fabricatus, pp. of fabricare (i.e. make, con-
struct, fashion, build, construct, forge, shape) from
fabrica.
306 Properties such as acoustical, chemical,
electrical, environmental, mechanical, opti-
cal, thermal and so on (e.g. shape, density,
tensile strength, conductivity), by means of
techniques of molding, cutting, heating,
mixing, separating, and so on.
307 Etymological root is assemble: from
French “assembler” (i.e., come together, join,
unite; gather’), from Latin “assimulare” (i.e., to
make like, liken, compare; copy, imitate; feign, pre-
tend), later “to gather together” from ad- (i.e. to)
+ simulare (i.e. to make like).
308 Joining together by means of bolting,
welding, gluing, nailing, stapling and so on.
309 From the Latin “prae” (i.e. before).
310 Etymological root is prefabricate: rec-
orded from 1932, from pre- + fabricate; short-
ened form prefab is attested from 1937;
meaning prefabricated housing is recorded from
1942.
311 Other words may mislead or confuse
with fabrication. Such is the case of manufactur-
ing [root is manufacture, i.e., something made by
hand, from Latin “manu”, ablat ive of “manus”
(i.e. hand) + “facture” (i.e. a working)], which
suggests factory production and includes
both fabrication and assembling. Such is also
the case of making [root is “make”: to arrive at,
or manner in which something is put together -
from Old English “macian” (i.e., to form, con-
struct, do; prepare, arrange, cause; behave, fare,
transform), from West Germanic “makon”
(i.e., to fashion, fit) and from Proto-Indo Eu-
ropean “mag-”, (i.e., to knead, mix; to fashion, fit
or macerate)], which also covers them, alt-
hough not restricted to a factory outcome.
Another possibility would be production [root
is produce: bring into being; to develop, extend,
from Latin “producer” (i.e. lead or bring forth,
draw out), from “pro-” (i.e. forth) + “ducere” (i.e.
to bring, lead)], but this is even more general,
likely to come to be related with any sort of
industry, or any sort of product. The latter is
hence impractical for our purpose, which is
foremost related with an architectural, or
constructive sense, and not necessarily with
a commercial one. There is also constructing
(root is construct: from the Latin “construere”:
heap up, pile up together, accumulate; build, make,
erect), which can be related to a sense of fab-
ricate and assemble. On the other hand, con-
structing may seem of practical use, since it
disambiguates the relation with the con-
struction industry that we find in production,
but in another hand might not be very help-
ful since it does not particularly express a
sense of factory outcome. Also edifying and
building convey a deep architectural sense (cf.
Frampton, 2002: 25-42). Edifying [root is ed-
ify: from the Latin “aedificare”, from aedes (i.e.
a building, or, even more originally, a hearth)
and fiacre (i.e. to make) or building [root is build:
from late Old English “byldan” (i.e., construct
a house) verb form of “bold” (i.e., house), from
Proto-Germanic “buthlam” (i.e., building a
house), from Proto-Indo European “bhu” (i.e.
to dwell), and from root “bheue-” (i.e., to be, to
exist, or to grow)], in the same logic as construct-
ing (and as with fabricate vs assembly ambigu-
ously related with constructing), could also be
a possibility, but its use is not found in liter-
ature, hence of no practical use.
Distinction between prefabrication and
preassembling, as with fabrication and assembling,
may potentially be ambiguous, as is evi-
denced in some attempted definitions311. In
this particular sense, the more general pre-
making could be an option to set things clear,
yet this is of no common use, hence also im-
practical. Premanufacturing is also quite sug-
gestive, yet the construction industry is site
specific, requiring, even in the most opti-
mized cases, in-situ as well as ex-situ work.
This means there are construction events
happening outside the factory, therefore its
scope is short because it suggests a re-
striction to factory environment. The term
off site fabrication coined by Gibb (1998), and
widely used in the UK, also fells short for
the same reasons.
Despite the possible ambiguity between
edifying or building and construction, the word
preconstruction could be relevantly considered,
as it seems to have all it takes to convey a
proper terminology, and as additionally re-
mits to the specific industry we are here con-
cerned with. Indeed, the word preconstruction
is even used in some cases, as some literature
occurrences demonstrate. Yet, its reference
is not formally noted, as it does not appear
in dictionaries, and its use is secondary when
compared with prefabrication, which addition-
ally has a wider usage in multiple natural lan-
guages - it is observable that prefabrication has
commonly used forms in the main spoken
languages in the world, as in also the main
western languages, and so revealing ex-
tended unanimity: prefabrication (English), pre-
fabricación (Spanish), pré-fabricação (Portu-
guese), préfabrication (French), vorfertigung
(German), prefabbricazione (Italian).
312 Cf. Ballard and Arbulu (2004).
313 In Gibb’s (cf. 1998) words, prefabrication
is a “useful but imprecise word to signify a trend in
building technology. (…) If prefabrication was re-
lated to every factory manufactured product, the term
could be stretched so wide as to lose all meaning”.
314 Cf. Gibb (1998).
315 On a historical perspective, the term
prefabrication is quite recent. In the western
world, the term formally arouse from the
spoils of WWI to generalize a type that had
progressively been breed since the burst of
the Industrial Revolution, with the construc-
tion of colonial English settlements, in USA,
Australia and elsewhere, since the early
XVIIth century. In countries such as Japan,
its development is inextricably linked with
evolution of age-old practices of wood con-
struction. Indeed, the notion of prefabrica-
tion had already become traditional in coun-
tries such as the USA or Japan by the time it
327
got to reference dictionaries in the 1930’s in
the western world.
316 Cf. Oliver (2007: 9-18).
317 Cf. Kelly (1951).
318 Cf. Kieran and Timberlake (2004); R. E.
Smith (2010); van den Thillart (2004).
319 Cf. Bergdoll, Christensen, and
Broadhurst (2008); Staib et al. (2008).
320 Cf. Woudhuysen and Abley (2004).
321 Cf. 'Forbes' (2015).
322 The tier terminology is especially com-
mon in the automotive industry. A tier-1 can
supply one or several OEMs simultaneously.
For instance, Exedy is a tier-1 clutches sup-
plier to 11 Japanese car manufacturers along
with Ford and GM. Following the same logic,
tier-2 companies are the key suppliers to
tier-1 suppliers, without supplying a product
directly to OEMs. There is an interchanging
logic in the terminology, in which a single
company may be a tier-1 supplier to an
OEM company and a tier-2 supplier to an-
other company, or may be a tier-1 supplier
for one product and a tier-2 supplier for a
different product line. That depends on sev-
eral factors, such as the businesses strategies
and agreements, or the internal norms and
requirements that the higher-tiers or the
OEMs themselves have. Sometimes compa-
nies find it convenient to distinguish even
further tier levels, with tier-3 companies sup-
plying tier-2 firms, and tier-4 companies as
providers of basic raw materials, such as
steel and glass, to higher-tier suppliers. Fi-
nally, it is worth stressing that tiers are not
official terms, they are more terms of a de-
scriptive nature, and although more fre-
quent, they are not exclusively used by the
automotive industry. Moreover, the concept
of tier does not reflect how big or important
a company is, it mostly indicates who the
end user of that company’s product is. In
any case, the terminology simplifies the
tracking of the complex reality of the pro-
duction relations.
323 Kieran and Timberlake (2004: 20).
324 That for instance the case of the
Volkswagen Group Platform, in which there is
a transversal codification of components,
enabling, for instance, an Audi to share mod-
ules, or a group of modules (i.e. a platform),
with a Volkswagen, a Seat or a Skoda. An Audi
A7, a VW Tiguan, and a Porsche Cayenne on
the same platform can hit 3 different price
points sharing the same chassis/foundation,
thus saving time and money in the develop-
ment process. There are even cases in which
components are shared in joint-venture with
other OEM companies, as is the case of
Volkswagen’s joint-venture platform
LT/T1N series, used in the light commercial
vehicles of the Volkswagen LT range (owned
by the Volkswagen Group) and the Mercedes-
Benz Sprinter (owned by the Daimler Group),
which have synergies under the same plat-
form.
GM, Toyota, VW, Mercedes, Chrysler and
others have modular platforms upon which
they can design different niche models to ap-
peal to different market segments.
325 In 2015, in a $5 billion operation, with
each unit costing around $50 million, Em-
braer’s newest aircraft, the KC-390 airlifter
has been set to compete with the old C-130
from Lockheed Martin. Its components are
built in several countries. The operation is
centralized in Embraer’s Eugenio de Melo engi-
neering facility in São José dos Campos, Bra-
zil. Czech manufacturer Aero Vodochody de-
livers the rear fuselage; Argentina’s Fabrica
Argentina de Aviones, builds the cargo ramp
door, tail cone and spoilers; Portugal Engineer-
ing Manufacturing (OGMA), provides fuselage
panels, fairings and doors; St. Louis-based
LMI Aerospace, supplies the leading-edge
slats; Spain’s Aernnova, is responsible for the
composite flaps, ailerons and rudder. All the
different facilities work in vertical integration.
326 Referring to 2014 (cf. 'Forbes', 2015).
327 Cf. 'Airbus' (2015).
328 For that matter, Airbus developed their
own specialized five-airplane fleet of giant
air carriers, the Belugas, dimensioned to carry
any of the major airplane construction com-
ponents, from vertical tail planes, to fuselage
or full wings.
329 Two of these locate in Europe, the orig-
inal in Toulouse, France (building A320s),
and the biggest in Hamburg, Germany
(A318s, A319s, A320s and A321s). The
more recently open is located in Tiajin,
China (A319s and A320s), and there is one
opening in 2016 in the USA (in Mobile, Al-
abama, to build A319s, A320s and A321s),
the homeland of its main competitors.
330 For instance, MAN’s maritime two-
stroke engine ME or MC series, able to de-
liver a top power of over 82 000 Kw (or
~110 000 hp), equips large vessels.
331 The Triple E design is made by Maersk
staff, in the company’s headquarters in Co-
penhagen, Denmark, under the supervision
of head naval architect Troels Posborg.
Construction takes place across three differ-
ent shipyards, in China and South Korea,
and with the final assembly in HHI-DSME’s
Goeje Island shipyard, in South Korea. The
Triple E’s two propellers, of 90 tons each, are
cast in Germany, by MMG, a specialized
foundry which builds more than 200 ship
propellers every year, and the two engines,
powering up to 40 000 hp each, are made in
Denmark, by MAN. Its construction resem-
bles a gigantic 3D puzzle, of 31 prefabri-
cated mega-sections, enabling the reduction
of time at the dock. The first of the twenty
Triple E contracted to be built by HHI-
DSME was scheduled for an astonishing
tight schedule of 38 weeks, quite remarkable
for a 58 000 tons of steel put to float. The
production is not entirely automated. Start-
ing with an army of cutting and welding ro-
bots, but also using a lot of human labor,
parts grow bigger and bigger until finally a
mega-block arises. However, most remain-
ing labour in the final assembly and fitting is
made by human hands, including welding
together of major sections, the placement of
hundreds of kilometers of wires and pipes,
or the painting work. About 250 people
work on each ship in the final stages of con-
struction, at the dry dock. Despite the high
degree of manual labor, after being trans-
ported in site, or overseas by specialized
transporters, each mega-section is dropped
by monster cranes into the dry dock, and is
neatly aligned within a precise four millime-
ters of the adjacent block, so to be welded
together by dozens of individual welders.
332 Such commitment to quality begins
with R&D, for which they have their own
HHI Maritime Research Institute and HHI In-
dustrial Research Institute, or collaborating with
the Techno Design Institute and Electromechanical
Research Institute, working in a range of pro-
jects to improve ship performance and qual-
ity. The company has made considerable ef-
forts for a broad integration of IT’s systems.
Through a 3D Aveva® CAD system, an En-
terprise Resources Planning system to support
effective resources management, and a Prod-
uct Lifecycle Management system, they claimed
they had been able to increase efficiency in
ship design and construction. They have
their own data center, and a shipyard wide
wireless internet network, which widely con-
tributes for real time communications be-
tween the construction and the design and
management offices. In 2000, they had
opted for the Siemens Teamcenter® software
to improve the integration of their manage-
ment and R&D information. Only consider-
ing these and other concerted IT’s integra-
tion efforts, they claim they had since been
able to achieve a total of US$ 9.8 million in
savings, with increased productivity and
quality.
333 Cf. Kieran and Timberlake (2004).
334 Frampton (2007a: 124).
335 Cf. Edge (2002).
336 (cf. Kostof, 1986; Robinson, Jamieson,
328
Worthington, & Cole, 2011).
337 Cf. Crowley (1998).
338 The value of a building element and the
costs of transporting determines the eco-
nomical transport radius. To optimize de-
ployment, the order of loading the elements
onto the vehicles should be dictated by the
assembly sequence on the building site. Op-
timal assembly processes can be achieved if
building elements can be unloaded directly
from the transport vehicles by hoisting
cranes and immediately placed and fixed in
position on the site. Due to the exorbitant
cost of transport helicopters, delivery by air
is usually practical only for extremely inac-
cessible sites. Transport by road is standard
procedure for continental travels and partic-
ularly distances up to 1000km, avoiding re-
peated and costly load transfers (cf. Staib,
2008).
339 Larger elements eventually require the
use of transport frames, transport spreader
beams or rope systems for securing hoisting
equipment. For example, heavyweight pre-
cast reinforced concrete elements can be
manufactured complete with lifting lugs or
anchors for transportation and assembly,
placed in the formwork during the manufac-
turing process.
340 The notion of batch-size refers to how
many products can be made with a given
technology. It is typically used to establish
optimal relations between production vol-
ume and investment. For instance, a single
pencil can be sharpen with a knife, but if, in-
stead, a thousand pencils were to be
sharpen, it would pay to buy an electric
sharpener. If it were a million, probably it
would be better to equip with an automatic
feeding, gripping, and sharpening system,
and to cope with pencils of different length
and diameter, it would be better to have an
automated system with sensors to measure
pencil dimensions, sharpening pressure, and
so on, in order to adapt to different pencils’
characteristics. Thus, the choice of process
depends on the number and/or kind of pen-
cils that need to be sharpen, i.e. on the batch
size, and the best option is that one that
costs least per pencil sharpened.
341 Cf. (Maslow, 1954).
Simons, Irwin, and Drinnin (1987)
write: “Abraham Maslow developed a theory of
personality that has influenced a number of different
fields, due in part to its high level of practicality, ac-
curately describing many realities of personal experi-
ences. Maslow is a humanistic psychologist, and thus
did not believe that human beings are pushed and
pulled by mechanical forces, either of stimuli and re-
inforcements (behaviorism) or of unconscious instinc-
tual impulses (psychoanalysis). Humanists focus
upon potentials. They believe that humans strive for
an upper level of capabilities. Humans seek the fron-
tiers of creativity, the highest reaches of consciousness
and wisdom. This has been labeled “fully functioning
person”, “healthy personality”, or as Maslow calls
this level, “self-actualizing person”. In Maslow's hi-
erarchic theory of needs, all basic needs are instinc-
toid, equivalent of instincts in animals. Humans
start with a very weak disposition that is then fash-
ioned fully as the person grows. If the environment is
right, people will grow straight and beautiful, actual-
izing the potentials they have inherited. If the envi-
ronment is not “right” (and mostly it is not) they will
not grow tall and straight and beautiful. Beyond
these needs, higher levels of needs exist. These include
needs for understanding, esthetic appreciation and
purely spiritual needs. In the levels of the five basic
needs, the person does not feel the second need until
the demands of the first have been satisfied, nor the
third until the second has been satisfied, and so on.
Maslow's basic needs are as follows.
Physiological Needs - These are biological
needs. They consist of needs for oxygen, food, water,
and a relatively constant body temperature. They are
the strongest needs because if a person were deprived
of all needs, the physiological ones would come first
in the person's search for satisfaction.
Safety Needs - When all physiological needs
are satisfied and are no longer controlling thoughts
and behaviors, the needs for security can become ac-
tive. Adults have little awareness of their security
needs except in times of emergency or periods of dis-
organization in the social structure (such as wide-
spread rioting). Children often display the signs of
insecurity and the need to be safe.
Needs of Love, Affection and Belongingness -
When the needs for safety and for physiological well-
being are satisfied, the next class of needs for love,
affection and belongingness can emerge. Maslow
states that people seek to overcome feelings of loneli-
ness and alienation. This involves both giving and
receiving love, affection and the sense of belonging.
Needs for Esteem - When the first three classes
of needs are satisfied, the needs for esteem can become
dominant. These involve needs for both self-esteem
and for the esteem a person gets from others. Hu-
mans have a need for a stable, firmly based, high
level of self-respect, and respect from others. When
these needs are satisfied, the person feels self-confident
and valuable as a person in the world. When these
needs are frustrated, the person feels inferior, weak,
helpless and worthless.
Needs for Self-Actualization - When all of the
foregoing needs are satisfied, then and only then are
the needs for self-actualization activated. Maslow de-
scribes self-actualization as a person's need to be and
do that which the person was “born to do”. “A mu-
sician must make music, an artist must paint, and
a poet must write”. These needs make themselves felt
in signs of restlessness. The person feels on edge, tense,
lacking something, in short, restless. If a person is
hungry, unsafe, not loved or accepted, or lacking self-
esteem, it is very easy to know what the person is
restless about. It is not always clear what a person
wants when there is a need for self-actualization”.
342 Whereas the product-push brings the
content to the user, making the customer
aware of the product to the point of the pur-
chase, the product-pull involves strategies to
motivate customers to actively seek the
product. The Dictionary of International Trade
(Hinkelman & Putzi, 2005: 144) defines the
pull strategy as “a production and distribution
strategy based on specific customer demand. In a pure
pull strategy only goods and services actually ordered
by customers are produced and shipped; there is no
inventory of completed products. The term is used in
many fields to describe decision making by demand
of the marketplace rather than by a central author-
ity”. Conversely, the push strategy is defined
as “based upon forecasts rather than on specific cus-
tomer demand. The term is used in many fields to
describe centralized decision-making authority with-
out the immediate input of data from the market-
place”. Finally, a push/pull strategy is defined
as “based upon the combination of forecasts and spe-
cific customer demand. For example, a manufacturer
might purchase component parts based upon sales
forecasts, but manufacture finished products only
upon actual customers orders”.
343 The term was coined by B. J. Pine II
(1993), who refers that MC solves the di-
lemma of offering individualized products at
the price of standardized ones by eliminating
inefficiencies and waste by ordering the pro-
ductive process (cf. Antonio Lopes Correia,
Murtinho, & Simões da Silva, 2011).
344 Cf. Olhager (2003).
345 The make-to-stock is a typical MP strat-
egy, hence where products ordered by cus-
tomers are to be produced quickly with no
customization. The order is made between
the final assembly and shipment. Typical ex-
amples include beverages (e.g. beer, wine,
soft drinks), food products (e.g. canned food
such as tomato or tuna, packed food such as
sugar or flour), and health and beauty prod-
ucts. The typical speculative real estate also
broadly fits this category.
346 The assemble-to-order is a strategy where
products are to be produced quickly while
allowing a small degree of customization.
Products are partially made-to-stock, i.e. stock
is buffered, but final assembly only takes
places after orders are received. Typical ex-
amples include partial postponement of
paint color mixing, where the white base is
made-to-stock, and the adjustments can
quickly be made on customer order. Dell
computers makes use of large stocks, how-
ever final assembly is postponed until orders
are received. The historical concrete panel
systems in the former USSR or in Germany
broadly fit this category. Assemble-to-order and
made-to stock distinction can thus be tenuous,
nevertheless it is from its threshold that the
orientation of the push-pull boundary is set.
In last resort, the push-pull boundary will be
329
defined by the difference of buffer stock.
347 The make-to-order is typically associated
with custom-built products, such as tailored
clothing or jewelry. Make-to-order strategy
may typically be pursued by producers of
high cost products requiring excessive in-
ventory carrying cost of finished product.
Aircraft producers illustrate it, since rela-
tively minor changes can be required by spe-
cific customers; nonetheless, production of
parts is postponed until after orders are re-
ceived.
348 Engineer-to-order is pretty much self-ex-
planatory, with totally custom-designed
products fitting the category.
349 Cf. Womack and Jones (2003).
350 The path towards LT was begun in
Toyota in the aftermath of WWII, when, in
the 1960s, a company executive, Taiichi
Ohno (b.1912-d.1990), sought to optimize
production processes within the company,
developing the famous Toyota Production Sys-
tem (TPS). Back then, America was impres-
sively producing vehicles and aircrafts,
which in essence used the Fordist and Tay-
lorist methods, making use of principles of
economies of scale, integrating the incep-
tions of automation in their assembly lines,
and so forth. Ohno fundamentally at-
tempted to adapt these principles to the Jap-
anese culture, where from he could regard
the Fordist way with new eyes. The resulting
TPS system was since highly acclaimed, re-
ceiving awards around the globe for its focus
on people, through the use of economies of
scope. The innovative methodology of pro-
duction organization would become a refer-
ence, with several other industries since be-
ginning to use it as a production model
towards their own practices.
351 Ohno first identified seven muda types,
however more can probably be found as it is
pointed out by Womack and Jones (2003):
mistakes which require rectification; produc-
tion of items no one wants, with inventories
and remaindered goods piling up; process
steps which are not actually needed; move-
ment of employees and transport of goods
from one place to another without any pur-
pose; groups of people in a downstream ac-
tivity standing around waiting because an
upstream activity has not delivered on time;
goods and services which do not meet cli-
ent’s needs. (cf. Womack & Jones, 2003).
352 An internal study revealed that about 8 0
percent of the variety being offered by the
implemented MC process was only corre-
sponding to 20 percent of sales.
353 Other kinds of risks have been thor-
oughly scrutinized. What can go wrong,
what is the likelihood that it will go wrong
and what are the consequences are funda-
mental questions in traditional risk assess-
ment (RA), which has become a discipline in
its own right, dealing with highly complex
subjects amid uncertainty and vagueness.
The concept has too been applied to con-
struction, where selecting an appropriate
technique for evaluating the uncertainty as-
sociated with a specific project is critical (cf.
Chen, 2008). Risk factors are beyond the
control of the construction organizations,
yet the underlying idea sustaining RA mod-
els is that they can be managed, and are rel-
atively predictable and measurable by ade-
quate statistics. Construction risk
assessment (CRA) typically deals with man-
agement aspects that consider the entire
AEC industry related aspects and not just a
portion of it. These are naturally more con-
cerned with potential hazardous circum-
stances that may have financial impacts in
the overall process, than directly with archi-
tectural design issues. Of the few of these
that may be analyzed in an overall CRA, ar-
chitectural design related issues are typically
left in secondary stances, as overall construc-
tion risks depend a lot more on decisions
taken upstream.
Different CRA categories are used for dif-
ferent purposes, and different methodolo-
gies can be used. Among these, it can be
found not only the indicators, but also
weighted analysis, or proposals for mitiga-
tion measures. Some authors classify it into
external risks (referent to a different country
from where it is originated) and interna l risks
(referent to the country where it is origi-
nated), others have more detailed categories,
e.g. political, financial, market, intellectual
property, social, safety, and so on, of which
it can be categorized within different scopes
(client, contractor, etc.). The typology of
risks seems to depend most if a project is lo-
cal or international. Internal risks are com-
mon to both, while external are normally
more sensible to aspects such as unaware-
ness of social conditions, economic and po-
litical scenarios, regulatory framework, and
so on353. Data collection for these is not an
easy task, as multiple sources have to be con-
sidered in the target region, although some
authors have a particular concern in provid-
ing general methodologies for this particular
problem (cf. Hastak, et al.,2000), and the
same may, apply to areas other than RA or
CRA.
354 Cf. Antonio Lopes Correia, Murtinho,
and Simões da Silva (2017).
355 Cf. Swamidass (2000).
356 Cf. Pahl, Wallace, Blessing, and Pahl
(2007), K. Ulrich (1994), K. T. Ulrich and
Eppinger (2012).
357 Cf. Alexander (1964).
358 Cf. Balakrishnan (1991).
359 Cf. K. T. Ulrich and Eppinger (2012).
360Cf. K. Ulrich (1995)
361 Cf. Greven and Baldauf (2007), Cf.
International Standards Organization
(1983).
362 Cf. Greven and Baldauf (2007).
363 Cf. K. T. Ulrich and Eppinger (2012).
364 Cf. K. Ulrich (1995).
365 Cf. Alexander (1964).
366 Cf. Simon (1996).
367 Cf. Sosa, Eppinger, and Rowles (2007).
368 In graph terminology, the node is a rep-
resentation of a thing or component, and so
forth. An edge is a connection between a pair
of nodes, thus presuming that a relation be-
tween both nodes is established. The degree
of a node is the number of edges incident
with it—a degree 0 means it is an isolate node,
a degree 1 means it is an end-node. Note that
the sum of all the node-degrees is an even
number, since we must count twice the
number of edges. This essentially results
from Euler’s 1736 handshaking lemma, im-
plying that if n people shake hands, the
handshakes must be 2n, thus even (cf. R. J.
Wilson, 1996). A path is a sequence of con-
nected nodes, and the path length is the corre-
sponding number of edges on it. A geodesic
(or distance) is the shortest path between two
nodes in a network of nodes, measured by
the corresponding path length. A graph is
connected when every pair of nodes is con-
nected. A bridge is when if removing a node,
we disconnect the original graph. The center
of a connected graph is the node, or set of
nodes, with the smallest maximum distance
to all other nodes in the graph (i.e. of mini-
mum eccentricity). A star graph is when
there is one node connecting with several
nodes, which connect only with the first and
no other. When the edges of a graph are
noted with arrows, we can call it a digraph (or
directed graph). In these conditions, be-
tween each pair of nodes there can be three
types of directed connections: adirectional
(simple connection), unidirectional and bidirec-
tional. A multi-edge is when there is more than
one edge connecting a pair of nodes. Each
edge of a multi-edge connection can be
noted with any of the directed connection
types (cf. Ruohonen, 2013).
369 Cf. Agrawal (2009).
370 Cf. Sanchez and Mahoney (1996).
371 In brief, symmetry is when some aspect
of an object stays the same despite the
330
changes. In other words, it is a type of invar-
iance, i.e. the property that something does
not change under a set of transformations.
For instance, a sphere has rotational sym-
metry, insofar as when rotated about its cen-
ter it maintains its appearance. A Rorschke-
lach inkblot has reflectional symmetry, since
its mirror image matches the original. In 3D,
a screw axis—or rotary translation—has an
helical symmetry, thus combining rotation
and translation symmetries, which can be
observed in common objects such as drill
bits, augers or springs. Also in 3D, a rotary
reflection, combines a rotation about an axis
with a reflection in a plane perpendicular to
that axis, as is the case of the antiprisms. In
geometry, symmetry occurs when there is a
‘transformation’ or ‘operation’—technically,
an isometry or affine map—mapping an ob-
ject onto itself, meaning there is an invari-
ance under the proceeded transformation.
The Euclidean group of isometries figure
among the most commonly aknowledged
and straighforwardly recognizable of these
operations, consisting of reflections, rota-
tions, translations, or combinations of these.
Scaling, which is another commonly
aknowledged geometric operation, can too
be considered an isometry, meaning that if
an object is expanded or reduced in size, the
new object retains the same properties as the
original. Notwithstanding, this does not ap-
ply to most physical systems, where a change
of scale typically implies structural or mor-
phological changes.
372 Cf. Schilling and Hill (1998).
373 Cf. Schilling and Hill (1998).
374 Cf. Agrawal (2009).
375 Cf. Salingaros and Tejada (2001).
376 Cf. Vitor Murtinho et al. (2010); V.
Murtinho et al. (2010a); Murtinho et al.
(2009).
377 Cf. Santos et al. (2010).
378 Among the different national pro-
posals, it would later become clear that the
better outcomes came from those works in-
volving greater architectural weight. As gen-
erally acknowledged by the different repre-
sentatives attending the general meetings, it
turned out that the challenges posed by ar-
chitecturally driven concepts produced
more attractive proposals. To a certain ex-
tent this means that this sort of proposals
end up becoming a key driver for the differ-
ent engineering expertise’s, challenging
them and thereby making them evolve
throughout. On a different perspective, this
also signals a social acceptability predisposi-
tion to accept innovation, if such innovation
is properly contextualized, and thus under-
stood by the different parts that may be di-
rectly or indirectly involved. Indeed, from a
societal point of view, the approach towards
innovation in housing construction tends to
be conservative, since it is an activity that re-
quires heavy investment, as it is clearly no-
ticeable in the weight that housing expense
typically plays in family bills, draining the
greatest bulk of the income.
379 Worldwide there are different formulas,
using different criteria, to calculate property
price or affordability indexes. There are di-
verse targets and diverse insights, for in-
stance, the concept may be used for pur-
chase or rent purposes, addressed by the
real-estate, the construction, or financial sec-
tor, and can be a useful macro-economic or
political instrument. For instance, in the
USA, the National Association of Realtors
(NAR), publishes a housing affordability in-
dex. Their methodology, including compu-
tation and criteria, basically measures
whether or not a typical family could qualify
for a mortgage loan on a typical home: “To
interpret the indices, a value of 100 means that a
family with the median income has exactly enough
income to qualify for a mortgage on a median-priced
home. An index above 100 signifies that family
earning the median income has more than enough in-
come to qualify for a mortgage loan on a median-
priced home, assuming a 20 percent down payment.
(…) The calculation assumes a down payment of 20
percent of the home price and it assumes a qualifying
ratio of 25 percent. That means the monthly P&I
payment cannot exceed 25 percent of the median
family monthly income” (cf. NAR, 2014). Also
in the US, the National Association of Home
Builders (NAHB) publishes Ranks and quar-
terly Press Releases on housing affordability
(cf. NAHB, 2014). In Australia, the Housing
Industry Association (HIA) also publishes reg-
ular reports on house prices and housing af-
fordability. Working at worldwide scale, the
NUMBEO user contributed database on cit-
ies and countries worldwide, provides infor-
mation on world living conditions including
cost of living, housing indicators (including
affordability index), health care, traffic,
crime and pollution. They provide a com-
prehensive of their methodology and corre-
spondent codification (cf. NUMBEO,
2014). At a European level, recent docu-
mentation on the theme has been published
in 2012 by the CECODHAS Housing Eu-
rope’s Observatory. Their definition too
acknowledges the relativity and context-sen-
sitivity of the housing affordability concept,
which measured against economic variables
such as GDP, purchasing power, and so on.
However, it also refers that a common way
to address it is to consider the percentage of
income that a household is spending on
housing costs. A few options are described:
“Despite consensus across Europe on housing afford-
ability being increasingly stretched, the idea of what
is affordable is subject to national interpretations.
The most common notion of affordable housing im-
plies that households that spend more than 30% of
their gross income to obtain adequate and appropri-
ate housing have an affordability problem. Neverthe-
less, this definition is far from being universally ac-
cepted, and poses questions on which costs should be
included (such as for instance whether to consider
utilities bills). According to Eurostat’s definition, a
household is considered ‘overburdened’ when the total
housing costs ('net' of housing allowances) represent
more than 40 % of disposable income ('net' of hous-
ing allowances), where housing costs include mortgage
or housing loans interest payments for owners and
rent payments for tenants. Utilities (water, electricity,
gas and heating) and any costs related to regular
maintenance and structural insurance are likewise
included” (Pittini, 2012: 2).
380 Indeed, real-estate terms sum it up elo-
quently when often affirming that ‘location
is everything’. In fact, although not depart-
ing from the construction cost, but from the
selling price point of view, many current
real-estate procurement methods use the m2
price approach as a comparison means be-
tween different products to their prospec-
tive buyers.
381 Nonetheless, given the nature of the ar-
chitectural task, any solution will ultimately
have some degree of dependence from a cer-
tain subjective interpretation.
382 Cf. Murtinho et al. (2009).
383 There are different ways to understand
this setting, considering either the common
circulation areas or the circulation within
each space. In a certain room, the distribu-
tion of furniture, doors and windows dimen-
sions and location, and so forth, influences
how circulation can be made within that
room, and how much area is in the least nec-
essary for it. A proper handling of the circu-
lation zones within a so considered enclosed
space may bring substantial area savings. By
increasing the degree of embedded design
within a space may bring area savings. How-
ever, as shown by Leupen (cf. 2006), such
has a reverse effect in polyvalence, under-
mining important spatial flexibility aspects.
For instance, a shelf that folds down to a
bed, while expanding the possibilities of use
of space, lowers the potential for change,
and so forth. Space may ‘augment’
through multifunctional furniture and the
like, but then it is also difficult to change
the spatial layout throughout the building’s
life. While ‘freeing’ space in this fashion,
we are also ‘imprisoning’ it.
There are plenty of validated functional
studies that have long set clear definitions in
this particular, to the point of influencing the
different legal frameworks in different na-
tional or regional contexts, and which in any
331
case the design necessarily had to comply. In
the case of the Portuguese legal framework,
RGEU (acronym for ‘General Regulation
for Buildings and Urbanizations’) is, among
others, a key legal documents in this respect.
For instance, it sets minimum areas for the
different house areas according to their ty-
pologies, establishing limits on room pro-
portions in relation to a direct source of light
and ventilation, and so forth. An overview
of the Portuguese legal framework was one
of the delivered elements in the first stage of
the AHP.
384 Cf. full project in the provided digital
documentation.
385 Cf. full project in the provided digital
documentation.
386 For instance, when compared with the
Portuguese minimum requirements for ty-
pological labelling (i.e. T0 meaning zero bed-
room, T1 meaning one bedroom, and so
on), these are astoundingly bigger, since the
minimums for inhabitable areas are set in:
T0≥22m2 (gross ≥35m2), T1≥30.5m2 (gross
≥52m2), T2≥43.5m2 (gross ≥72m2),
T3≥54.5m2 (gross ≥91m2), T4≥61m2 (gross
≥105m2), T5≥74m2 (gross ≥122m2),
T6≥82.5m2 (gross ≥134m2). These figures
are generally smaller than what can be cur-
rently found in the real-estate market for
houses in apartment buildings. Exceptions
stand in the smaller typologies T0 and T1,
where these figures seem to approximate.
On the other hand, if comparing with real-
estate market for residential houses, the dis-
proportion is a lot bigger, with figures such
as T1~100m2, T2~130m2, T3~175m2,
T4~230m2, T5~265m2, or T6~370m2. Ad-
ditionally, in this niche we are talking of
great variations that can go all the way from
over 30m2 until little over 300m2 in the T3,
or from over 80m2 until little over 400m2 in
the T4.
387 Cf. Lobos and Donath (2010).
388 Cf. Stiny (2006).
389 Cf. V. Murtinho et al. (2010b);V.
Murtinho et al. (2010a).
390 Cf. António Lopes Correia, Silva, and
Murtinho (2012); Antonio Lopes Correia,
Simões da Silva, and Murtinho (2013).
391 From the examples that, in one way or
another, have been inscribed in an ‘official
architectural history’, some strongly assume
a conceptual intention, which will, or will
not be used in later developments (e.g. Mai-
son Dom-Ino, 1914 and later Maison Citrohan,
1920, by Le Corbusier).
Other examples, while conceptual, con-
vey a deep architectural sensibility and de-
sign focus (e.g. Espansiva, Jørn Utzon, 1969).
Some are fundamentally derived from con-
structive concerns (e.g. Manning Portable Cot-
tage, H. Manning, 1837).
Some others are made to sell via cata-
logues, fulfilling wishes borrowed from
flashy colored pages (e.g. Alladin Ready-Cut
Houses, 1906), and have no architectural as-
pirations whatsoever.
There are even those that do not expect
becoming much more than prototypes, to be
questioned, desired and dreamt about (e.g.
Keck Crystal House, George Fred Keck, 1933-
34).
A few others, are fundamentally con-
ceived as a design system, a grammar to con-
vey a style of making (e.g. Usonian Houses,
Frank Lloyd Wright, 1936-onwards).
Some take it to the level of corporate
brand (e.g. BoKlok, from joint-venture of
IKEA and Skanska companies, 1996-pre-
sent).
Soon it becomes clear that the diversity
of examples and their different connecting
dots makes any attempt of classification vir-
tually impossible.
392 Nonetheless, there are prefab examples
in which technological aspects stand-out.
Such is the case of the Ballon Frame (1833-
present), developed from a mixture of needs
and improvements, such as small, light-
weight, wood parts (easier to handle in
transport and assembling), and added to
other technological breakthroughs such as
the industrialization of nail production. It
even become an iconic construction system
throughout the USA (and beyond), enabling
an immense variety of styles and architec-
tural layouts, still lasting presently.
393 High-density materials, such as brick or
concrete, have a higher thermal mass, which
gives it more inertia to temperature changes,
absorbing and storing heat and releasing it
slower than lower thermal mass materials
such as wood or insulation foam.
394 Excepting more extreme climates, as a
rule of thumb, aiming at higher thermal
mass is most effective when ranges exceed
10ºC, whereas in a 7º-10ºC it depends on the
climate (in tropical climates can cause dis-
comfort unless carefully designed, with insu-
lation and shades), and 6ºC is insufficient Cf.
Reardon, McGee, and Milne (2013).
395 For instance, optimal zones in masonry
materials are located in the first 100mm,
whereas in wood they are in the first 25mm.
Nonetheless, there are already available mar-
ket solutions, namely the new phase change
materials, aiming to increase the thermal
mass of lightweight constructions without
significantly increasing weight, which can be
incorporated in buildings, although with in-
herent costs.
396 Cf. Baudrillard (1994).
397 As many other terms, globalization
does not have a consensual definition. Defi-
nitions on globalization vary from the
knowledge field, group or scholar who pro-
vides it, as is easily verifiable in a quick
browse on some of the abundant literature
available. For instance, in a Google Scholar
search conducted on March 2012 there was
a return of over 1.5 million entries for the
word in scholarly books and articles. A quick
browse on the search results also reveals the
wide variety of subjects portrayed within the
thematic. Herod (2009: 231-233) points out
that outlining a term such as globalization
may seem an intellectual luxury, but it can
also be quite relevant, as “ideas, rhetorics, and
material practices all have real consequences for real
people”.
398 Eco (1991: 132).
399 Lévi-Strauss writes: “Throughout my life,
this search was probably a predominant interest of
mine. When I was a child, for a while my main in-
terest was geology. The problem in geology is also to
try to understand what is invariant in the tremen-
dous diversity of landscapes, that is, to be able to re-
duce a landscape to a finite number of geological lay-
ers and of geological operations. Later as an
adolescent, I spent a great part of my leisure time
drawing costumes and sets for opera. The problem
there is exactly the same - to try to express in one
language, that is, the language of graphic arts and
painting, something which also exists in music and
in the libretto; that is, to try to reach the invariant
property of a very complex set of codes (the musical
code, the literary code, the artistic code). The problem
is to find what is common to all of them. It's a prob-
lem, one might say, of translation, of translating
what is expressed in one language - or one code, if
you prefer, but language is sufficient - into expression
in a different language” (Lévi-Strauss, 1979: 8-
9).
400 Eco (1991: 331) writes: “the codes…
would then be nothing more than iconological, stylis-
tic or rhetorical lexicons. They offer no generative
possibilities, but finished schemata, not open forms
about which one could talk, but hardened forms, gen-
eral relations of an unexpected type. Architecture is
thus rhetoric (…)”.
401 Such triadic understanding is was put in
these terms by Adolf Loos’ Architecture essay
(cf. Opel & Opel, 2002). The triadic notion
also denotes Hegelian foundations, of which
Charles S. Pierce triadic sign, with object, sign
and interpretant, is a key semiotic reference.
402 Tafuri (1976: 181).
403 Cf. Norberg-Schulz (1980).
404 Harvey (2005: 240) writes: “As space ap-
pears to shrink to a global village of telecommuni-
332
cations and a spaceship earth of economic and eco-
logical interdependencies and as time horizons
shorten to the point where the present is all there is,
so we ha ve t o lea rn h ow to c ope w ith an ov erw helmi ng
sense of compression of our spatial and temporal
worlds. The experience of time-space compression is
challenging, exciting, stressfull, and sometimes deeply
troubling, capable of sparking, therefore, a diversity
of social, cultural, and political responses” (Harvey,
2005: 240).
405 Scheuerman (2010) writes: “The human
experience of space is intimately connected to the tem-
poral structure of those activities by means of which
we experience space. Changes in the temporality of
human activity inevitably generate altered experi-
ences of space or territory. Theorists of globalization
disagree about the precise sources of recent shifts in
the spatial and temporal contours of human life.
Nonetheless, they generally agree that alterations in
humanity's experiences of space and time are work-
ing to undermine the importance of local and even
national boundaries in many arenas of human en-
deavor”.
A classic example of the changes in hu-
manity’s experiences of space-time through
global effects is the shifting of the boundary
conditions which have been archetypally de-
fining the idea of country or nation inherited
since the French Revolution: in one hand,
the nation-state is overwhelmed by transna-
tional forces, on the other it is inescapably
depending on its very social scrutiny.
According to Rodrik (2012), the global
financial crisis unleashed in the late 2000’s
seems to have shattered the myth that na-
tional policymakers are largely powerless in
the face of global markets: “For now, people
still must turn for solutions to their national govern-
ments, which remain the best hope for collective ac-
tion. The nation-state may be a relic bequeathed to
us by the French Revolution, but it is [yet] all that
we have”. In any case, if this return to the
state, as the last credible warranty, may be
true in (at least) economic-wise and although
in counter-cycle with a certain common be-
lief of how things evolve (that is on the path
of blending and while economically grow-
ing), it is socially certainly very far away from
what is given to observe in (at least) power-
ful social movements that were only made
possible some by globalization by-products,
such as the ones that enabled the so-called
Arab Spring unleashed in early 2011. That is
to say the state, again (and accidentally) rele-
vant, is now more than ever entangled be-
tween powerful global economic forces and
powerful social forces globally driven.
406 Virilio (2000: 101).
407 Frampton (2007a: 85).
408 A relatively recent trend of artistic pro-
jects has given visibility to their forms,
showcased in cinema, exhibitions or TV
commercials, inspiring a certain ‘coolness’ to
its shapes. There is even a trend of travelling
experience niche market, where the tourist
can spend the night in the slum’s hotel, or
join a slum-like resort: ‘third-world’ roman-
ticism with luxury service.
409 Cf. Le Corbusier (2007).
410 (Lévi-Strauss, 1979: 20) writes: “Differ-
ences are extremely fecund. It is only through differ-
ence that progress has been made. What threatens us
right now is probably what we may call over-commu-
nication – that is, the tendency to know exactly in
one point of the world what is going on in all other
parts of the world. In order for a culture to be really
itself and to produce something, the culture and its
members must be convinced of their originality and
even, to some extent, of their superiority over the oth-
ers; it is only under conditions of under-communica-
tion that it can produce anything. We are now
threatened with the prospect of our being only con-
sumers, able to consume anything from any point in
the world and from any culture, but of losing all orig-
inality.
We can easily now conceive of a time when there
will be only one culture and one civilization on the
entire surface of the earth. I don't believe this will
happen, because there are contradictory tendencies al-
ways at work - on the one hand towards homogeni-
zation and on the other towards new distinctions.
The more a civilization becomes homogenized, the
more internal lines of separation become apparent;
and what is gained on one level is immediately lost
on another”.
411 GLA (2013).
412 NYC (2013).
413 INSEE (2010).
414 The heterotopia concept is also not
consensual, yet is certainly a conceptual in-
strument that helps explaining spatial deriv-
atives of globalization processes. First
coined by Foucault (1967), the notion is set
between what may be called the real space
and the utopian, or unreal space, carrying a
sense of abnormality within a seemingly nor-
mality, a sense of otherness in a familiar en-
vironment, and so on, including heterogene-
ity within homogeneity and vice-versa.
415 Cf. Augé (1995).
416 Other kinds of non-places can be found
among those spaces where some important
forms of private interaction are manifested,
as those purposefully designed to house cer-
tain socially-stigmatized behaviors—e.g.
prostitutes, homeless, or addicted—provid-
ing them with a bit more of dignity than they
would get in the streets.
417 Eldemery (2009: 344) writes: “place exists
not only physically but also in peoples’ minds as
memories. The identity of a specific place becomes in-
teresting when it brings about a certain experience,
evoking associations or memories”.
418 Issues affecting local forces are case of
tension between anti-global and pro-global
forces, have been widely scrutinized, as is
the case of the architectural regionalism de-
bate.
Regionalism was never a singular theory
or practice but is most often a means by
which tensions, such as those between glob-
alization and localism, modernity and tradi-
tion, are addressed. Its origins are remote in
time, becoming particularly clear with the
Roman practices of territorial management
– the regionalism of Vitruvius. It may be al-
lied with other disciplines concerned with
spatial phenomena such as cultural geogra-
phy or historical studies, but differs from
these in dimension and application. “Water-
sheds, topographical difference, areas of distinctive
land use, climatological difference, and consistencies
of architectural, cultural, linguistic, and political or-
ganization are criteria available to the regionalist for
consideration in the design of environments for those
places. Further, thinking in terms of regions affords
architects the opportunity to derive unique and rele-
vant environments from a specific and local context
with a wider perspective” (Canizaro, 2007: 18-
19). Architectural regionalism differs from
other disciplines with that concern (e.g. cul-
tural studies, sociology, anthropology) fun-
damentally in its relation to practice. Unlike
processes of analysis and description used
by these, which tends to be more neutral,
practice tends to be polemical and its theo-
rization, prescriptive. (cf. Canizaro, 2007).
419 Montaner (2002).
420 Cf. Norberg-Schulz (1980); Canizaro
(2007).
421 Cf. Benjamin (2008).
422 Cf.Klingmann (2007).
423 OMA, Koolhaas, and Mau (1995: 364-
365)
424 Dias (2003: 6) writes: “by definition, archi-
tecture has always been transnational, interna-
tional, cosmopolitan”. And indeed, “the Rom-
anesque, the Gothic, the Renascence, the Baroque,
the Neo-Classical, the International Style are all
modes, more or less known by everyone, more or
less mastered by all, for in any place, and acknowl-
edging them stylistically and constructively, build sev-
eral types of programs”.
425 Opel and Opel (2002: 76-77).
426 Cf. Kostof (1986).
427 The diversity of attempted frames of
reference is abundant. For instance, Frankl
(cf. 1968) distinguishes between the spatial
form of the buildings and the corporeal (physi-
cal building elements, mass, surface), visual
(light, shadow, color), and purposive (social
333
function) qualities that result from the phys-
ical realization of spatial form; Le Corbusier
(cf. 1986) famously makes an appraisal on
space, light, air and order, from where the im-
age of buildings suspended by pilotis in the
middle of an idyllic green city immediately
arises: everything in its right place (as the Radio-
head song of the Kid A album (2000) trans-
mits, Everything in its right place as the obses-
siveness of human logic, the madness of
taking it to extremes). Vitruvius (1914: 17;
i.e. Book I, Chapter 3, #2) had expressed a
triad of firmitatis (durability), utilitatis (con-
venience) and venustatis (beauty).
428 Frampton (2007a: 86) writes: “As a re-
sult of these successive global disturbances it became
increasingly clear that modernization, most fre-
quently personified in architecture by the white, ab-
stract rationality of the International Style, would
not come into being overnight as a brave new world,
but would instead be subject to an infinite series of
reversals and deviations, not to mention the sporadic
violent conflicts at both local and global scale that
will be fought in its name”.
429 Cf. Jencks (2002).
430 Cf. 'Palladio's Literary Predecessors'
(2010), Kostof (1986), Wittkower (1995).
431 Cf. Wittkower (1995: 26-37).
432 Cf. 'Palladio and Britain' (2011),
'Palladio's Literary Predecessors' (2010),
Wittkower (1995).
433 Other include e.g.: Francesco di Gior-
gio’s (1439-1502) Trattati di Architettura
(1476-1492); Fra Luca Pacioli’s (1445-1517)
De divina Proportione (1509), Diego de Sa-
gredo’s (1490-1528) Medidas del Romano
(1526), Torello Sarayna’s De origine et amplitu-
dine civitatis Veronae (1540), Antonio Laba-
cco’s (1495-1570) Libro di Antonio Labacco
appartenente a l’Architettura nel qual si figurano
alcune notabili antiquità di Roma (1552), Pitro
Cataneo’s (1510-1574) I quattro primi libri di
Architettura di Pietro Cataneo Senese (1554,
1567), Alvise Cornaro’s (1484-1556) Trattato
dell’Architettura (1557-1566; published pos-
thumously), Vignola’s (1507-1573) Regola
delli cinque ordini dell’Architettura (1562), Fra
Anton Francesco Doni’s (1513-1574) Le ville
(1566), Philibert De l’Orme’s (1514-1570)
Le premier tome de l’Architecture de Philibert de
l’Orme (1567), Silvio Belli’s Della proportione, et
proportionalità (1573), Wendel Dietterlin’s
(1550-1599) Architectura (1593) (cf. 'Pal-
ladio's', 2010).
434 Cf. Kostof (1986).
435 Cf. 'Palladian' (2010).
436 (Davies, 2005: 118).
Davies adds: “From John Shute’s First and
Chief Croundes of Architecture of 1563 to the lavish
publications of the eighteenth century, such as Colen
Campbell’s Vitruvius Britanicus (1715-25) and
James Gibb’s A Book of Architecture (1728). The
builders of the elegant streets and squares of Geor-
gian London took their correctly proportioned fa-
çades and Doric door-cases straight from smaller,
cheaper pattern books such as William Halfpenny’s
The Art of Sound Building (1725) and Batty
Langley’s The Builder’s Jewel (1741). In the early
nineteenth century dozens of architects produced pat-
tern books to meet the demand from a growing mid-
dle class for suburban villas and country cottages.
One of the pioneers of the so-called ‘villa book’ was
Sir John Soane (…) His Sketches in Architecture
of 1793 is purely speculative, containing designs for
modest, affordable dwellings pictured in imaginary
rural settings” (Davies, 2005: 117-118).
437 Cf. Colomina (1998).
438 Cf. Ábalos (2003).
439 Cf. Gutman (1988).
440 Cf. Ahlava (2002).
441 Nevertheless, the notion of starchitecture
seems to be in process of review, as ambig-
uously and paradoxically affirmed by the
starchitect Rem Koolhaas while curator of
the 14th Venice Bienalle in 2014, with Funda-
mentals as general theme, stating that what
mattered was architecture, not its author-
ship—indeed, when backs are covered, it is
easy to say anything.
442 Making use of their expertise they claim
to sell their services for multiple consultancy
purposes such as corporate identity or visual
communication, operating in areas such as
media, politics, sociology, renewable energy,
technology, fashion, curating, publishing or
graphic design.
443 Cf. Kostof (1986).
444 Tafuri (1976: ix-x).
445 (Cf. Robinson, Jamieson, Worthington,
& Cole, 2011).
446 To describe the idea, Wilson once told
the story of a friend female soul singer who
called him just right after 9/11, saying she
could not perform in her show as scheduled,
because she felt so affected that she sensed
that if she had to sing that night she would
just burst into tears. Wilson told her that if
she felt that way, the best was just to sing
anyway, no matter what. She sang indeed,
but soon after starting, she could not do it
anymore, and she just kept silent. She stood
there for minutes and eventually tears came
into her eyes, but she kept silent. While she
was standing silent in stage, nothing more
than her solid presence - no sound, no
movement, no expression, just her and the
deepness of her feelings - one by one, all the
audience started to cry.
447 Within it, the Futurama, the General
Motors pavilion, immersed its visitors in a
diorama of miniature towns, individually de-
signed homes, highways, vehicles, water-
ways and trees of diverse species, a colored
3D illustration of a fast-moving neoliberal
philosophy.
448 Cf. Fletcher (1987).
449 The company Grupo OAS, owner of
some of the stadiums, has struggled for
months with the impact of a corruption
scandal at major oil company Petrobras,
which undercut the builder’s access to fi-
nancing. Facing cash flow problems, Grupo
OAS begun to search for buyers for the to-
tality of Arena das Dunas (in Natal, Rio
Grande do Norte), and for 50% of the Arena
Fonte Nova (in Salvador da Baía). This is just
one of the many unfortunate stories involv-
ing each of the twelve stadiums in the post-
World Cup. The ground in Cuiaba was
closed because of structural problems, and
other venues have seen bigger crowds for re-
ligious events or music concerts than for
football (cf. Downie, 2015).
450 Rittel and Webber (1973).
451 Cf. Koolhaas (1994).
452 Herman Hertzberger (2000: 199).
453 Cf. Kunstler (2004).
FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE From Modern to Global Space VOLUME II (ANNEX)
António Alberto Lopes Fernandes Duarte Correia
FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE
From Modern to Global Space
VOLUME II (ANNEX)
Tese de Doutoramento em Arquitectura, orientada pelos
Professor Doutor Luís Simões da Silva e Professor Doutor Vítor Murtinho e apresentada ao
Departamento de Arquitectura da Faculdade de Ciências e Tecnologia da Universidade de Coimbra
Dezembro de 2017
António Alberto Lopes Fernandes Duarte Correia
Bolsa SFRH/BD/65732/2009:
António Lopes Correia
FABRICATING
ARCHITECTURE
From Modern
to Global Space
VOLUME II (ANNEX)
PhD thesis in Architecture, advised by
Prof. Dr. Luís Simões da Silva and Prof. Dr. Vítor Murtinho
and presented to the Department of Architecture of the
Faculty of Sciences and Technology of the University of Coimbra
December 2017
Table of Contents
IA MECHANISTIC INHERITANCE—COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS —9
1 Architecture: An etymological draft —11
2 The fragment experience of space-time —17
3 Illustrating ideological incongruities —21
4 Aldo Van Eyck’s Orphanage synthesis —25
4.1 The Otterlo Circles —25
4.2 The Orphanage —26
4.3 Dialectics of control and freedom —27
5 Down Magritte’s rabbit hole —29
6 Albert Frey’s nature and industry synthesis —33
6.1 A living architecture —33
6.2 House Frey I —34
7 The Additive Architecture of Jørn Utzon and the Espansiva System —37
7.1 Vernacular and natural influences —37
7.2 An Additive Architecture —37
7.3 The Espansiva System —39
8 John Turner’s network and hierarchy —41
9 John Habraken’s Supports —43
10 Enacting freedom in Herman Hertzberger’s Central Beheer —45
11 Alterity beyond control through Jean Nouvel’s Nemausus I —47
II(PRE)FABRICATING ARCHITECTURE COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS —51
1 Outline and challenges of the housing and the construction sector in Europe —53
1.1 Introduction —53
1.2 Some numbers —54
1.3 The construction sector —55
1.4 Prefab innovation and business as usual in the Portuguese case —56
1.5 Thinking of a future possible —58
2 Prefabrication of houses: A historical and socio-cultural survey —61
2.1 Context and challenges of house prefabrication in Europe —61
2.1.1 A brief acknowledgement of the French case —62
2.1.2 A brief acknowledgment of the Soviet Union case —63
2.2 Prefabrication of houses in the Nordic Countries —64
2.2.1 Constructive roots —64
2.2.2 Installation of a new paradigm through the XXth century wars —65
2.2.3 Architectural experimentation after WWII —67
2.2.4 Market and technological developments in the past decades —69
2.2.5 Playfulness and social acceptability —71
2.3 Prefabrication of houses in The Netherlands —73
2.3.1 Country context —73
2.3.2 A systems’ design culture —74
2.3.3 Some recent cases —75
2.4 Prefabrication of houses in Germany —77
2.4.1 Outline —77
2.4.2 The housing problem in Berlin in the early XXth century —78
2.4.3 Martin Wagner and the state programs —78
2.4.4 GEHAG wave examples —79
2.4.5 Ernst May and system construction —80
2.4.6 Behrens and the architecture-product —81
2.4.7 Walter Gropius and a Neues Bauen through Bauhaus —81
2.4.8 Prefab explored through steel construction —82
2.4.9 The Weissenhof Siedlung inner circle —83
2.4.10 The Frankfurt Kitchen —85
2.4.11 The Nazi hibernation and a post-WWII rebirth —85
2.4.12 GDR’s Plattenbau age —86
2.4.13 West Germany systems —86
2.4.14 Current prefab business —88
2.4.15 The case of WeberHaus ‘Option’ (Bauart AG architects) and WeberHaus Systems —90
2.5 Prefabrication of houses in the UK —92
2.5.1 Outline and early examples —92
2.5.2 A global revolution —93
2.5.3 Crystal Palace and a synthesis of an iron tradition —95
2.5.4 Post-WWI prefab programs —96
2.5.5 The rise and fall of the post-WWII temporaries —98
2.5.6 Successful post-WWII commercial systems —101
2.5.7 Social prejudice and the rise and fall of systems —103
2.5.8 Remarkable architectural cases —105
2.5.9 Current reality —106
2.6 Prefabrication of houses in the USA —108
2.6.1 Early historical landmarks —108
2.6.2 Inventiveness and playfulness —109
2.6.3 Fordism and Taylorism 109
2.6.4 Catalogue homes and a culture of consumption —110
2.6.5 A media driven, inventive and competitive spirit —112
2.6.6 New aesthetics and the masses —114
2.6.7 Imagining Futures (The 1933 Chicago World Fair) —115
2.6.8 Around WWII —116
2.6.9 Prefab business today —117
2.6.10 Notable architectural incursions on prefab —117
2.6.10.1 Buckminster Fuller —118
2.6.10.2 Richard Neutra —119
2.6.10.3 Albert Frey —119
2.6.10.4 Frank Lloyd Wright —120
2.6.10.5 Marcel Breuer —120
2.6.11 Case-Study House Program media legacy —121
2.6.12 Manufactured homes from America —122
2.6.13 Patent your building —125
2.7 Prefabrication of houses in Japan —127
2.7.1 Traditional systems —127
2.7.2 A contemporary prefab panorama —129
2.7.3 The case of Toyota Homes —131
2.7.4 The case of Onjuku Beach House by Bakoko architects—134
3 Logistic notes—Containers & pallets —137
4 Mass-customization notes —139
4.1 Overview of mass-customization concepts from a business perspective —139
4.2 Some methodological approaches to MC from an architectural perspective —141
IVEPISTEMOLOGICAL NOTES [A GLOBAL EPILOGUE]—COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS —143
1 The phenomenon of globalization —145
2 Three cases of global collaborative work —149
3 The Bo-Klok, or architecture as branded product —151
4 Housing, a global issue —153
BIBLIOGRAPHY —157
TABLE OF ACRONYMS —169
TABLE OF FIGURES —171
TABLE OF TABLES —173
REFERENCES —175
9
I A Mechanistic
Inheritance
COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS
10
11
1 ARCHITECTURE: AN ETYMOLOGICAL DRAFT
Everything starts with a name. That could well be an ontological motto for this dissertation, for in
structuralist terms there is an invisible linguistic bridge between us and the world—or, as Heidegger
formulated, the Dasein (i.e. the being there or existence)1. Accordingly, intertwined within a quintessential
social nature of the human endeavoring, there is a linguistic sphere locating architecture among the
things of the world, engaging it among the production processes underlying the come-to-being of
human artifacts. As the world moves on, our frames of reference move with it, shifting as we shift
throughout, as too languages evolve. Thus, any attempt to observe the unfolding matters of what we
can assume as being architecture, will always be incomplete. But it is also from that point of departure
that we can arguably aspire to the production of some meaningful sense, i.e., knowing beforehand
that no ends are achievable, but endless paths of possibilities, with an end and a beginning in architec-
ture.
In western culture, etymologically, architecture seems to be derived from the Latin, architectura and
ultimately from the Greek, arkitekton (αρχιτεκτων), roughly meaning master builder or director of
works, from the combination of arkhi- (αρχι), a chief or leader, and tekton (τεκτων), a builder or carpenter.
In turn, tekton comes from the Sanskrit taksan, denoting to the use of the axe and the craft of car-
pentry. Vestiges can also be found in Vedic, referring again to carpentry. In ancient Greece, it would
appear in Homer, alluding to the art of construction in general. A poetic sense is first noted in Sappho
where the tekton impersonates the poet. The meaning would further evolve, as the term went from
referring to something physical and specific—carpentry—to a more generic notion of making—po-
etic sense. In addition, architecture can be related with the notion of arkhé, that is, the knowledge or
engagement towards the origin, which is the root of words such as archetype, archeology, or archive. Such
can be observed in the sense of what the ancient western philosophers called the Demiurg, the unat-
tainable original architect, an ontological God-like figure, the seemingly one and only to have access
to the genuine essence2.
In a common sense, architecture stands for creating, planning, coordinating, and for building, to
refer the characteristics of what is built, and so forth. Accordingly, the term is frequently applied to
describe works related with the built environment. In addition, it has been used via other connota-
tions, such as in explicitly artificial things (e.g. software, hardware), characteristically natural things (e.g.
biological structures, geological formations), or in implicitly abstract things (e.g. music, mathematics).
In each, broadly we can regard it as a mapping to the elements or components of a structure or
system, to understand them better and/or to creatively re-combine them towards new meanings.
Indeed, the term has also been associated to a wider notion that implies the métiers of creating or
devising a thing or a system, addressing some sort of problem, to be implicitly or explicitly applied—
12
e.g. through the own hands, through others’, through machines’, to build a logical frame, and so
forth.
In this perspective, in a modern sense, it can be understood from Immanuel Kant’s (b.1724–
d.1804) broader notion of architectonic and its correlated notion of systematicity3. Before Kant, other
thinkers, such as Aristotle4 (b.384BC–d.322BC) or Leibniz5 (b.1646–d.1716), had implied such no-
tion. In common, all these authors place it close to a sense of system construction, via Idea (mental)
and through devising combinatorial ars logica, and finally, as an ontological structure by itself. For the
XVIIIth century Kant, human reason is by nature architectonic because it regards all our knowledge
as belonging to a possible system, a notion that has since been reinforced6. Anyhow, it must be noted
that this is a double-edged notion. On the one hand, it is in agreement with the need for attaining
frames of reference which underlays any knowledge construction—architecture included. On the
other hand, if neglecting an emanating real, when it appears to us out of any aprioristically conceived
frame of reference, and/or if taking those frames as a sort of immutable entities, it may also lead to
what potentially is a methodologically (and ideologically) dangerous assumption of totality. That can
lead to an also likely treacherous (and unlikely accurate) idea of full accomplishment, or of a kind of
super-human universalism. In the least, that can be suggested through an arkhé etymological perspec-
tive, which brings it a sense of full-proof solidity, since based in a sort of historical soundness, even
if not confirmed or confirmable. However, that idea of universal truthiness has also been refuted,
namely by the epistemological repercussions raised out of the scientific notion of relativity7.
Overall, it is hard to picture architecture has being just about a discourse, or just about a set of
techniques, or just about a pure mental setting, or just about any single isolated thing. It is generally
a blend of multiple things, something with, say, an unspecified specificity. Moreover, it is about de-
livering-through-praxis artifacts in a space-time set, being that real or virtual (assuming the latter is
conceded) or any other. That implies there is a visible, perceptive or practical side to it, which can be
seen more as of an organic and dynamic nature, and that is hardwired to engage with the available
reality that is being addressed. That also necessarily suggests there is a subjective (thus ideological
and/or aesthetical) way of seeing8 implied, which is responsible for bounding form at some point (i.e.
making options in a limited time span), which unavoidably extends beyond purely rational, rhetorical
or technical considerations, or in the least brings about a minimum set of constraints. Thus, there is
too a dimension of circumstantiality and chance, which renders useless any attempt of instilling an
unyielding, tout-court rationality.
Since the vast majority of contemporary architects are formed in architecture schools, it seems
reasonable to consider that an architectural way of seeing (or its equivalent thinking) may be linked with
an academic formatting, regardless the differences that may exist between schools. Nevertheless,
throughout history, there are also those that gained an outstanding architectural reputation, to the
13
point of reshaping the profession, without going through (or completing) a formal architectural ed-
ucation and/or considering themselves architects.
Among these, figure XXth century acknowledged masters such as Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van
der Rohe, Le Corbusier, Buckminster Fuller, or Jean Prouvé. As free creative spirits, their curiosity
came from multiple sources, not limited to architectural references alone. Their forming years did
not exactly follow an academically straight path, and some have not even gone through academia. In
the least, it is believable that the openness to the things of the world, which they manifested in their
life path, contributed for their affirmation. Anyhow, it is unquestionable that, by devising new ways of
seeing—i.e. their own ways—they have extended the vocabulary of architectural language, from which
new and different meanings could thereon be produced. In this sense, they have raised the bar, be-
coming themselves referential, setting trends and thus creating a retinue of followers, and with it
contributing to a reconfiguration of the profession. They did it foremost by bringing their own sub-
jectivity to the stand, not exclusively their rational or rationalizing spirit. These are evidence that more
than a link to any establishment (academic, political, economic, and so forth), architectural production
can essentially be considered as an act of human intelligence over space-time.
The example of these non-conformed masters also illustrates a process by which the evolution of
the architectural field has proceeded not only from within, but also by fetching elements externally.
As in any other product of human intelligence, such kind of process can be observed from different
angles and arising from different contexts. In any case, to enable such a rich and vivid contamination
can point towards the existence of some sort of basic structure laying beforehand. It can be presumed
that there is a matrix to an architectural way of understanding the world resting in common principles,
or entities, such as space-time. However, such notions are also vague, subjectable to different inter-
pretations, and far from undisputable. Nevertheless, although those may not be directly intelligible,
whatever the human activity considered, the way these are understood necessarily shapes the way we
look to the world, and unavoidably informs and constrains the modes in which architecture is pro-
duced and understood, shaping an architectural way of seeing9, whatever that may be.
The seemingly ordered world of an architect’s vision creates a reality that only in his own mind
can aspire to be set perfectly clear—eventually, with greater or lesser degree, the (in)congruencies of
the real take care to mismatch it from its original source. In this sense, the architectural projection
(mental) implies a creative search of an unattainable and only ideal perfection, regardless the more or
less complex and/or contradictory that perfection may be—ontologically, perfection is unavoidably
dated and contextual. Additionally, in a design stage, as in a construction stage, or in any stage or
combination of stages so-considered, architecture is most frequently the result of multiple minds.
Finally, all this implies an architectonic to the very architecture, which results from an age-old human
14
process of construction, of building significance out of things, answering to human problems or
aspirations, and from which the architectural artifact intrinsically results from.
Indeed, architecture is not usually a one-man job, but implies a chain of actors—a communal
job—that enables the architectural artifact to come to life. In this sense, and like in any other human
activity, architecture is primarily a social process, but generally with an important distinction regarding
other creative forms. That is, the distance from an original thought to the final product is bigger than,
say, in writing or painting, where the creative process is more likely to be depending of a single sub-
ject. As this distance increases, with more subjects and hence more communication channels in-
volved, it also increases the probability of noise, distortion or of manipulation of what was originally
set forth—distorted or mistranslated language. It can be argued that that is a matter of control, and
how to manage that control, where architecture can be regarded as mode of attempting to exert some
sort of control over a certain space-time context—but even so the unexpected is to be expected10.
Indeed, the establishment of different levels of control, towards the spatial conformation or the user,
seems to be key to define the architectural production itself.
It is also clear that architecture involves a complex fabric of multiple fields—aside a broader social
or cultural, also the technical, economical, legal, and so forth—under the (subjective) scope of the
architect. Within such frames, directly or indirectly, the subject-architect (and regardless it is a single
person or a collective) will inevitably reveal his own background—e.g. in aesthetic preferences—in
the devising process conducting to the advent of the artifact. In a process of such nature, it is unlikely
that a scientific method is exclusively pursued, nor an exclusive artistic approach, and so forth. And
again, it is a process that inevitably involves a receiver, users that will be experiencing it. Furthermore,
it involves a life span of occurrences. In this sense, the total architectonic of the architectural artifact in
space-time can be regarded as its (final) constructed artifact, or how its conception-made-artifact (men-
tal-to-executive sphere) shows itself to the user—i.e. outside viewer, inhabitant, and so on—and
through it lives and breathes, (de)generating in time.
In the face of an indelible evolution of the human signification processes and, with it, of the
complexity and intricacy of the artifacts of our world, it seems that some of the enchantment sur-
rounding architecture that we have inherited from modernity may have forever been lost. In a way,
modern architecture seemed to convey a sense of control over space-time that was somewhat reas-
suring—echoes of a positivist, techno-optimistic age that currently is no longer conceivable in the
terms that it once may have been.
Ascribing to its poetic etymological inheritance, architecture resides in what yet remains untold,
undone, that is, in a creative sphere, in going beyond some sort of replication realm or the like. As in
the classical tale of Sisyphus, which everyday repeated the same task of pushing a boulder up a moun-
tain, only to see it roll down again, it seems that architecture too aims to an unreachable ideal—that
15
of perfecting the unfolding (and imperfect) artifact. Its job, although permanent, is never complete.
That can be regarded as a warning, to not underestimate certain realities or to settle, but also as an
assurance of its disciplinary relevance. As the world progresses, architecture must continually reinvent
itself, otherwise risking losing its relevance, or ultimately its sense at all, thus imprinting itself a posi-
tive sense of conflict, permanently bouldering up the mountain. On the other hand, such reinvention
is only conceivable within a humanistic frame, for without a purpose or belief, for faded that may be,
architecture is in the least doomed to a sort of void aesthetical stance, stylistic replication, lost or dead
language.
16
17
2 THE FRAGMENT EXPERIENCE OF SPACE-TIME
From a phenomenological perspective, space-time can be regarded as what is implied in the ele-
ments that involve (or are perceived as involving) man11. In the psychology of space, what funda-
mentally matters is limited to the current perception moment, non-homogeneous and non-iso-
tropic12. Indeed, more than a mere scenery to physical, social or cultural forms, space-time seems to
participate in those forms, as they are embodied and understood via that same embodiment. For
instance, human behavior, does not simply seem to happen in space-time, but to have its own
forms—encountering, avoiding, interacting, building, teaching, eating13. In a way, these are not merely
activities that happen in space-time, they are themselves space-time, and are deeply rooted in funda-
mental human needs14.
On a common use, often the idea of space will be transcribed to expressions such as use of space,
spatial perception, space production, concepts of space, and so forth. In each of these expressions, a meaning
is attributed to the idea of space, linking it directly to human behavior or intentionality. Spatial con-
cepts common to the social sciences, as sensory space15 or space appropriation16, also imply the human
agent, and do not recognize its existence as independent of it. However, in architecture, where, by
the rationalization of the intervened object, the concepts of space often get disconnected from the
direct human agent through notions such as spatial hierarchy17 or spatial scale, we verify that in the end
space is rarely described as being totally independent18. Architectural functionalism, and its historical
discussion19, stands out as a critical example of such detachment. Behavioral patternizations, such as
those developed by Alexander Klein20 (b.1879–d.1961), as spatial qualities classifications, such as
light, air, color, and so on, are among the key aspects to understand the functional developments that
are indelibly associated with the advent of the Modern Movement in architecture21, as is its subse-
quent critique22.
Rediscovered in the Renaissance, Vitruvius’ work also inputs new information to a centralization
on the individual, which in itself fundamentally configures a spatial concern with multiple shades. In
the first chapter of the third book, he begins to describe the proportions of the human figure as a
model for the architectural proportions. The harmony of the body is, in its turn, assured by the geo-
metric harmony of the perfect figures, such as the circle and square. The problem of the corporal
measure, or of the body as a model of measurement, varies from the demonstration of its accurate
dimensions to a demonstration of the commensurability of man and space, between a subjective
order of body and an objective, mathematical, order of natural or celestial harmony.
The famous interpretation of the Vitruvian description by Leonardo da Vinci values this concep-
tion, affirming the human figure using a visual device of geometrical order, placing it in a circle and
square. The theme of da Vinci’s sketch is not only the demonstration of the body proportions, but
also implies the quest of a higher level of harmony which gathers, simultaneously, the objectivity of
18
numbers, law and measure, and the subjectivity of the body, vision and being. It thus points to a path
on the resolution of the conflict between an individual dimension of consciousness, and a collective
dimension of reason and science. This can be described as the corporeal base of a ‘perspectival par-
adigm’, i.e. the paradigm of the body that looks to the world through mathematical eyes, the idea of
an objectivity principle inscribed in the subjectivity of the soul. However, this idea came from the
assumption of a universal man, redemptory of harmony and perfection among things23. This would
later collide with the implicit idea of the Cartesian rationalism, in which ultimately man, by rational-
izing the world, is self-excluding from it24.
The famous Descartes sentence cogito ergo sum (I think, therefore I am)25 can, on the one hand, be
understood as a sort of ‘starting point’ of the objective knowledge of reality, but is also the motto of
the new position of thought and of being according to which reality exists for us as a network of
thought constructions. In an Enlightened world, mathematics became the methodic ideal of philos-
ophy and of the all quest for knowledge, of even God26. Nature was the primordial source of such
quest, if observed as a matter determined only casually according to norms. The ideal of perfection,
represented by God, is confronted with the chaos of creation, from which the imperfect Man chases
reason on the basic, but ever unraveling laws of Nature created by the very same God27.
The immediate unit between Man, Nature and the Cosmos, as it had earlier been idealized in the
Renascence, was abolished. As perspective converged to an inscrutable viewpoint28, revealing an un-
explored figurative potential, the Cartesian dualism between mind and body, its postulation of the
body autonomy as machine or sensorial organ, indirectly inaugurates a new logic of body as logic of
the senses, in which the eye replaces reason29, and the sensorial organ, the ability of comprehension30.
The original idea of body as a formal measurement reference model was in due course replaced by
the idea of body as a perception system31. In our times, the technological eye penetrates matter and
space, allowing a simultaneous vision of things32. In a world were technology is developing more and
more in a multi-mediation fashion, it is also verifiable that the audition, or the touch, has joined the
vision in the technologically mediated experience. Simultaneously, the technical development some-
what discarded other senses, given the difficulty to transport them digitally. Space is human space, with
a body, a breath, eating, sleeping or thinking.
Architects in the baroque faced the task of agglutinating the space of drama action with the space
of the audience, achieving it with the proscenium, a brilliant and thereon widespread architectural in-
vention. Such enabled the stage to be illuminated without interfering with the audience, and through
it offering the audience the convincing illusion that they were alone in the dark, spying characters
through an invisible wall. High-definition sound and sight, which current technologies enable, dizzies
us in an intense fog of images, where the screen experience, by its enormous dissemination, is less
and less proscenic, losing its apparent depth33. Instead, if a parallel can be stated, their multi-mediation,
19
increasing capabilities and links with multiple other devices, somewhat resemble more and more the
archetypal ‘flexible theatre’34, and one that we now carry in our pockets or that is integrated in our
homes, cars or clothes. Daily objects are ever more mediators to a ubiquitous virtual world, and
although connecting us to an immense collective construction, they seem to have the intimacy of
underwear, as denoted by the objects of the so-called internet of things. Conversely, the abundance of
imagery and information is so great, that it may paradoxically make it disappear35.
Using pure Cartesian terminology, in 1923, Le Corbusier was telling us that the plan was the
generator, and that without it there is disorder, randomness, that the plan is the essence of sensation36.
In our days, there is a growing tendency for architecture to leave this extruded plan, opening up to
the algorithmic complexity provided by the digital era. On the one hand, that finally enables the
visualization and calculation of the shapes generated by the complex math of the non-Euclidian ge-
ometry, which had been long remaining extraordinarily difficult to proceed. On the other hand, it
somewhat ‘democratizes’ design, making its production seemingly more accessible to a larger share
of the population, as in the least noticeable by the customization enablement provided by multiple
brands in different businesses. Anyhow, no matter how sophisticated the technological development,
the best option may at cases be, rather than detaching the design to the point of a complete abstrac-
tion with no referential to tangible elements, to keep the design in closer contact with the designer’s
reach, perpetuating an analogical sense to it37. In a way, the analogical has been underestimated by
modernity, and the digital38 is so hardly separable from the concrete, as the conceptual thought is
from our sensibility. As neurology seems to confirm, the spiritual and the corporeal doing are referred
to one another and are interdependent39, definitively shredding the Cartesian dualism apart.
Historically, through successive technological breakthroughs—inventions as some may call it—such
as the optical instruments, the perspective, photography, television, internet, and so on, our civiliza-
tion has progressively transited from a sort of realist space, objective, coordinated, in apparent control
by the observer, to an immersion in seemingly virtual spaces, which are simultaneously personal and
shared to the point of no distinction40. As space was becoming objectivized, from the infinitely small to
the infinitely big (to the point of escaping common imagination and having to be expressed in math-
ematical formulas), our culture has also dematerialized it, making us constantly dive in ever more
diversified (and specialized) spaces41.
In a prevalent perspective of our technologically based material culture, to measure, register, ac-
count, predict, and so forth, come as requisites for the superlative idea of constantly achieving an
ever more efficient pace that will likely lead us to somewhere better. We may easily assume this pos-
itivist idea of progress without even remembering to question the cornerstones of such paradigm42—
Jacques Tati’s movies have remarkably satirized it. However, the rational positivism of the sciences,
has somewhat been giving place to relativism in people’s minds and habits. In a sense, we live the
20
paradox of what we can call the relativist positivism. The once unitary idea of space (as in Le Corbusier’s
sensation generated by a plan), which characterizes the Modern culture narrative, has been fragmented,
leading us to witness to the increased visibility of a reality where there is an endless a proliferation of
space-times in a space-time only apparently common.
Aside the fireworks, if we recall Henry David Thoreau’s retreat to the woods, some things seem
to have not changed that much. We are still rooted to basic stimulate as the beauty of a landscape or
of a place, the noises of the city, the smell and flavor of the food we taste, the comfort of a chair, the
cosines of a bed, or the warmth of a body43. We experience, remember, compare, feel. Diffusely (and
inaccurately), we rebuild remembrances of space-times from our body-image. Our comfort sensa-
tions, protection and shelter, rooted in our genes and experience, strengthened and articulated in the
interaction with the surrounding, and that will constrain our re-conformation of space-time by the
architectural action. The architectural experience is multi-sensorial, absorbs qualities of space-time
and matter44, dynamically mapping and recalibrating them towards us, involving several states of
sensorial experience that interact and merge with each other. Beyond the modernist functionalism,
or any kind of abstraction, there are human bodies, living, experiencing, …errant beings. Beyond an
inebriating barrage of images and rhetoric’s, there are people with their own space-time experiences,
and there can be architecture too. Space-time is the place and occasion of our needs and dreams, of
our senses and emotions45. The body contributes with content that is part and parcel of the workings
of the mind. The mind is embodied, in the full sense of the term, not just embrained46. It is not just
me, as fully embodied with and within space-time. It is me with my world, both finally undistinguish-
able within the spiral of one’s existence.
21
3 ILLUSTRATING IDEOLOGICAL INCONGRUITIES
The Weissenhofsiedlung (Weissenhof Estate) built for the Deutscher Werkbund exhibition of 1927, in
Stuttgart, became a landmark of the modern architectural spirit. Twenty-one buildings comprising
sixty dwellings, displaying a strong consistency in design, with simplified facades, window bands, flat
roofs, free plan, and a high level of prefabrication which made their construction possible in a short
period of five months. These were designed by seventeen European architects, mostly German-
speaking, including Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, J. J. Oud, Walter Gropius, Bruno and Max
Taut, Peter Behrens or Hans Scharoun47, a true architectural stardom fair. However, the pure and
crude intentionality expressed in Gropius’ words, of form as a result of deep, inner relations, would
be seriously questioned in America with MoMA’s International Style exhibition and book in 1932, under
the coordination of Philip Johnson and Henry-Russell Hitchcock. As the formal similarities between
the buildings of the Weissenhofsiedlung seem to indicate, there seemed to be more to it than inner
relations: Gropius’ words had avoided it, but after all, modern architecture was a style, was modern-
ist. In the end, the discarded ‘expressionisms’ were alive, it was certainly a different thing, but it was
alive.
The Great Depression of the 1930s had a disastrous effect. The state sponsorship, required by
the high investment of the big social housing blocks, was at a stall. Many estates and projects were
postponed indefinitely, while the architectural profession itself became somewhat politically polar-
ized. Among other examples, such would be symbolized by the dismissal, in 1930, of the Bauhaus
director Hannes Meyer, who professed a Marxist doctrine, stressing the importance of collective
housing for the working class. Meyer’s replacement by Mies van der Rohe would cause some contro-
versy. Some accused Mies of being indulgent to the wealthy, since he would proceed in turning the
Bauhaus into a private school. This fact added to the sort of clientele he had, manifested in the luxury
of buildings such as the Barcelona Pavilion (1929) or of his Lange and Esters houses (1930) in an aristo-
cratic quarter of Krefeld (Germany). Nevertheless, such accusations would not avoid the Nazi gov-
ernment to close the school in 1933, under Mies’ direction, claiming it was a nest of communist
intellectualism. The staff would disperse, spreading their intellectuality all over the world. Regardless
Bauhaus’ circumstances, it is for a fact that the traumatic war experience, inflation and misery that
accompanied the growing urbanization process, allowed a social and political awareness much deeper
than, probably, what in normal circumstances would have been produced.
Somewhat in counter cycle with most of the opinions expressed in CIAM, the Americanized
Richard Neutra would defend an urban philosophy not necessarily dependable in the multi-story
apartment building as most of the proposals ended up analyzing and defending. The Austrian-born
Neutra had practice based in the USA and often went lecturing in Europe, but he was also one of the
few ‘non-European’ CIAM members, and he brought his American insight to the stand. He speaks
22
of a liberal American tradition of individually setting a place to live, and he compares the pros and
cons of both individual detached houses and multi-story apartment buildings. It is a reality that is
politically very distinct of the European, where state-sponsored housing programs were the rule to
face the housing problem, as it was the case in the Berlin or Moscow metropolis.
Neutra’s analysis does not focus in political aspects, yet in economic and technical ones, to demon-
strate his point of view. Describing the cons of apartment buildings, besides some technical issues,
such as fire safety, emergency exits, elevators or access stairs and corridors, he expresses a major
concern in the financing issues: “funding for large buildings finds greater difficulties than small buildings due to
the retention of credit”48, and “it is clear that tall buildings with modest public housing rent and intermediate large
green spaces should be funded by government agencies or other social organizations. Private enterprise is engaged in the
construction of tall buildings only when there is the possibility to set higher rents. The promoter’s greatest risk, the greater
financial difficulty of the project is, in this case, overcome by a higher profit per unit of surface, precisely what is meant to
be avoided in the first place”49. Neutra defends that low-rise seems to be generally more attractive to
families. In his opinion, the option between long commute times—to enjoy a pleasant suburban life
away from the ‘machine’ of the workplace—or the option to live in a place where there is not such a
obvious possibility to disconnect from work—where the worker both lives and inhabits in a ‘ma-
chine’50—seems to clearly pend for a preference onto the single-family household side51.
The analysis is certainly reflected in Neutra’s architectural path, in which many single-family
houses were designed, as is the case of the Lovell House (1929, Los Angeles, California) or the Kaufmann
Desert House (1946, Palm Springs, California). These would decisively influence a Californian architec-
tural trend—the region, land of both hope and despair, which had become the Eldorado symbol of
a migrant America escaping from the Great Depression52. Although Neutra’s houses were typically
built for an upper-class clientele affording broadacres of land, the defense case of low-rise is nonethe-
less remarkable because no one else in the early CIAM meetings seems to question the mass house
as solution to the house problem so vehemently. It is almost an obscure statement, in the sense that
it is certainly closer to a sort of liberalism, which CIAM’s mole, intellectually closer to socialist per-
spective, did not praise. Nevertheless, as it is known, many of the participants would design low-rise
and single-family houses throughout their practices.
In the CIAM intervention, Neutra would not mention the potential benefits of an urban life.
However, such should not sound strange, as in general the early CIAM was foremost concerned with
the house problem for the masses, not particularly with the individuals within those masses, as in a
sense, given the need for method, human beings were inevitably reducible to a sort of statistical
existence. The modern blocks are the exact correspondence of such abstraction. Around the ideal,
Cartesian modern block there is nothing but greenery and traffic routes, there is no mix, no density,
no (imperfect) life. It is like an architectural miniature model, perfect, ideal. Within there is only
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‘function’. In this sense, no wonder Neutra seemed to ignore the benefits of a modern urban life, and
instead implying a preference for the ideal of the mythic countryside, or an agrarianism tendency,
which would pervade the works of many modern American architects, as was iconically the case of
Frank Lloyd Wright. In any case, Neutra also did not refer to the harsh implications of a sprawled,
motor depending, oil and overall resources consuming, de-densified territory, has it would become
more clearly evident decades later in the aftermath of the 1970’s oil crisis53.
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25
4 ALDO VAN EYCK’S ORPHANAGE SYNTHESIS
4.1 The Otterlo Circles
Aldo Van Eyck’s Otterlo Circles is an allegory for an architecture that has to deal with the ‘constancy
of change’54, with what is different from the past, and what is novelty, but also with what has remained
the same. An architecture that has to deal with what is different from an Other, but also with what is
bonding. Moreover, an architecture dealing with the substance of relationships, that is, an architecture
dealing with its structures55.
In a way, Man was and had been, in all places and all times, the same being, but man has also
changed in many ways. According to Eyck, “we can discover ourselves everywhere – in all places and ages –
doing the same things in a different way, feeling the same differently, reacting differently to the same”56. Throughout
History, man’s basic survival needs have been kept pretty much unchanged, and there are certainly
constant aspects related with the sensations of comfort, pleasure, security, happiness or beauty, which
span the times and places, although addressed in different forms throughout the different circum-
stances. Some of these have even become measurable or statistically predictable, such as comfort
temperature, correct amount of light to read, and so on57. However, man’s condition as social and
cultural being leads him to understand his inhabited spaces differently. Such varies in the changes
obtained via historical evolution, as well as regarding social or cultural differences. Social and cultural
aspects are as essential as food and shelter, because it is through them we can make sense of spaces
to establish places, affecting notions such as identity, security or privacy: human nature facing culture,
the individual facing the collective, difference and change acknowledged, and these ultimately re-
flected in the built form58.
From Van Eyck’s Circles we can interpret that the evolutionary organicism of the vernacular can-
not be mimicked. We can only understand its spirit, ‘the hearth’. From this position, there is no point
in architecture to pretend it is something it is not, in the sense of simulating the vernacular, since
architecture is not vernacular building, although it has most likely been so primordially, and although
embedded of its problem-solving authenticity. Hence, it is of no use to fantasize an idealized vernac-
ular, and uncritically borrowing its synchronistic or morphological characteristics to newly designed
forms, as such inevitably redounds in a sort of trasvestism, or formalistic heterotopic approach.
The valuable lesson of ‘the hearth’ is that architecture is to be inside-out, not outside-in or image-
in. Architecture is about form, framing a reality, bounding space-time, setting the potential for place,
and it exerts it through implied control mechanisms through design. Architecture is also misogynous
and spongy: it combines and absorbs. Architecture’s epistemologies also carry its own evolving cul-
tural background, which inevitably involves an academic knowledge of the classical, of geometries,
26
proportions, and so forth. Architects are set to deliver formal, ‘determined’ responses to habitat
problems that cannot simply ignore the academic training. More, they are impelled to provide form.
However, somewhere in-between an inevitable formal mimicking and the ‘hearth’ of the vernacular
there is a rich exploration field. It adds that architects are sometimes requested to solve problems
through design, when the real problems are far from being related with design: it is not the architect’s
job to ‘solve society’s ills’, he is an actor in society, just like any other.
Some, like Coderch, when confronted with the inevitable task of delivering form, refer to the
educational, the role-model responsibility of architecture in the everyday dysfunctional territory. In
this perspective, architecture represents something like drops of beauty laid in a sea of ugliness, virally
contaminating it59. Others, like John Habraken, avoid the ‘prejudice’ of form, sticking up with the
concepts, preferring to bind its epistemologies with the ever-changing realities at an analytical level.
If form is a frame in a certain moment in time, as soon as present passes it becomes outdated. In this
sense, Habraken’s conceptual stand is as valid as Coderch’s. As it is argued by Stewart Brand60, if we
get more interested in buildings than with architecture it is likely we realize that in many cases archi-
tecture is allergic to time, because architects keep being asked to build lasting monuments, frozen in
time. Yet buildings have no such presumption, buildings live in time, the same way we do, and as in
time we learn, and, in time, buildings learn.
4.2 The Orphanage
The Orphanage in Amsterdam (1959) is a peak expression of Aldo Van Eyck’s synthesis stated in
the Otterlo Circles61. In it, the classical tradition is underlined in the geometrical order of the primary
organization. The mode in which it is established a clear support of the ‘architraves’ in the building’s
columns also refers to this classical stance. Nonetheless, the ‘immutability and rest’ of the classical is
traversed by a dynamic ordering of reality. Circulation pays no deeds to axial symmetry or any sort
of classicist-like cannon. Different floor levels succeed, unfolding in inner streets, which have no
bond with central perspective, dynamically shifting, bonding to the unexpected, poised to enact life.
Space is structured, functionally attributed, yet ambivalent. Some critics would regard it as formally
suffering from a ‘Kasbah-itis’, as it resembled the much in vogue Kasbah’s, which were widely scruti-
nized at the epoch, and therefore criticized as being misadjusted to the Dutch climate, and so forth62.
In this sense, one may consider that the impressions of the vernacular were literally depicted to form.
Certainly, in a planned building such as this, the organicity of a Kasbah, with forms added in time
according to needs, could only be transcribed as a total and not as scattered additions in time. The
building is designed as it appears to sight. Its constructed form is final, not open-ended and additive,
although it may resemble so. In a way, its form is final whereas its content is open. Nonetheless, the
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open-endedness in the consideration of social intercourse aspects, as well as the application of addi-
tive principles during the design process, are certainly innovative aspects brought about through this
building.
In the Orphanage, Van Eyck designed a configuration of places that were simultaneously contained
and overlapping. Guiding the design was a concern on the dialectic of opposites, or ‘twin phenomena’
(e.g. open-closed, inside-outside, small-big, much-little, many-few). Each unit is designed to work
independently, while relating with a larger part containing it. The univocal, isolated relationships of
functionalism, privileging the object, do not take place here. Instead, relationships become more im-
portant than the objects themselves. With such emphasis in the relationships and in the dialectic of
opposites, the (changing) ‘place’ acquires the potential of multiple significances. Van Eyck uses the
term polyvalence to describe such multiplicity of signification within each space. For instance, to
enter the complex, one must pass beneath an elevated part of the building, which leads to a patio.
Although they all occur in the exterior, these elements, alongside small shifts in the pavement, de-
marcate the building from the outside world. The whole building can be seen as a succession of
transitions, from a public to a private sphere, ultimately leading to the most reserved spaces, i.e. the
dormitories in the upper floor.
Van Eyck’s appraised notion of ‘aesthetics of number’ is also present, as a limited number of archi-
tectural elements compose the building’s ensemble. Differences in floor level, concrete stairs, circular
roof lights, dome-like roofs and partition walls of brick and glass set in many variations, but with a
recognizable underlay. There is a sort of underlying grammar, which is both material and dimension-
ally regulatory. Similarity strategies prevail, as structural or enclosing functions are assigned the same
materials (e.g. stairs in concrete, or walls in glass or brick), or the overall composition is orthogonally
regulated. These enable a typification of elements, proceeded in economic principles, which none-
theless enable an overall complex system of polyvalent spaces intended to encourage users to appro-
priate space.
4.3 Dialectics of control and freedom
How to hierarchize control, allowing freedom is a typical structuralist stance, to which if regarding
a long-run time component, where buildings are submitted to change or re-use over time, it may also
be included in a sustainability sphere. Aldo Van Eyck’s Orphanage has seen its use in time been trans-
formed. In 1987, the building became place of learning with the arrival of the Berlage Institute to inhabit
it, and the building has shown its capacity to withstand the changes of a new occupancy in its stride.
When it later became used as an office building, little of the former internal characteristics were left.
28
Nonetheless, a primary structure withstood the changes. Most of the sensitively crafted interior dis-
appeared, and yet the building managed to endure the changes within, revealing itself as a truly open
functional structure.
In any case, this revelation was not premeditated by the architect, he has actually shown some
disappointment for that fact to his peers. It was Aldo Van Eyck’s influences, his mental immersion
on the program requirements, and need of its original inhabitants, that allowed him to initially devise
the form, transposing the requirements and needs to spatial qualities. The building was initially de-
signed with the children in mind, on providing them the best possible conditions with the available
means. In this sense, the form was deterministic, custom-made, crafted for each purpose.
Hence, there is little surprise in the fact that Van Eyck was not very fond of the change63. The
architectural ‘order’ of the building was initially set for open interpretation space-by-space, place-by-
place. It was open to a certain speech, but it was not thought of for a language shift as it occurred
with a radical change of use. Nonetheless, the building’s structure endured such radical language shift,
gutted from its original dialectics. Part of the original is still there, but the building inevitably acquired
a very different character. The structural elements and all the outer shell, including external walls and
roofing, are what most outstandingly remained.
Regarded from a life-cycle point of view of the constituent parts of the building, the stronger
elements endured the passage of time, while the more perishable or easily replaceable have proven to
have a shorter expectancy. The changes in the Orphanage also highlight the difficult congruence be-
tween the theoretical arguments and the practice. In Van Eyck’s case, answering the emotional needs,
as he had so remarkably expressed in the Otterlo Circles, was a motive that he attempted to fulfill, yet
forgetting that, as in most buildings that endure, is quite common for the initial purposes to change
over time.
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5 DOWN MAGRITTE’S RABBIT HOLE
The legacy of the painter René Magritte brilliantly illustrates the questioning of signs, and it cer-
tainly illustrates the games of appearances in which meaning can be diluted. Magritte aimed to create
paintings that would, in his words, “challenge the real world”64. He achieved such questioning by chal-
lenging us with different visual expressions of displacements and mismatches of the objects (their
‘reality’, labelling or truthfulness).
With the The Treachery of Images (La trahison des images, 1928-29) a pipe is pictured with a caption
saying ‘this is not a pipe’ (Ceci n’est pas une pipe). In the same year, Magritte publishes a less know article
in the journal La Revolution Surréaliste, generally exposing his doctrine and showing that what he had
playfully portrayed in the painting was only a part of a larger set of problems he was working on,
dealing with different aspects of the relation between words, images, and reality65.
Concordantly, Magritte would eventually say that such was not a pipe, but a mere representation
of one, and if he had written otherwise, that he would be lying. Indeed the painting is an image of a
pipe, not a real one. Alfred Korzybski similarly remarked, “the map is not the territory”66, also noting the
difference between the abstraction and the thing in itself and their dependency on a similarity relation.
The latter is an argument particularly visible in contemporary engagement of meaning/becoming
within a context as brought about through electronic digital media. Maps can induce territories as if
hyper-real, virtual landscapes. That also stands for diagrams, architectural models or sketches, as they
embed the potential to project the real (or the hyper-real) environments. Electronic digital media
brings not only the possibility to visualize or manipulate the virtual-hyper-real, authoring models
using the computer code (binary, elemental difference), or navigating through representations ena-
bled by those. It changes fundamental space and time notions, bringing them closer together, to the
point of no more distinguishable substance, to the point of meaning and representation to be hardly
recognizable from one another67.
Magritte’s would further develop the theme of image and meaning in the Interpretation of Dreams
(1930). As in a child’s reading primer, the painting pictures six different elements (egg, shoe, hat,
candle, glass and hammer) and their respective captions. Yet, none of the captions corresponds to
what should be the expected description of the image above: the shoe is captioned as ‘the moon’, the
hat as ‘the snow’, the hammer as ‘the desert’, and so on. With this, Magritte draws attention to a
certain arbitrariness of language. There is seemingly no real connection between the picture and its
caption, but there is no reason for it not to signify something else instead.
Indeed, when learning a new thing, we are implicitly instructed on how to establish some connec-
tions (how to frame this and that, what and where, and so on) and, by such, to make meaning out of
it. By reading Magritte’s painting we are invited to make our own connections between the sets of
signifiers. The painting explicitly keeps options open, preserving the secret of its final signifier. Such
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sorts of mechanisms are certainly not exclusive of painting, being also found in other forms of ex-
pression. They are eminent in poetry, where, by proposing parallels, the reader is invited to make his
own connections between apparently distinct signifiers. Nonetheless, in a way, Magritte is also im-
plying that beyond words there are just empty signifiers.
In Not to be reproduced (1937), a similar theme reappears. The painting depicts a man seemingly
looking to what it seems like a mirror, facing his back towards us, the painting’s observer. Yet, where
we would expect to see his face staring at us through the reflection in the mirror, we again see his
back reproduced.
In the painting portraying a pipe, beyond the words ‘ceci n’est pas une pipe’, we were lead (invited)
to realize that the image was fake. In Not to be reproduced we are lead to realize for sure that the very
same words of the pipe were images themselves, and not only because they were carefully drawn and,
by that, resembling images of words in themselves. In it, we do not see the man’s face, we see his
back again, and immediately we are confronted with the existence of both backs as images. Moreover,
we can even realize we are behind that back, becoming ourselves images of us, as if we were that very
man, as if we would ourselves be representations. Such would not be ‘truth’, but it would not either
be ‘false’. Here something leads us to think we are seeing a mirror. Yet, Magritte shows that some-
thing much more important is there. On the one hand, the mirror (or what is represented as a mirror),
and the whole representation (or the painting as a whole and the very seeming reality beyond it) can
be deceiving. Conversely, everything is ultimately a mental representation whose bond to a sense of
real (as in Abbot’s Flatland where we cannot perceptually imagine more dimensions than those we
experience) is constrained by an outstanding ‘otherness’, an invisible ‘otherness’ we cannot reach.
Finally, with paintings such as Son of a Man (1964), everything is inevitably hidden inside of another
thing, like a matryoshka, or so it may appear. This painting portrays what it appears to be a man behind
what it appears to be an apple, and what appears to be the face of what it appears to be a man is
hidden behind of what it appears to be an apple. With it, we can no longer be conformed at all to
what we see. We want to see what can be the face of a man that seems being behind the apple that
we seem to see. Appearances, games, shades, conspiracies, possibilities, is it the artist trapping us, or
what else is going on? We may think there is nothing there, there is no apple, no man, and no face:
there is an image, empty. Still, we want, we wish, we desire to see.
We, humans, are curious, and so we want to see behind what we see, to the point there is nothing
else to see, and still, unresigned, we will want to see more – how long is the coast of Britain?, asked
Benoît Mandelbrot. We can go there and scratch the surface of the painting. But most certainly there
is nothing behind the apple (except probably the materials of the canvas and the frame that holds
them behind, and so forth). There is only the apple itself, or rather the image of the apple, which is
not an apple at all, but is not also the image of an apple: it is all, so it seems, a conspiracy of the mind.
31
Yet it appears also not to be empty, it looks like there is something, something we can relate to, or
more precisely, something we can relate with a reproduction of some possible similar other (because
the image is reproduction of yet another), and produce (non)sense of an image of an image. We,
humans, are curious and we, humans, build meanings, and that is a standpoint that in language terms
only humans can subscribe. Conversely, we can build meanings even if language is absent, or signs
undecipherable, or even if we cannot express them to others.
With ‘ceci n’est pas une pipe’, as Foucault notes in an essay on this painting, there is the presence of
the calligram, ideogram, or the image-text and text-in-image68. With it, we enter in a tautological set
of remembrances, of spaces within spaces. The eye (mind) deciphers, but the mind (eye) is equivocal.
To erase the signifier, we have to do more than that. To erase the signifier, we have to erase the
graphical set of the text, we have to erase the frame of the painting, voiding the void, and still, re-
markably unparadoxically, it is unattainable because the signifier is within, we are it. The pipe, while
denying, is denied of its denial, it becomes a calligrammatic cyclic redundancy. Ultimately, it is a verbal
game, a language game (isn’t everything?), but a very serious one. It outstandingly evidences the trap
of language, which is also the trap of the (human) subject behind the (human) organism. As in William
Blake’s words in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1908): “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing
would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of
his cavern”.
The pipe is nowhere. The real is ‘mine’ and, as present tense, keeps escaping, wrapped by ever-
treachery reference points, shattered, fragmented, but ever instantaneously re-assembled, ever ready
to, again, and again be built, meaningfully. Anyhow, this is just an interpretation, and it seems rea-
sonable to presume that there are multiple other readings out there.
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33
6 ALBERT FREY’S NATURE AND INDUSTRY SYNTHESIS
6.1 A living architecture
Albert Frey (b.1903-d.1998) was born in Switzerland, and had a life path that took him, in 1928,
to Le Corbusier’s atelier where, among other projects, he collaborated in the Villa Savoye. Soon he
would become the first architect in America to have worked with Le Corbusier, with whom he would
keep close contact. It seems it was his innermost desire to embrace and explore developments related
with the unveiling of a new architecture—“I went there because I had seen his books, his architecture, and some
of his published works: I decided that I had much to learn with him”.
It was this restless desire, added by his own travels and life experiences, which would lead him to
later develop the ‘new’ in his own terms. This would happen after moving to the USA, in 1931. The
early times there where spent in New York, working with A. Lawrence Kocher. Together, they design
the Aluminaire house (1931), built in a lightweight structure of steel and aluminum and embodying a
prefabrication philosophy. The house would be chosen to incorporate MoMA’s International Style ex-
hibition in 1932.
The Great Depression was striking, and in that same year, Frey travels through the USA, making
photos of industrial constructions—metallic gas containers, bridges, electrical towers and the desert
landscape. This new country delivered him a wonderland of new materials, and industrial types of
constructions, but it also brought a fascination for the mesmerizing landscapes, most notably the
immense of the desert, with its contrasts of heat and cold, flat and mountain, dust and rock, heart
and sky, death and life…, and its shapes, shades, textures and feelings. The material gathered from
his journeys would result in the book In Search of a Living Architecture, posteriorly published in 1939,
where he sets a programmatic tone for his own architecture, manifesting an appraisal for the forms
of nature and placing them in dialogue with the industrial forms of man. In his journeys he would
also visit Neutra and Schindler, which he recognizes as influences alongside Le Corbusier and Mies
Van der Rohe: “(they helped with) the idea of expanding the house in the landscape”69.
From his words, architecture is originated in nature, and hence it must be drawn back to it. The
splendor of nature is the ever-unreachable model of man’s artifacts. Its perfection is greater than architecture
can ever aspire to. Engaging with architecture is also being aware of what surround us all the time, both natural
and human (made) landscape. Accordingly, he writes the following: “observe carefully how things come about in
nature (…). See lots of architecture… get full of it”. The new, modern, architecture must be a synthesis of these spheres,
economy, efficiency, and beauty taught by the natural forms, allied to the possibilities and limitations of man-
made materials, of which the industrially produced are the highest example. In addition, it is not only the
haptic properties that one should observe from nature, but the very principles of spatial and formal compo-
sition, as altogether they enrich the new architecture: “it is by studying the forms of nature, which have always inspired
34
mankind, and those of traditional architecture, which have induced beyond practical usefulness, for theories of ideas and
structure that we will discover the basic principles which guide the creation of shape, space, and composition and be able
to build a living architecture that not only provides us with physical comfort but with spiritual joy as well (…). I studied
forms, industrial and natural, and then I analyzed what the form meant (…). Two fundamental elements of composition
are combined in one structure, an illustration of the way modern methods enrich visual experience”.
Frey considers that there is not an inevitably to attain a continuity solution between nature, needs
and human work: “I try to have a preconceived idea about the building, without seeing how the location is, and by
that I try to compose and to make architecture out of it with the functions and all the rest. I try to work with nature…
I do not aggresse it, I respect it. Nature is beautiful. After all, we come from it. We have grown for millions of years in
contact with it (…). You must also have fantasy working out. After all, that is life. When you think in what is
happening in nature, in fantastic forms, in birds and animals and all. That is where creativity comes in”. Anyhow,
he ends up analyzing every bit of the site, as it was the case of House Frey II, where he spent months
just to analyze the sun position along the year until finally deciding the exact location and orientation,
and where he surveyed every inch to fit the building with the rocky plot. Therefore, his perspective
is not about not a dichotomous relation nature vs (man)machine, but a dialectical one, where each
has its own space, but each has to be aware of the space of other.
Work would lead Frey to Palm Springs, in 1933, to supervise the construction of a joint project
with Kocher, the Kocher-Sampson house (1934). Since the 1920’s, the desert around Palm Springs,
became a rest and winter vacations area for rich and bohemian people – the desert as a safe haven
for the realities of daily life. In less than two decades, the desert also became an experimentation field
of modern architecture, as exemplified by the Popenoe Cabin (Rudolph Schindler, 1922), or the Miller
house (Richard Neutra, 1937), embryo of what would follow years later with the masterpiece Kaufman
house (Richard Neutra, 1946).
6.2 House Frey I
After constructing the Kocher-Sampson, Frey decides to stay in Palm Springs, where, in 1941, he
builds the central nucleus of his House Frey I. Experimentation is visibly the greatest driver, in a house
that started as a minimum bachelor pad house, in 1941, and ended as a family house in 1953. That is
reflected both in the formal language and in the design philosophy, with its additive and transforma-
tive approach. The building began with the design of horizontal planes elevated by vertical walls,
which are either transparent or opaque. Initially, these recalled a tridimensional neoplasticist interplay,
with planes extending towards the exterior, somewhat resembling Mies Van der Rohe’s archetypal
Barcelona Pavilion (1929). Experimentation is also extended to the use of concepts such as growth and
adaptability, since the house went through different stages, which would follow an intention and
35
expression through ruled or modular architectural elements. Finally, these make use of industrially
borrowed materials, which further enhance the underlying general theme of man (artifice) facing
nature.
The bachelor pad is a wise composition of elements that make a powerful play of contrasts. One of
these occurs between the aluminum as external coating, the rose color used in the internal walls and
the orange tones of the furniture. There is also the contrast between the machine-like character of
the house and the desert where it sits. The original house is of 16×20ft (4.9×6.1m) and is composed
of a main room, which works as a living room at day and bedroom at night, a toilet and a small
kitchen. The walls extend towards the outside, and the flat roof creates small porches in all four sides
(one of which bigger than the others in order to park the car). Although relatively small, the vertical
plans expand the house towards to the exterior, which increases the perceptual sense of space. It is a
dot in the desert, from where any direction is possible, limitless.
The ensemble is articulated through a module of 4×4ft (1.2×1.2m), which is doubled in height to
8ft (2.4m), which is based on the dimensions of the asbestos roof plates that are used in the building.
Sliding doors are thoroughly used, enabling multiple spatial configurations. Finally, there seem to be
a special cherishing on showing technical apparatus, as both the car and the air conditioning are often
visible elements in the photographs.
From the bachelor house (1941), to the final family house (1953), there were five recognizable
stages of construction. The first is the house unit with main room, toilet, kitchen, and outside porches,
beginning with the 4ft (1.2m) modulation, interior delimitation of 16x20ft, roof covering of 28×28ft
(8.5×8.5m), and 8ft height. In stage two, a swimming pool, with concrete pavement and furniture,
was added in the south, extending the house modulation, measuring 31x28feet (9.4×8.5m). In stage
three, a pergola is added around the swimming pool, with lightweight stainless steel supports, and
white coated glue-laminated wood shades (which would not resist the Palm Springs sun); in addition,
a discreet landscaping was implemented, by adding some palm trees to the ensemble. Finally, in 1953,
the house goes through two main changes. One is the horizontal extension, including the interior
patio, construction of a new metallic and glass-fiber pergola, and colored (yellow, rose, green) corru-
gated glass-fiber wall panel. The other is the vertical extension, with the construction of the room in
a new superior floor, with circular plan and eight, hatch-like, round windows.
About the superior volume, Frey said: “Thomas Jefferson had a second floor (in its house in Monticello) which
was more octagonal, but also had circular windows. Then I remembered a Mayan astronomic observatory which I had
seen in Chichen Itza, called the Sun Tower, a round building with just a few windows. The bed was in the middle and had
a 360º view. The visors protected the openings from the sun. They were cut in angle and its depth varied according to
the side they were at”. In the interior, the walls were covered with a yellow coated cushioning, to produce a
36
cozy effect to the room, “the curtains (…) were in a sort of midnight blue, so that by night, when you would close
them, you would feel it was good to sleep with”70.
On the constructive solutions to the patio, Frey said: “(The curved thin wall) was in fiber-glass, which
could be in rose, green or yellow. It was a structural challenge… it is like a water tank, it is corrugated and sel-sustained
thanks to the curves. Therefore, one can say it is a wall of only a 1/16inch thick, instead of a heavy wall of some kind.
It only had a pair of braces…, two tubes, …(…). I like to make things with the least material possible. Speaking in
economy… I am much more interested in achieving the maximum by the minimum of money. It is a challenge by itself.
It is very easy to scatter and spend a lot of money, but that’s not very interesting. After all, the economy controls many
things”71.
The house reflects its authorship, revealing a pragmatic mode of thinking, allied with a particularly
ecological view of the world and a certain desert mystique. Technically, industrialization is thoroughly
used, with adaptation of new materials and industrial techniques applied to architecture and an overall
philosophy of economy in the approach to architecture, its space, and its materials. Artistically, early
works suggest a more abstract approach, with a neoplasticist base and the use of industrial and natural
landscape as references. Later, it is also observable a certain tendency on a sort of pop approach.
Overall, it reflects tendencies of liberty, of no constraints to pre-established paths, economy and
ecology, of experimentation and zeitgeist, but fundamentally on a path in the search of the commons
between machine and nature with man.
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7 THE ADDITIVE ARCHITECTURE OF JØRN UTZON
AND THE ESPANSIVA SYSTEM
7.1 Vernacular and natural influences
Somewhere around 1965, while working in a little site office in the Sydney Opera House, Jørn Utzon
gets up and with his 6B pencil writes the words ‘ADDITIVE ARCHITECTURE’ on the wall, adding
that ‘we have now broken through the sound barrier’. The sudden epiphany was in fact the result of a long,
slow and laborious development, retrieved from each design, each of his extensive travels, each read-
ing, each experience, all synthesized in a brief concise expression and subsequently in a homonymous
manifest72.
As his documentation attests, Utzon cherished and shared an open view towards the world. In 1948
he writes: “To understand all the inspiration present in every one of Man’s countless means of expression, to work on
the basis of our hands, eyes, feet, stomachs, on the basis of our movements and not of statistical norms and rules created
on the principle of what is most usual—this is the way forward to an architecture that is both varied and human”73.
Early on, in 1949, he had visited the pre-Columbian sites of Chichen-Itza, Uxmal and Monte Alban,
where he became seduced by the magnificence of the methodically built rock buildings and the dia-
logue they established with their setting. From the XIIth century China, Li Jie’s Ying Tsao Fa Shi tech-
nical treatise on architecture and craftsmanship, Utzon was impressed by the power of a flexible kit
of parts. Likewise, the Japanese domestic architecture, as for instance depicted by Tetsuro Yoshida in
The Japanese House and Garden (1955), with its apparent but intricate simplicity, would also leave its
imprint; namely, in the use of a constructive philosophy based in a lightweight tectonic-like approach,
integrating modularity principles, and finally, all peacefully resting in a precise relation with a sur-
rounding nature, which is also often a construction. The observation of natural structures, as depicted
in Karl Blossfeldt’s photographies or D’Arcy Thompson’s writings, was one of his most prized sub-
jects. The formal cohesion of villages such as Ait Benhaddou, which he had visited in a trip to Mo-
rocco in 1947, his study of Chinese Buddhist monasteries, or his fascination in Islamic art, how its
exceptional buildings coexisted with the medina underneath, are examples of the importance given
to the vernacular structures74.
7.2 An Additive Architecture
The kind of dialogue undertaken between the built structure and its surroundings, artificial and
natural, would become remarkably visible in buildings such as the National Assembly Building in Kuwait
(1968) or the Sydney Opera House (1957). This dialogue is in both these cases also a dialogue between
38
heavy and light—the gravitas and levitas—acting as propellers to technological development. Indeed,
the play of inside-outside transparencies, dialoguing with the surroundings is remarkable in the first,
with the heavy elements framing the transparency screens towards the outside. As in the pre-Colum-
bian plateau buildings, the Sydney Opera House conveys a feeling of being firmly tied to the ground.
Simultaneously, above the masonry plinth, the white shells seem to be lifting in the air, as sails of a
vessel ready to depart from the harbor at any time.
The shape of the shells incorporates a research that evolved towards simplicity, arising as both a
way of technical problem-solving and overall design philosophy. In the early designs, the shells re-
quired a calculus with non-Euclidian curvatures, which was virtually impossible to compute without
digital methods, non-existent at the time. Instead, as it evolved, the apparent complexity of the shells’
curvature became in fact derived from the segments of a sphere, the simplest sort of curvature. By
simplifying and thinking modularly, it was enabled a greater control and rationalization of the building
process. That occurs up to the tiniest elements, from the sphere-derived structural curvature concep-
tion, up to the modular development of the components of the white skin. These are also evidence
that a modular approach is not necessarily opposed to, say, an organic approach. Rather, it is evidence
that these can be effective means, regardless of the intentioned form and its degree of complexity75.
In Utzon’s architecture there is a sort of grammar that became progressively recognizable, where
every component of the building is interrelated, both conceptually and tectonically. Utzon’s Additive
Architecture manifesto is the utter expression of this mind-set76. With the manifesto, there is an implicit
appraisal to the virtues of mass production set towards formal freedom. A strong underlying idea is
that is possible to devise architecture from a limited set of elemental components of shared similarity,
which nonetheless enable to attain apparently complex shapes. This can be achieved as straightfor-
wardly as by juxtaposing the components with nuanced repetitions, varying with no more than simple
geometrical operators (e.g. translating or rotating). The concept thus entails a kind of repetition that
does not necessarily lead to uniformity, but ultimately to an apparent organicity. It acquires its fun-
daments in a fascination by nature’s structures, or on the vernacular built forms, and aims a return to
it, retrieving spaces and shapes that although artificial, aim to achieve an ever-more balanced relation
with their settings. The cases of the Farum’s Town Center (1966), the Herning College Campus (1969), the
housing Skåne schemes (1954)—realized in the Kingo Houses (1957) and the Fredensborg Houses (1965)—
or the Espansiva Housing System (1969), are remarkable examples of Utzon’s efforts to incorporate
Additive Architecture principles as an overall building philosophy in his works.
The realizations of the Skåne scheme are remarkable examples of taking the additive principles to
their ultimate consequences, embracing it both in the public and in the private sphere of the houses
and their ensemble. The Kingo Houses master plan denotes a unity of similarities. In a closer scale, the
designs are based in a one-story square atrium house, whose boundary changes either accordingly to
39
the relative positioning to the next square, to the topography of the terrain or to the customization
of the lot by its inhabitants. With the same configuration, the master plan could have been more rigid.
Instead, option was to codify it spatially to establish a dynamic dialogue with the setting and in time.
As consequence, the subtle changes that occur, either by topographical differences or by the custom-
ization of the units, transform the entire house complex in a vivid and by no means monotonous
ensemble. Both the public dimension of the exterior gardens, and the private dimension of the open-
ended courtyards, is bonded by a multi-scale approach where the unity of the system is perceived in
the diversity of its appearance.
7.3 The Espansiva System
The ability to individualize home in a flexible way would be the core of the building concept
Espansiva, which was also developed under the Additive Architecture principles. The initial goal of Es-
pansiva was to develop, produce and combine components for single-family houses with wood as the
predominant structural material. It envisioned the use of standardized, low-cost components, based
in a single floor modular composition. Aside conceding individual clients the ability to plan, as well
as to alter or extend in time, it also had the potential to be extended towards larger complexes. What-
ever the case, the system endured the potential to retain a formal uniformity (or resemblance) in
diversity. The components were to be put together in a very large number of spatial combinations,
be easy to assemble and produced at a competitive price. Combined they could potentially meet
different programs and space sizes requirements—houses, schools, motels, and so forth.
The modules consist of small pavilions, with a layout with fixed width and variable lengths, with
a column in each corner. In a conceptual stage these were set to come in four layout sizes. However,
the developed version of the design contains only three layout types: A (201.6×300cm); B
(321.6×300cm); and C (501.6×300cm)—measures referring to inside dimensions. The A-type layout
allowed a transition space with or without storage space, a small room, a toilet, a small toilet plus a
transition space, or other variations. The B-type layout essentially delivered the net dimensions of a
basic bedroom, a home office, a kitchen, or a dining area, among other eventual variations. The C-
type layout could be used as an open area (e.g. for a living room, normally with two joint C-types),
or joining the possibilities of both A and B types together under a single slope of roof (e.g. for a
bedroom plus toilet or plus transition area, kitchen plus dining area or plus transition area, and so
forth). Regarded in brut, the additive philosophy of the system seemingly requires a bigger lot size if
compared with a traditional construction system. Nevertheless, its effectiveness enables a spatial ra-
tionalization that may counter that very idea.
40
The main structure, two connected porticoes in laminated wood, rested in four prefabricated con-
crete beams, which were anchored to concrete foundations. Doors and windows had roughly 2.20m
and a minimum floor-height roughly 2.40m, where from runs a standard roof with 17.5º slope fol-
lowing the length dimension. Given the fixed width, but variable length, this means different top
heights for each type of module. This meant a great potential in volumetric variability. Allied to the
potential variability in the layout combinations, and the possibility of final coating in any kind of
compatible material, this meant enormous potential combinations, in layout, volume and renderings.
The project was initiated by the timber industry, and it was intended that the timber dealers would
stock elements to enable a faster construction process. In principle, a family could pick up the ex-
pansion of their house and carry it on a trailer. Extension, alteration and retraction should be easily
possible, as the structure was light and flexible. People would not be tied to specific designers or
manufacturers, as a great deal of variability was possible. All kinds of standardized doors, windows,
claddings and roofs would be possible to include in the dwelling. Utzon was greatly inspired by Alvar
Aalto’s thoughts on standardized flexibility of the interwar period, which were ultimately reflected in
the development Aalto’s AA System (1937-45): simple combinations of standardized units would
make possible to create a great variety and diversity of expression.
Espansiva concept had several particularities which were somewhat predicting a future of the con-
struction industry, implying themes such as industrial prefabrication, mass customization, system
supplies, modularity, user configuration, flexibility, and so forth. For many reasons the project was
never realized in a large scale. Among other things, it revealed several technical weaknesses, of which
most notoriously a significant waste of material. Additionally, there was still a lot of work on the
construction site to put the house together, finishing the façades, of interiors, and so on, which im-
peded many of the though-of advantages. Furthermore, there was no thought of installations, as these
also had to be made on site.
The use of mass produced, generic elements, was embedded in an intention of enabling to build
each house regardless their location. In first hand, this may seem to contradict Utzon’s concepts of
harmony with the natural setting, as it would be eloquently achieved in his later Kingo Houses. In any
case, the Espansiva case should also be seen as a part of an overall effort of providing quality housing
at affordable prices while enabling individualization, an effort that throughout modern architectural
history has been undertaken by many of its most remarkable figures. Espansiva is embedded of a
economic spirit that nonetheless embraces configurations that are gradually more elaborate. As in
nature or in the vernacular, change is acknowledged, ultimately hardwired in the additive philosophy.
41
8 JOHN TURNER’S NETWORK AND HIERARCHY
The central theme of who decides what for whom is an enquiry on how we house ourselves, how we
keep healthy, how we learn. It is an enquiry on the control (e.g. political, economic, commercial,
institutional) exerted in modern societies. It is also an enquiry on how to regard such control as a
means or as the ends, and how to exert our (fundamental) freedoms. Moreover, it an enquire on how
to integrate user participation within housing and dignifying living conditions, which should be avail-
able for all, as expressed in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1949), and recognized in many
national constitutions.
Although so far never entirely fulfilled, John Turner’s views, expressed in Housing by People: Towards
Autonomy in Building Environments (1976)77, have been implied in some attempts in Europe to involve
residents’ participation concerning the built environment. That was the case of the cohousing move-
ment in Scandinava, of the works on self-building and participatory architecture of the 1960’s and
1970’s, or of the work of architects such as Walter Segal, and the development of the Segal System.
The latter pioneered a low-cost system of timber-frame building, where anyone who could pick up a
hammer could build its own house78.
Turner departs from an open-ended standpoint, empowering users while advocating the use of
short footprint construction products. He writes: “In historical fact, good housing like plentiful food, is more
common where it is locally produced through network structures and decentralizing technologies… these are the only
ways and means through which satisfactory goods and services can be obtained, and that they are vital for a stable
planet… We have no right whatsoever to tell others to tighten their belts while our own belies protrude so much that we
cannot see the poverty we stand on”79. From his work, it can be understood that, in housing, focus must be
put in understanding different control strategies. To attain it, typically there are two distinct lines of
approach. In one locally self-governed housing systems, as illustrated in the historical, idealized ver-
nacular or in less romanticized forms of vernacular such as the contemporary slums. On the other,
policies of central control, ascribing to a deterministic top-down stance. On the one hand, there is
autonomy, on the other, heteronomy.
42
Figure 1. Diagrammatic representation of patterns of decision and control describing two opposite systems (locally or centrally governed)
as mirror images.
Turner’s diagram-grid eloquently depicts the problematic (Figure 1). Decision-making sets of op-
erations (i.e. planning, construction and management), are crossed with institutions controlling the
resources for the process itself (i.e. the users or popular sector, the suppliers or private commercial
sector and the regulators or public sector). Provided that the goal is the same (i.e. to deliver proper
housing and living conditions), probably the most balanced solutions lay somewhere in between the
autonomy and heteronomy poles80.
In his view, the high and inevitable spiraling cost of hierarchic systems typically creates a dispro-
portionate dependency on borrowed capital. Such ultimately leads to such systems to collapse finan-
cially. On the other hand, systems kept by network structures tend to flourish. They only become
unstable or disappear because of movements by hierarchic structures. In low-income cases, the in-
vestment made by highly hierarchical structures is hardly recoverable. On the other hand, apparently,
the closer is a system to the user, the more likely will be that in the long run the system will prove
viable. Emotional aspects, such as a sense of belonging, certainly will be reflected in user engagement
and responsibility, leading to a closer care with reflex in a long run. Nonetheless, such is not always
possible to achieve in architectural solutions, even if incentives are seemingly the right ones.
43
9 JOHN HABRAKEN’S SUPPORTS
Mass housing is an important area on which aspects to streamline user participation have been
thoroughly researched. In The Netherlands, The Foundation for Architectural Research (SAR) has since
1964 been on the forefront of such research, embedded in a spirit of using prefabricated elements
for both the loadbearing elements and the detachable parts. The quintessential conceptualization is
due to John Habraken’s distinction of support and infill (or supports theory, as it is also known)81,
which establishes the principle of three autonomous levels: building, subdivisions and furnishings.
Among the core references to the theory stands the Schröder House. Influences also came from the
Dutch structuralist tradition of Aldo Van Eyck, Piet Blom and Herman Hertzberger. The proposals
made a distinction between permanent ‘hard core’ and flexible and changing interior. A famous prec-
edent for the Supports’ idea is too the Plan Obus by Le Corbusier. Habraken's proposal is based in a
fundamental concept: the separation of the collective, permanent components of a residential build-
ing (i.e. what strictly corresponds to ordinances, structures, technical installations, and openings: the
support), from that which could be transformed by the individual dweller (i.e. the interior partitions,
closets, bathrooms and kitchens elements, that is, the detachable units: the infill).
By establishing clear gradients between public and private, exalting and improving them in tran-
sition spaces, and with the possibility of users transforming the base building, the supports theory,
applied to residential buildings and neighborhoods, has facilitated the addressing of the typical com-
plexity of high-density housing. The developments were both embedded of a participatory philoso-
phy, and an acknowledgment of the importance of industrialized methods of construction, with the
structures conceived through the support and infill concept.
A durable support would be linked to the aspect of housing production that represented communal
responsibility, and the infill stood for individual control. In the course of the 1960s, Habraken got to
know other proponents who designed alternative structures for the city, such as Constant and Yona
Friedman, but he considered their plans too utopian. However, he did not make himself drawings of
models portraying his supports proposal, because he wanted it to be adaptable to all kinds of formal-
isms. In the core of his proposal lays the system, the method, and the set of rules.
Amongst SAR’s research developments, in support may be also distinguished the bearer and the
infrastructure, both retaining a community’s responsibility, and individual infill, accompanied by mod-
ularized dimensions which intrinsically facilitate the incorporation of prefabrication elements. An-
other development is the conception of prefabricated service units for kitchens and bathrooms, their
inner characteristics and layout position in free plan layouts, in order to enable users to furnish freely
their living spaces.
Among other proposals, in SAR was developed a zoning system in order to ensure an optimization
of these aspects. The proposal divides the house in three zones, parallel to the façades. The two zones
44
closer to the outer walls are used for living spaces. Between these and the third, placed inside and
containing the services, there is a margin allowing for flexibility in the zones’ dimensions. The posi-
tion of inner partitions and service shafts obeys a modular dimensional system, which sets users’ free
to adjust the space to their needs according to the underlying system. Therefore, the users were to be
engaged in the design process, which gave them a greater freedom, while it was assured an industrial
efficiency regardless the choices within the system.
Certainly Hertzberger’s Central Beheer reflects some of the supports notions, giving it a tectonic
sort of sense. The discreet modes of a tectonic approach seem adjusted to constructive elements that
can be distinguishable, and such can be paradigmatically ascribed to a Northern European kind of
architecture of an industrialized influence. However, these are too fit to a sort of archetypal mass and
volume of the South82. Indeed, by no direct means linked to the supports theory, the example of
Alvaro Siza’s Malagueira Quarter (1977) is an expressive manifestation of an architectural design com-
bining control and freedom, where there is an implied use of structure and infill presupposes, alt-
hough acting at a different level in a Southern architecture.
45
10 ENACTING FREEDOM IN HERMAN HERTZBERGER’S CENTRAL BEHEER
As it has been expressed by Herman Hertzberger, “(Structuralism) has proliferated in everything in terms
of putting things together… All sorts of systems and especially the computer systems are now considered to be Structur-
alism. I understood it as a way of increasing freedom: by having some things structured you get more freedom, not less.
The misunderstanding others have is that they use the idea to keep control”83. However, the idea of an architec-
ture where there is a primary concern in focusing in the individual (how to incentivize participation)
has been proven to be hard to put in practice. The set of rules (e.g. economic, legal) that have to be
followed to make a building is tighter and tighter, as “today everything has to be fixed and decided before the
work starts”84. However, it is also a more increasingly industrialized architecture, relaying more and
more in the catalogue picking, rather than developing elaborate detailing from scratch85.
In Hertzberger’s work there is a philosophy accompanying both his buildings and his writings,
which poises a certain freedom in spatial relations. That translates in spatial conceptions favoring
appropriation and customization by users. In such, the concepts of structure and filling, in line with
Noan Chomsky’s notion of competence and performance, are essential to understand a reconciliation of
the individual with the collective in the architectural production86. In fact, Hertzberger’s architecture
attempts to be structuralist up to the tiniest scale. In a way, he regards form as a consequence, not
the design motive or aspiration, in an overall concern in designing spaces that are clear but complex,
solid but adaptable. Indeed, Hertzberger’s structuralistic approach does not end up in some kind of
external form, it goes all the way to the smaller scale, and from within, with an underlying idea of
spatial articulation, of providing conditions for people to flexibly occupy space87.
In that respect, the Central Beheer building in Apeldoorn (1968-72) is probably Hertzberger’s
most eloquent built example. The design brief asked for a building for the headquarters of an insur-
ance group whose activities were not limited to the insurance sector, but which also offered other
services. It should also be possible to allocate space, and the building should be able to house one-
thousand people. Overall, the building would predictably require frequent changes, which ought to
be possible to accommodate within itself, and such meant adaptability was to be a permanent condi-
tion.
The building is a sort of archipelago of 56 square-based units of 9×9m, which are subdivided into
smaller ones. The spatial design is based on a basic modular scheme of a combined cruciform struc-
ture, generically including three types of spaces: basic functional spaces of square base; large horizon-
tal circulation spaces in between the square spaces; and void vertical spaces. The cruciform spatial
structure is co-related with the building’s primary construction elements, undergoing two comple-
mentary principles: a clear structure, which included the structural and infrastructural elements; and
an interpretable and variable space, though of to answer any program it could predictably include.
46
The elements contribute to a perception of the building as an entity made up of smaller ones,
underlined by a three-dimensional structural and infrastructural grid. A system of numerous columns
defines the positioning of the spatial units and promotes the articulation between spaces. It is an open
spatial structure, as highlighted by the polyvalence of its smaller spatial units. The basic spatial units
are where primary functions are accommodated. Moreover, the potential different functional layouts
of these are extensively thought of in the design stage. These basic spatial units are polyvalent, mean-
ing that, if necessary, they can take over each other’s roles, which is key to absorb change. Between
each unit and the next lays an ambivalent, interpretable space whose dimensions enable it to work
simply as horizontal circulation space or circulation plus extension of the basic units, further expand-
ing their spatial configuration options. The external appearance is directly linked with the inward
spatiality. Volume metamorphoses to space and vice-versa, stimulating an heterarchical, open use.
Validating such concern in the conception is the fact that, since 1972, the insurance company has
undergone great changes, and with it the building’s spatial organization. Nonetheless, regardless those
changes, the built structure remained unchanged, proof of its polyvalence88.
47
11 ALTERITY BEYOND CONTROL THROUGH JEAN NOUVEL’S NEMAUSUS I
Jean Nouvel’s Nemausus I, is an eloquent example on how different levels of constraints may be
overcome at the design, limited by budgets or regulations, or at the user level, limited by the archi-
tectural impositions. Nemausus I is a state-financed social housing built in 1986 in Nimes, France. It
consists of two long buildings which border a tree filled inner court. This central element has become
the public bond to the project, which both separates and unites two distinct buildings.
Since social housing regulations did not allow underground car park, the issue was overcome by
elevating both buildings and digging down the area below. That suffices to accommodate the cars in
a protected open-air area underneath the buildings, while keeping a physical and visual relation with
the inner court and the other building.
The complex was designed to give people the maximum amount of living area, achieving 30-40%
more than usual for equivalent price. Since the apartments are duplexes or triplexes, they also repre-
sent large spatial volumes.
During the design stage, a central option had to be made on whether to allocate resources mostly
in the exterior or in the interior zones. To build more space with the same budget, besides pondered
layout options, efficient construction methods had to be used. Reduced to the simplest level, the
buildings of Nemausus I are rectangular blocks simplified to the extreme and, in this sense, they cannot
be distinguished from other modern social housing answers.
Along a concrete base, at regular intervals, concrete walls are disposed, both separating walls of
the apartments and supporting the above floors. These walls regulate the entire construction, con-
straining the dimensions of the apartments. The gap between the walls is 5m, which is the space
needed to park two cars side by side underneath. With the exception of the elevator shaft, everything
follows this regulation: the width of the apartments; the space between the beams supporting the
walkways; or the screen paneling of the roof. All the collective parts (i.e. stairs, walkways, tree court,
and car park) are joined out the façade, ascribing to the needed economy of internal area use, which
is thereby released to the apartments. The gains are twofold, expressed in bigger savings and bigger
apartments. Walkways are placed in the North, and the private verandas, in the South, adding extra
15m2 to each apartment.
The 5x12m apartments stretch all the way from walkway to private veranda, façade to façade.
Between the two concrete walls, there is a single volume of space. On the lower level, a living room
and kitchen separated by a central services block, and the stairs going up. In each apartment, these
elements can be combined differently, aligned or perpendicular to the concrete walls. There are no
doors, no walls, and no hallway. There is no waste of space, but also there are no privacy filters, as
the kitchen links directly to the walkway. However, due to the shortage of storage space or closed
private garages, inside the apartments most of the veranda spaces end up being occupied by the user
48
to accumulate their stuff. In the mind of the architect, this was to be a relaxing space, a kind of
extension of the living room. Yet, in the mind of the users, this was used as an opportunity to over-
come needs that were not otherwise being fulfilled.
The façade wall separating from the veranda can be completely folded back, expanding its space.
Industrial materials are thoroughly used in the exterior (e.g. façades, stairs, walkways barriers) and
interior (e.g. stairs, toilets), aided by the modulation of the concrete walls. The industrial quality also
extends to the interiors, where the concrete is left in a raw state, and industrial stairs and panels are
used. However, the choice of materials did not please a large portion of the tenants, which in the
meantime have taken the chance to customize it. In some of the flats the 5m bay has been divided
into smaller rooms, but in most of the apartments, the full width of the structural bay is kept, and the
impression is of a very generous, open loft space.
At Nemausus I the design intentions were to build more space for the same price and to offer a
living space in line with a modern lifestyle. The apartments were delivered to the tenants in the raw
materials, brut concrete on the walls, metal staircases, and so forth. This was a design choice, a delib-
erate choice of ‘non-decoration’. The apartments may seem incomplete to the users, but they are
finished. As if a blank canvas, this could be regarded as an invitation for a user free-interpretation of
space. However, the architect’s intention did not entail an open-ended approach, yet it was uniquely
an aesthetical option. Such is confirmed by the building’s internal regulation document forbidding
tenants to make changes, which evidently they do not meet. For instance, no wallpaper or coating is
allowed. Nonetheless, the inhabitants attack with carpets on the walls, paints, wallpapers or adhesive
cornices; they have put false walls, locked-off corridors, disguised the staircases and hung curtains;
they adapted it according with their means and tastes. In the long run, their will is going to prevail.
In the miracle equation of Nemausus I there are serious consequences. The architect won the battle
to build apartments 30 to 40% bigger than usual for the same price, but the tenants, whose rents are
calculated per square meter, are consequently obliged to pay 30 to 40% more. Bigger, ended up
meaning more expensive, and more difficult to rent.
Generally, the blends of regulations and tight budgets reduce design options so much that it be-
comes extremely difficult to deliver differentiated architectural products. That often leads back to the
efficacy of the functionalist models. On the other hand, as when forbidding the decoration of walls
as Jean Nouvel did in Neamausus I, the architect’s temptation to leave a personal imprint, if taken to
extremes may well result in an opposite effect, making justice to the saying ‘forbidding is empowering
desire’.
In a way, the episode recalls the Farnsworth house (1951) famous dispute between the client, Edith
Farnsworth, and the architect, Mies van der Rohe, where, besides the cost of the house and the
heating bills, the client would later complain about the impracticality of a house with no usable walls.
49
Aldo Van Eyck somewhat professed freedom to the user but failed to deliver it when he saw his
Orphane being remodeled for a different use than what had initially been conceived. Regardless the
doctrine, delusionally, most architects simply want things done their way, exerting control and aspir-
ing for it to prevail in time.
50
51
II (Pre)Fabricating
Architecture
COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS
52
53
1 OUTLINE AND CHALLENGES OF THE HOUSING
AND THE CONSTRUCTION SECTOR IN EUROPE
1.1 Introduction
The housing problem in the Western World becomes a central issue with the Industrial Revolu-
tion. Mass housing and its related urban planning philosophies are initially a way to provide a concrete
answer to an urban overcrowding caused by the rural exodus of workers to the cities. Meanwhile,
economic collapses and World Wars further stressed the issue. Finally, the very spirit that gave rise
to industrialization was methodologically borrowed to address the housing problem, with a mecha-
nistic approach whose philosophy was imbued of the Fordist and Taylorist ways.
The assembly line, primarily developed by Henry Ford for the automotive industry sector, soon
became a paradigm for all productive sectors. It comprised the synchronized production of standard
components and identical products as ideal means to attain economies of scale. These sort of princi-
ples would significantly influence the design approaches in high housing demand periods, as they
carried the promise of leveraging the bonds of industrial production and construction methods to
yet unseen levels. In architecture, eventually such became an important influence for the Modernist
founding fathers, showcased not only in the development of functional approaches, but also in the
development of formal languages and aesthetical ideas, as well as in the development of production
modes of residential buildings.
In the Europe of the XXth century, periods of peak housing demand followed WWI and WWII.
Design-wise emphasis sprang from two main sources: rationalization of planning and design, and
implementation of industrialization principles to construction. On the one hand, way was made to
rationalize planning and design, as are examples the qualitative methodologies developed by Alexan-
der Klein in the early XXth century and the analysis to social housing in CIAM’s Existenzminimum89.
On the other hand, the focus was directed to the implementation of industrialized methods in order
to increase productivity and gain efficiency, attaining economic advantages. In due course, industri-
alized construction methods would be introduced at the production and construction stages. The
goal is similar in all cases and can generically be put in: saving time on site or, with scaled productions,
saving time on factory; with the accomplished economies put at service of financial savings and/or
of improving the spatial or material quality of the developments, and so forth.
The most extreme combination of rationalization and industrialization principles occurred in state
centralized approaches. In Central and Eastern Europe some of these tout court methods kept going
as late as the early 1990s (coinciding with key political changes), supported by centralizing planning
policies and substantial state funding. These kind of practices no longer have a significant occurrence
in Europe but they can still be found in places such as China90. In this country, alongside some
54
speculative monstrosities, there is a huge demand for low-cost housing from a migrant rural popula-
tion overcrowding the urban centers—the producers of the world’s consumption goods in factories
of global scale. In this respect, the Chinese recent history is evocative of the urban problems occurred
with the industrialization of the Western World in the XIXth and XXth century.
In Western Europe, markets would eventually get more liberalized from the 1960s onwards, co-
inciding with strong social changes. From the time when the post-WWII housing shortage and eco-
nomic growth incentives through housing programs was overcome, the degree of repetition of some
of these solutions became unacceptable for a society increasingly focused on individual freedoms and
choices—with the idea utterly illustrated by a new social order introduced by the May 1968. Conse-
quently, the mass approach was progressively abandoned. The changes conducted through a liberal
philosophy would enable a more organic kind of development, easing the consideration of renova-
tion, replacement and/or addition philosophies. Nonetheless, some liberalization policies, allied to a
deficit in creation, implementation, and/or supervision of regulatory mechanisms, have led to a wide-
spread of speculative real-estate. In many cases such has become economically, socially and environ-
mentally harmful, undermining the built-environment. Signaling such idea are the latter trends in
construction research and practice, which have been showing great concern with sustainability issues,
with considerable attention paid to energy or environment matters.
1.2 Some numbers
A bubble of real-estate overabundance—which ultimately was the visible igniter of a difficult eco-
nomic situation publically bursted in 2008 and whose shockwaves are still being felt—could indicate
that, at least in part, the housing problem in Europe should be currently solved. However, that is not
exactly the case. In 2009, 6.0% of the EU population was suffering from severe housing deprivation,
with worse cases found in Eastern European member states, and in countries such as Romania
achieving nearly 45%. On the other hand, while population growth is slower than in other conti-
nents—and with many cases of critical demographic figures of ageing population—the number of
households has increased much more rapidly than the population in the past few decades91.
A number of factors may contribute to this panorama and different interpretations can be made92.
It should in all cases be reminded that the housing problem is much more than an architectural or
construction problem, having deep social implications. Considering the ratio dwellings/population,
it is clear that the housing market in new constructions in Europe is saturated. Exceptions stand in
Eastern European countries, where some new building opportunities are still waiting to be found,
which can partly be explained by a latter liberalization due to the historical circumstances. As a con-
sequence, the market is currently dominated by refurbishment and maintenance. To some extent this
55
can be explained by a market reaction to the declining in new building, and prospects are for this
tendency to be kept in the future.
The idea of decline is also confirmed by the predominance of certain types of houses over others:
in 2009, 41.7% of the EU population lived in flats, 34.3% in detached houses and 23.0% in semi-
detached houses93. Comparing overall numbers, this reveals a slightly bigger propensity for European
citizens to live in cities than, for instance, in the US (around 80% in detached or mobile-homes,
according to 2000 census figures) or Japan (56.5% in detached houses, according to 2003 figures).
Socially and culturally these figures should not be disregarded and indicate that the historical Europe
may be more appealing to an urban lifestyle. This can also disclose a certain standstill, to which an
atomized fabric of construction companies does not bring a positive contribution to the stand94.
1.3 The construction sector
The enormous range of systems and products which characterizes European construction indus-
try has many reasons. One of the strongest is linked to a solid local anchoring of the construction
industry to national contexts, and the structural traditions of the building crafts of the local construc-
tion industries95. The ‘idea of Europe’ works here only in the sense of defining a common market, in
which, simplistically, the construction industry is merely a sort of embryo of project, a business sort
of project. This is also a reflex of the idiosyncrasies and convulsions of the grand European project
whose basis, regardless its remarkable virtues, has first been laid ideal and only later real, triggering
convulsions and questionings of the very project. Some of these virtues are in setting clear and am-
bitious milestones, which at least have the merit of making affairs moving. Indeed, main production
mechanisms have been questioned and challenged, as it is the case at the highest level with Europe
2020 strategy and its derivative documents such as Directive 2009/28/EC96. These are embedded of a
flagship initiative spirit for a shift towards a resource-efficient, low-carbon European economy to
achieve sustainable growth and therefore impelling to practices and methodological shifts affecting
all sectors, and evidently also the construction sector. However, solid answers to these challenges
seem yet to come and the construction sector is typically slow to adjust97.
The value of this sector is nonetheless quite relevant. According to Eurostat figures published in
2013, around 10% of the European GDP was construction-induced, representing 7% of all employ-
ment and about 30% of industrial employment. It adds that the majority of the construction compa-
nies are SMEs, of which only 3% have more than 20 employees98. Although eventually with ad-
vantages in a sort of neighborhood-like proximity, this sort of atomized company profile, allied to an
often doubtful quality-delivery, undermines response capacity to greater challenges, as those implic-
itly involved in prefabrication. With automation, industrial production of construction components
56
does not necessarily imply a great number of employees, nonetheless it may require a great deal of
investment which may not be accessible to the bulk of SMEs. It adds the sovereign debt crises, allied
to an uncertainty in the Eurozone, which are likely to keep constraining construction investment in
many Western European markets for the years to come99. The benefits of economies of scale associ-
ated with mass produced constructions are already quite well established in other economic regions,
as it is the case of Japan, whose overall construction sector represents almost 13% of GDP, and in
the US, with a compared 7.9%. Overall, the construction industry in Europe suffers from many
weaknesses, which can be generally put in fragmented responsibilities, lack of concern on the final
consumer (speculative), competition mostly price-oriented, suffering still of unfit-regulation, still high
labor intensive, high resource consumptive, and cause of major local environmental effects.
Attempts to mass produce construction exist already for a quite long time. However, the current
production methods can still primarily be characterized has of a prevalence of crafted one-of-a-kind
sort of buildings, and/or of following a modernist tradition of typological repetition. It adds a ten-
dency in using minimum batch size100 production principles, remarkably noticeable, for instance, in
the extreme example of the brick by brick layout in building masonry walls enrooted in many southern
European countries constructive cultures. Exceptions do exist, but a true paradigm shift requires still
plenty of work in some core issues. The need for such shift has become inextricably visible in coun-
tries such as Spain or Portugal, whose economic dependence on the construction sector for the over-
all GDP, allied with a stagnancy or cut of investment in the sector, turned the economic development
into a very difficult equation—a theme that has been making the headlines the past few years. Addi-
tionally, despite the quality work being developed, many businesses in the construction field still lack
a true innovative insight.
1.4 Prefab innovation and business as usual in the Portuguese case
The case of prefab houses companies operating in countries such as Portugal is clear in terms of
the lack of an innovative insight. It is elucidative on a sort of installed business as usual culture, where
most of the operating companies just mimic or directly import building methods and often sell them
as state-of-the art constructive achievements. Based on information accessible online from the com-
panies’ websites, from an analyzed universe of 98 companies operating in Portugal in this sub-sector
in 2013, only 56 had a minimum of available data from where to drive some possible conclusions.
From the 56, only about half seemed to have R&D concerns (Figure 2. Portuguese prefab houses
companies’ profile. and the remaining were apparently only seller, or intermediates of imported sys-
tems (Figure 2c, organization: seller ‘s’).
57
Figure 2.
Portuguese prefab houses companies’ profile.
It is among the R&D half that those with architectural design concerns can be found (Figure 2a:
design & construction). The companies with stronger architectural design concerns also seem to be more
flexible to adjust their constructive systems to the client’s needs, reflected on the achievable level of
product customization (Figure 2b, customization: high). In terms of technology, the majority uses
wood construction (Figure 2d, main structure: wood), which is linked to the seller figures (Figure 2c,
organization: seller ‘s’), since most of the non-R&D firms sell imported wood systems. Technologically
it is of notice a non-existent percentage of exclusive concrete based prefab in this research. Prefab
based companies do exist in the Portuguese pool, but they were discarded given a preliminary verifi-
cation of their relative secondary role in the overall panorama. The research was hence more focused
in lightweight construction in wood or steel based structures.
As to the kind of final assembly, figures are more diversified, and generally a bondage can be made
between companies with stronger design and customization concerns, as these are more prone to
offer differentiated final assembly methods. As one could expect, the more flexible a design system is,
the smaller is likely to be the minimum batch size used by a company (Figure 2e, final assembly); and
the break-even between a minimum batch size and industrialized construction methods is in a very
thin threshold, as with smaller batches more human labor can be implied, reducing potential overall
gains. Nonetheless, it is unclear from such an analysis any conclusions on a definitive relation of these
principles with commercial success. This is further emphasized by the lack correlation of any of the
research insights with national or overseas company’s operations (Figure 2f, internationalization).
From these figures of the Portuguese case, given a number of factors such as the country’s small
size and a late industrialization when compared with many other European countries, it is not possible
58
to establish a broader parallelism towards other realities. Nonetheless, although with its own idiosyn-
crasies, there are reasons to believe that some of the behaviors observed in the Portuguese case are
not exclusive of this country alone. For instance, for several motives and in many cases throughout
Europe, the house prefabrication industry has become associated with low quality or architecturally
undemanding reputation. There are historical reasons for that fact, but there are also reasons related
with a vast amount of companies which mostly have constructive concerns, and/or are simply selling
constructive systems and their related building services, and/or have do not have integrated design
or other R&D concerns. Nonetheless, there are remarkably positive examples, found mostly in
Northern European construction cultures, which set optimistic prospects on a beneficial, more mas-
sified use of prefab related methods in some circumstances.
1.5 Thinking of a future possible
As the world population continues to grow, demanding for new buildings or renovation of exist-
ing ones is responsible for a great deal of use of available resources, particularly in what concerns to
our energy consumption. There is a strong consensus that this issue as to be tackled, reflected in
several institutional documents produced, as is for instance the case of Agenda 21 or the Urban Strategy
2004101. The ways to do it, however, are not consensual. Sustainable practices in construction include
not only environmental impact of buildings during their lifecycle, but economic, social, and cultural
considerations as well. Some aspects of sustainability, namely economic and environmental are al-
ready quite well underway, while other, namely the social field, are harder to grasp.
Prefabrication does not necessarily mean sustainable building, nor does sustainable building imply
the use of prefabrication. However, the promise of a greater efficiency (economic, or other) that
appears to steam from it, is seemingly advantageous. Besides visible benefits regarding labor condi-
tions, its ability to meet environmental and especially social goals is, as in other areas of study, difficult
to consider. Given our positivist inheritance, accountability is an issue that is difficult to contour. Yet,
while a reasonable accounting model does not come around, alternatives must be put in sight so that
discussion can be increasingly informed. This gains even more relevance as it is acknowledging that
socio‐cultural aspects are crucial and often impose choices that contradict the better environmental
and economical solution102.
The dawn of the XXIth century has been witnessing a quantity and quality boost in the field of
prefabrication. The seemingly less favorable economic circumstances that are being verified make con-
struction speed and efficiency even more necessary. In some cases, this can be improved by optimizing
and improving traditional methods, for instance via the increasing integration of processes via digital
aided methods, in others only prefabrication can really offer more competitive ways103. Additionally,
59
requirements are increasingly demanding in what concerns ‘making green’, not only regulation wise, but
also in the very social acceptability worldwide. The potentially greater control achieved by prefabrication
methods in comparison to traditional construction methods, can too be an advantage in an environ-
mental perspective. The material advantages are well known, as, in theory, prefab construction allows a
better material optimization, minimizing waste, and reducing the carbon footprint. Besides, its charac-
teristics potentially enhance the possibilities of quality control and deconstruction for eventual lifecycle-
end reduction, reuse or recycling. This lifecycle can be of the entire building or of some of its compo-
nents—in the latter case with the possibility of extending building’s useful life through maintenance.
Additionally, the building’s life can be prolonged by allowing change and extension, of the built form
and of its components, by easing the tasks of disassembly and reuse. Some of these possibilities are far
from being specific of prefab, but if set on an adequate study of relation between constructive compo-
nents, prefabrication can enhance environmental and economic viability of the construction: the design
leading to a prefab construction simply has to be constructively accurate, as tolerances are minimal in
relation to ordinary, less industrialized construction methods.
Despite globalization, there are yet social and cultural aspects of a regional order, that constrain
the prevailing building culture of each place. In fast-moving, fast-changing societies, housing is, has
it has been, in a permanent crisis, which is currently typically visible in true quality and diversity
deficits. Such state of permanent crisis is increased by the globalization challenges which our con-
temporary societies face, with expression in core aspects deeply affecting dwelling, such as employ-
ment or family structures. In an interview to the Portuguese Negócios newspaper published in June 27,
2014, Wolfgang Schäulble, the German Minister of Finances, affirmed: “The globalized economy is chang-
ing at an astonishing speed, the technological advances are killing numerous jobs each year. If we want to fight unem-
ployment in the XXIst century, we have to make structural reforms – and that is as much truth for Europe, as for all
the other industrialized countries in the world. If you read any report of IMF or OECD, you will see the same exigency
made, for instance, to Australia which is now on the presidency of G20. Solid public finances and a continuous
structural reform process are two necessary pre-conditions to a sustainable growth”. To call for an effective imple-
mentation of industrialized methods in construction practices may in this sense be paradoxical, as
unemployment can be aggravated, raising other social issues. On the other hand, there is nothing new
about it, as such type of processes of adjustment have been occurring since humanity left the tree
branches. The center of the discussion here is the quality and sustainability of our built environment,
of which a permanent monitoring of reforms also in the construction sector may too be key.
There is no use to implement top-down reforms without bottom-up innovation. With exception
for some notable authorship works, although many still predominantly focused on stylistic issues, the
construction landscape reveals reduced innovation levels. The vision conveyed by some initiatives
such as Solar Decathlon104, despite being highly relevant from the technological R&D insight, end up
60
being not so useful from the point of view of a common architectural practice, since they tend to
neglect fundamental social aspects, putting their greater focus in technological achievements. Archi-
tectural practice, on the other hand, seems often slow to adjust to the technological times. For in-
stance, producing green buildings requires additional expertise to the plenty already existing, and some-
times practice is simply not yet ready to deal with them. But this is also a problem in construction
companies. Eco-technology should not overlook history and what it offers for a balanced dialogue
towards the construction and preservation of the (built-)environment. Lessons such as the pioneering
and impermanence in the US, lessons on tradition looking up to the future such as in Japan, on the
power of society such as in Scandinavia, on technological innovation such as in Germany, or on
permanent research such as in the UK, should be attentively observed. The tendencies of eco-tech
innovation can create specific ways to think and materialize architecture, by preserving the quality of
the environment not only through its physical component, but also through its social, symbolic and
ideological value, not by groundless idealism, techno-romanticism, political naiveté, or, the worse
kind, sole commercial purposes through hollow ‘green’ marketing as a strategy as any other to move
business ahead, throwing (green) sand to people’s eyes.
In the Portuguese context with little tradition in this field, prefab housing projects that embed an
efficient use of natural resources are still quite few. The same scarceness is verified at the level of
requirement in architectural competitions, in which, besides energy efficiency, seldom more demand-
ing items, such as environmental performance assessment, are asked. It is our belief that the way for
the future of the construction sector and economy as a whole has no way but to stand on the shoul-
ders of high environmental demands. But this is also an implicit critic to the academia’s production
of architects, whose focus in many cases seems a revival of the early XXth century discussion of Beaux
Arts approach versus the disruptive Modernist way. Formalism, aesthetics, preconceived ideas pro-
pelled by media consumption of often circularly moving ideas, image preceding problem tackling, or
problems posed through beautiful but meaningless imagery paraphernalia, are just some of the innu-
merous manifestations of a state of crisis which has reached the architectural profession, and recalls
the reluctance to change from the stylistic approaches that was criticized by our Modernist grandfa-
thers. As Juhani Pallasma wrote in the end of his article in 1991, revitalizing architecture “implies a
paradoxical task for architecture to become more primitive and more refined at the same time (…); (it) also implies a
view of building more as a process than a (end) product and it suggests a new awareness of time (…); it also seems that
the architect’s role between the polarities of craft and art has to be redefined. The current philosophical testing of the
limits of architecture will be replaced by authentic experimentation with new techniques (…) and new concepts of living.
After decades of affluence and abundance, architecture is likely to return to the aesthetics of necessity in which (...) utility
and beauty are again united. An ecological lifestyle brings forth the ethical stance, the aesthetics of noble poverty as well
as the notion of responsibility in all its philosophical complexity”105.
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2 PREFABRICATION OF HOUSES:
A HISTORICAL AND SOCIO-CULTURAL SURVEY
2.1 Context and challenges of house prefabrication in Europe
The construction sector is currently still one of the most traditional and least innovative industries.
In Portugal, the construction of residential buildings can often present average construction periods
superior to two years, revealing a backwardness and craftiness of this activity. However, the case is
not exclusive of this country alone. In the core of this problem are often the use of constructive
systems with large execution times and the use of materials whose application implies too much man
labor time. Labor-cost is a major component of the overall construction-cost. Additionally, there are
often difficulties in finding skilled workers to execute more specific tasks. Therefore, any methodol-
ogy that may generate the reduction of construction-time will be a seductive variable as long as it
does not increase the total construction-cost and allows equal or better construction-quality. Further-
more, for this construction-quality to be achieved, sustainability factors must necessarily be regarded,
since they imply costs—economical, environmental and social—not only upstream the construction,
but also downstream throughout the lifecycle of the buildings—e.g. use, maintenance, energy.
As history shows, prefabrication is not a miraculous solution. The successful business achieve-
ments in this field rarely bond with what may be considered an architectural success. For prefabrica-
tion to work, things need to be technologically fine-tuned, and that requires a strong engagement for
multiple actors in the construction scene—architects, builders, promoters, and so forth—as well as
a wide social acceptance of the process. The latter is condition for trust in the design and, foremost,
in the constructive solutions, as without these, the cultural, legal or financial obstacles that may be
faced will hardly be overcome. Moreover, none of this occurs overnight.
It is impossible to express a single (hi)story on the historical evolution of prefab in Europe (or
anywhere else for that matter). Firstly, because prefab approaches imply an extraordinary mix of
different subjects—these can be, on one extreme, industrial efficiency related issues or, on the other
end, artistic concerns. Furthermore, there are remarkable regional differences, propelled not only by
natural conditions such as climate or abundance of certain resources, but also political, social or cul-
tural reasons and particular historical contexts which made things evolve differently in different re-
gions, and these also ultimately translate into different constructive cultures.
To illustrate the European state of the art scenario in this matter, we will be further detailing the
Nordic countries, The Netherlands, Germany and UK cases. The very division into countries or
particular regions may be considered fairly anachronistic, and is certainly debatable. Indeed, in a global
context, that sort of categorization may not make much sense, as processes are interdependent and
62
not limited to the idea of a country or a somewhat bounded region. In any case, because of non-
neglectable practical issues, such sort of division is, for better or worse, still in most cases the best
there is to work with. These practical issues can, for instance, be the information availability—e.g.
statistical data—but can also be related with an enduring resilience of regional characteristics, despite
unavoidable global processes of homogenization.
These cases were chosen for diverse reasons. The Nordic countries, by an enrooted social ac-
ceptance of prefab, translated in a wide recognizance of a high evolution of its state of the art in
prefab. The Netherlands, mostly by its historical active role as a society that has always dealt with a
need of having a properly planned territory, with outcomes in innovative philosophies of housing
and building. Germany, by its historical role, both political and architectural, in the formalization of
prefabrication methods and systems’ conception, as well as by its acknowledged benchmark position-
ing in terms of technological development in several sectors. Finally, the UK, by a long prefab tradi-
tion and the scale of after-war emergency efforts.
The above reasons are inevitably oversimplifications nonetheless. Yet they stand for their sugges-
tivity power and are proven witnesses of the variety of approaches that can be involved. Some other
cases were consciously left behind. Such occurred not because they would not fit, but because they
are evocative of a different group of subjects which are either already implicitly referred in some parts
of this work, or are not central to the scope of the discussion of prefab single-family houses. Indeed,
it is impossible to ignore the role of places such as France or the former Soviet Union have or had in
the formulation of the current status of house prefabrication, not only in Europe, but worldwide. As
a corpus, these two will only be shortly referred in the following paragraphs.
2.1.1 A BRIEF ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE FRENCH CASE
From the French case, we can highlight seminal figures not only of prefab business history, but
of architectural history as a whole. It is unquestionable the role the French had in the development
of concrete technologies in its early stages. The French businessman Edmond Coignet was the first
to use prefabricated concrete elements in the construction of the Biarritz Casino (1891)106. François
Henebique, a businessman and constructor, was a pioneer in reinforced concrete modular units. In
early XXth century he patented the Béton Armé system, which became a huge commercial success,
and would dominate the world market. Directly and indirectly, he left a legacy of over 35 000 build-
ings and structures, including a more famous development of gatekeepers lodges for the French na-
tional railways (1896)107.
Among the seminal architectural figures Le Corbusier stands out, namely from his writings, but
also for the development of housing projects. Another relevant figure is Jean Prouvé, as he brought
a fresh insight on the relations between architecture, design, engineering and industry. Prouvé also
63
designed several prefabricated detached houses such as the Meudon Houses (1950-52) for the Parisian
suburbs, or the Maison Tropicale (1949-51)108. In architectural thinking, the 1983 exhibition Architecture
et Industrie: Passé et Avenir d'un Mariage de Raison in the Centre Georges Pompidou has endured as a refer-
ence109. The Centre Georges Pompidou building (1967-1977), by the non-Frenchmen Renzo Piano and
Richard Rogers, is in itself a famous reference image of a dialogue between architecture and industri-
alized elements, in its archetypical hi-tech styling.
2.1.2 A BRIEF ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE SOVIET UNION CASE
As for the former Soviet Union, iconically the approach has focused in prefab concrete systems,
implemented to multi-story mass housing construction—the Khrushchyovka’s110 , as they became
known. The centralization of political power eased the implementation of housing with coordinated
component construction. The Soviets begun developing standardized systems in the 1930’s, when
German technical teams brought their influence with some industrialization techniques for construc-
tion. Generically, the goal was to have as few building types as possible and to compile a catalogue
of their parts, as if a giant Lego system, to efficiently deploy in any area of their vast territory. The
catalogue could be used in a cook-book fashion, relegating design to interchanging ingredients—a
cook-book both of typologies and of building components.
Although widely implemented and interesting in aspects such as modular coordination, the Khrush-
chyovka’s (1947-1961), and its later variants, fell on social disgrace by their frequent and typical con-
structive pathologies, becoming an authentic social paradigm of low-quality prefab111. The Micro-
rayon112, the Soviet term for the state-planned, state-funded, residential districts, marked and still
marks a whole urban landscape in former Soviet Union countries—in times they peaked as part of
the living environment of more than 80% of the Russian population. These are characterized by
their austere appearance, ascribed to the characteristics of the Khrushchyovka’s systems, with large,
greyish prefabricated concrete elements and their characteristic visible joints. These features,
alongside their pathologies, became important reasons for this type of technology to be stigmatized.
Such occurred in the former Soviet Union countries and elsewhere where similar technologies were
used, as was the case in Portugal in the 1970s with the so-called P3 system for schools
construction, which made a wide-spread use of concrete paneling and asbestos roofing.
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2.2 Prefabrication of houses in the Nordic Countries
2.2.1 CONSTRUCTIVE ROOTS
Three main stages define prefabrication history in the Nordic countries: the pioneer age following
the industrial revolution, the mass-production age following war and post-war housing crisis, and the
customization and design age following implementation of numerical technologies and the maturity
in social acceptance of prefabrication systems. Notwithstanding, prefabrication history in these coun-
tries is deeply enrooted in age-old construction practices that have evolved throughout the centuries.
As result, the ideological debate on the virtues of prefab, which is verified in other locations, seems
to have no relevance in this region. There is a culture where timber frame structures, brickwork or
other technologies are valid, each with its own context, regardless of being in a low-design or high-design
building context. Additionally, self-construction is also a common practice, emerging from an age-
old tradition of cabins and summerhouses construction. Therefore, the lightweight structural meth-
ods, which are so common in low-rise prefab in these countries, are commonly known and accepted
among the public in general.
Given the large area of forest, use of wood has always been more predominant than it is in most
other places. In Finland, the earliest known vernacular form of shelter, the kota, is a timber based
construction dating back from the IXth century. It consisted of posts leaning inward to form a cone
covered with animal skins. The form would evolve to a rectangular shape by the Xth century, a fact
attributed to Russian influences, but similar solutions can be found in many other locations. For
instance, in Southern Europe, the Greek timber megaron type, which constituted the base of the Doric
temples, was in use around 2 500 years ago, when the Mediterranean area was more abundantly for-
ested. With time, the rectangular cabin became more sophisticated, as Swedish and German tech-
niques were imported to Finland in the XIIth century. The increasingly improved constructive
knowledge would eventually spread across the entire region113.
These medieval wood houses were built over stone bases, and often insulated with moss and earth
underneath. The dimensions were determined by the logs, cut in the nearby forests and dried for up
to two years before use. These could also be disassembled and rebuilt elsewhere. Eventually, such log
practice would refine in time. During the Enlightenment, double floors were introduced, and insula-
tion, roofing or rotten prevention materials and techniques evolved: birch bark would be replaced by
sawed planks, glass windows introduced, more efficient fireplaces developed, insulation and water-
tightening methods added or improved, and so on. Many of these cabin dwellings evolved into build-
ing complexes for farming societies. In Finland, the typical wooden town arose out of a blend of
urban and agrarian communities, with crafts, trading, livestock and farming closely interacting. These
65
would frequently follow a classical grid plan, with the single and double story houses lined along a
street with wood fences, and forming a yard complex114.
Stylistically, a neo-classical influence would have a deep impact in the Nordic Countries through-
out the XIXth century. In Finland, this was most noticeable through the predominantly public work
of C. L. Engel, with an admirable grasp of timber construction. Besides, Engel’s ideas were broadly
published, contributing for a better knowledge of his works and methods. In Sweden, Fredrik Blom,
born in 1781, had begun his career as a carpenter (it would be only later in his life that he would begin
studying in the Royal Swedish Academy of Arts, where some years after he was made professor in 1817).
Blom became a pioneer in prefabrication, devising a system of walls that could be assembled, disas-
sembled and moved elsewhere as required. However, popularity came mostly because of the pre-
sented solidity, and the smooth, classical-style buildings it delivered. Overall, these features would
attract attention all over Europe by 1840.
Blom’s houses were handcrafted, but shortly the idea was mechanized by an emerging sawmilling
industry. The Swedes developed an ingeniously effective roof truss and post and beam construction,
which allowed a bigger size and greater flexibility, with larger window openings and a cavity for saw-
dust insulation. By publishing Agricultural Buildings (1891), Alfred Sjöström’s made these techniques
available to a wider public. With the invention of the frame saw, it was also possible to reproduce
complex ornamental motives, which came with the popular pattern books. Overall, these occurrences
contributed to install a classicist flavor that spanned from the highly widespread Neo-Classical in the
XIXth century, to the Art Deco in the early XXth century.
2.2.2 INSTALLATION OF A NEW PARADIGM THROUGH THE XXTH CENTURY WARS
The XXth century conflicts catalyzed a change in the construction business. To the unfolding
technological improvements and a required greater efficiency in the construction processes, it added
a sophistication of the business and marketing strategies. Since it took over the vernacular log con-
struction in the early XXth century, the American balloon frame, and related constructive methods, has
been widely used for low-rise housing. In Finland, balloon frame was officially introduced in 1909,
through the architectural periodical Arkkitehti [The Architect]. The system brought about obvious ad-
vantages, with its standardized sections easing large-scale production115. After 1917, post-WWI hous-
ing shortage increased demand for prefabrication, triggering industry to standardize and mechanize
in Norway and Sweden. By this epoch, building industry became the main driver in the development
of mass production methods (and of the economy) in the Nordic countries.
As it happened in the USA, the timber-frame industry would soon, and throughout the XIXth cen-
tury, be marketing their houses via catalogues and pattern books. In the 1920s, the City of Stockholm
released typified house plans and pre-cut timber to encourage working class families to build their
66
own houses in the suburbs116. By the end of the 1930s, manufacturers of catalogue houses were
abundant. Sawmills from densely forested regions provided the wood to produce thousands of build-
ings per year, the majority houses and villas, but also other kinds117.
The WWI accelerated the shift from traditional construction to framed structures, with paneling
techniques becoming a predominant construction method in the 1920s. Swedish industry would assist
war-famished Finland, contributing for a great technological development. The Swedish gift houses,
as they were known, played a major role at this period118, with over two thousand wooden houses
built in Sweden, with designs made in Finland, calling in favor of the Swedes industry while valuing
the Finnish designing skills119. Among these, self-building single-family houses were the most popu-
lar120. However, it was not until the end of WWII, when the housing demand was the greatest it had
ever been, that prefabrication saw a great upswing. It has been estimated that in post-WWII, nearly
70 companies were producing more than 50% of housing in Scandinavia. In 1947, 17 500 prefabri-
cated houses were produced in Sweden alone121.
Meanwhile, in the interim period, while throughout Europe the Modernism was being experienced
in materials such as concrete, glass and steel, in places such as Finland it was mostly wood-based,
giving it a more warmth flavor. The abundant forests have heavily influenced single-family house
technologies, tending to promote a continuity of the traditional house both in material and in style,
instead of opening up to a Modernist language. A step forward came when Alvar Aalto designed his
AA-system in 1937, commissioned by the company Ahlström Oy. Influenced by a fruitful earlier incur-
sion in the MIT, Aalto would develop it until 1940122. The system would follow its prefabrication
intents, and would reveal a new paradigm of mass production with a variability twist123. As well as
other prefabricated systems, the AA-system would be tested during WWII124.
The war caused material and housing shortages. Given the availability and constructive tradition,
wood was a logical choice for the typified houses and war barracks. Anticipating the postwar recon-
struction, the Finnish Association of Architects employed many prominent architects to design type-
planned houses. With the postwar demand, the way was open to implement these designs. Mean-
while, the single-family house had become a product, as the individually commissioned design for a
specific location gave place to a generalized commodity, the result of a production and marketing
mechanism where design authorship is anonymous or simply irrelevant. Notwithstanding the archi-
tectural efforts, as a business spirit prevailed, many of implemented type-planned houses lacked the
attention to detail and the architectural qualities that Aalto and others had earlier meritoriously de-
veloped125.
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2.2.3 ARCHITECTURAL EXPERIMENTATION AFTER WWII
As expressed by Rasmus Wærn, “part of the reason why prefabricated building developed under the aegis of
single-family housing was strong union opposition to the transfer of jobs from the construction industry to manufacturing,
restricting such a shift to projects of smaller scale (…) Added to this, short production runs encouraged experimenta-
tion”126. The period of the 1940s and 1950s revived curiosity in prefabrication, with new technical
solutions tested by individual architects. As prefab became a broader concept—other than just precut
wood—and modular principles arouse, new designs were also being made. Attention had also been
turning to the use of concrete and brick for multi-dwelling housing. Nonetheless, new town devel-
opments and holiday houses kept having an expressive demand, and many famous architectural de-
signs can be found among the summer villas. Mies van der Rohe’s steel and glass influence, the
modernist language, and an interest in Japanese spatial and material concepts, with open areas and a
delicate use of materials (namely wood), would add as important stimuli to a new, experimenting
generation127. Following Aalto’s earlier spirit in AA-system, in 1947 the Swede architect Sven Markelius
would call for mass production of houses, not based on standardized houses, but on standardized
parts to allow greater variability and design choice128.
The 1960s introduced a new social awareness. The beliefs in a society founded in equalitarian
principles were a further motive to deepen the research in prefabrication solutions. Almost every
progressive Nordic architect developed prefabrication schemes. However, most of these remained
prototypes. Some of the best examples in Finnish architecture can be found amongst Kristian Gul-
lichsen, Kirmo Mikkola or Juhani Pallasma. These have made some joint works, of which Moduli 225
house—by Gullichsen and Pallasma (1969-1971)—stands out for the use of prefabrication principles.
Based on a 225×225cm module, it is an industrially produced prefabricated summerhouse, built in
timber, steel and glass. With its precision of detail and structure, carefully studied proportions, mini-
mal gesture and modular grid attributes, it denotes influence by the Japanese house design, the teach-
ings of the mentor Aalto, as well as Mies’ openness and lightness. Nonetheless, Moduli 225 would
prove unpopular. Buyers would normally prefer the widely publicized houses sold through the mar-
keting machines of the construction business129.
One of the exceptions extending beyond a prototypical stage was the Futuro House, designed by
Matti Suuronen in 1968. In a way, its relative success—around 100 build units—is quite surprising,
given its radical UFO-like shape, way out of the aesthetical characteristics of the most commonly
sold prefabs. The house was initially designed as a ski-cabin or holiday home. It reflects the confi-
dence of the 1960s, before the oil crisis of the 1970s, when there was an optimistic attitude both in
terms of social engagement and in that technology could solve all problems for the human race. It
carried the ideal of the space-age era positivity and a vision of a future where everybody would have
more leisure time to spend on holidays. The building was delivered completely furnished, and could
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accommodate eight people. There were ambitious plans to mass-produce it, which envisioned a new
concept of mobile living. It was entirely constructed out of reinforced plastic, which made it so light-
weight it could be easily transportable by helicopter. Such enabled it to be utterly mobile, adapted to
the nomadic lifestyle of the space-age modern man. However, the 1973 oil crisis spoiled the plans, as
plastic prices rose, taking production costs to unbearable levels. As a result, the 100 houses that were
built felt short on the initial mass-production prospects. Nonetheless, such may be considered a great
achievement for a house with such an uncommon shape, and with obvious limitations in some com-
monly valued specs—e.g. it had little potential of adaptability to client’s needs. The house is a true
creation of a new age, and the result of an era in which architecture becomes increasingly understood
as if an ordinary consumer product130.
In Denmark, a country that also saw a great prefab development in the 1960s, Jørn Utzon de-
signed Espansiva131, and Arne Jacobsen designed Kubeflex and Kvadraflex132. We see Utzon in a remark-
able photo sitting on the floor combining several models of his Espansiva system. The combinatorial
possibilities and the playful attitude would be linked to his Additive Architecture principles, where it
stands out Utzon’s affinity by industrialized methods, adaptation, or variation according to principles
derived from the observation of nature, of other cultures, of history: the world. As to Jacobsen, the
housing manufacturer Høm Houses had hired him in 1969 to design a holiday home, which resulted
in the concept-house Kubeflex, which is built out of prefab cubic modules of 3.36×3.36m, with 10m2
each. These modules may have different kinds of walls and with numerous layout configurations.
Conceptually, it included the possibility for houses to be altered or expanded according to the owner’s
needs or wishes. First presented in the Archibo house fair near Copenhagen in 1970, it would turn out
unpopular by its radical appearance and never went into production. Instead, Jacobsen took the pro-
totype and placed it in the seaside to use it has his family holiday house. Kvadraflex, a sister-concept
of Kubeflex, was also limited to a single floor, and also had a square base, but of 4.08m instead of
3.36m. Different materials could be used, and its modular, single-floor logic made use of a hipped
roofs of four intersecting sides. A few prototypes were built in Ishøj, having in account void spaces
and community areas. More recently, the Danish company Vipp, famous for their metal bins which
they make since 1939, produced a design morphologically inspired in Jacobsen’s, the Vipp Shelter.
Built on the Nordic lineage of summer and weekend escape huts, the design is 55m2 plus an attic,
built on a structural steel frame with a façade of glass and galvanized painted steel. Yet, unlike
Jacobsen’s, it is not possible to add extra elements.
Design based in modular dimensional principles was also being experimented. In Sweden, in 1955,
Ralph Erskine designed and built a circular cottage, consisting of sixteen prefabricated sections. The
building was thought of to be subsequently produced in a large scale, but such never occurred133.
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Regardless of Erskine’s and some other cases, in Sweden in this period most experiments were re-
stricted to state initiatives. Social politics affecting housing was enhanced by the so-called Miljonpro-
grammet, aiming at 1 million apartments in a 10-year period. From the 1960s onwards rational methods
of construction became a central matter in housing policy134.
Despite the architectural experiments and the state programs, the abundant prefab house produc-
tion of late 1960s, and throughout the 1970s, was dominated by detached catalogue homes. The design
efforts towards quality and mass-customization were distorted as the built landscape turned visually
chaotic, and with individual house forms presenting merely apparent variability. Business took over
the production of prefab house space135.
2.2.4 MARKET AND TECHNOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS IN THE PAST DECADES
In the 1950s and 1960s sawmilling industry started to diversify their business into the production
of components such as wall panels or roof trusses. It would not take long until activities became
specialized: the factory production itself; marketing operations promoting houses in brochures and
advertisements, including pattern books; and a network of local builders to assemble the houses in-
situ. With some nuances, currently the methods in use are essentially the same, having become the
typical mode of house provision in the mainstream house business136.
The 1940s wartime driven demand, and the 1960s burst in prefabrication offer, nearly eliminated
the architect from the design process. Housing shortages in the 70s and 80s were accommodated
with concrete and masonry apartment blocks. Nonetheless, in the 1980s an amazing 85% of private
homes were made using prefabrication methods of some sort137. In today’s scenario, prefabricated
housing industry dominates housing and results are not brilliant. Nonetheless, there are different
housing market realities among the Nordic Countries. As it also occurs in most other European
countries, the last few years have been witnessing a slowdown in house construction, which is more
acute in multi-dwelling housing than in other house forms. The market numbers also show that in
Nordic countries there is a rising tendency for a higher preference for living in single-family houses138.
As elsewhere worldwide, although new construction technologies have been developed, many
constructive issues are still a major source of debate: acoustical insulation, fire safety, low thermal
mass, and so forth. Currently there are improved acoustical insulation and effective fire safety meth-
ods for lightweight wood or steel structures. However, generally modern acoustic and fire codes still
make it harder to build than in concrete. In Finland and Denmark, regulation only allows a single
story for public buildings built with wood structure, despite wood construction easily allowing four
or five floors, and new laminated technologies and steel truss systems offering numerous structural
possibilities. In Finland, building codes only started allowing residential wood-based buildings to have
over two stories since 1998, and only with expensive sprinkler systems139. Additionally, low building
70
mass in lightweight constructions is a characteristic with effects in the overall thermal insulation phi-
losophy, and with negative effects in the user perception of the building’s vibration if not properly
mitigated. There are available technological ways to overcome these issues, and these are highly scru-
tinized both legally and through the very market competition, which occurs more and more at a global
scale through common directives, norms, certification mechanisms, and so forth. Additionally, infor-
mation is widely available and a myriad of products are available in the global market—for instance,
not every European country produces OSB panels, although these are available everywhere in Eu-
rope. All the same, in lightweight constructions, the overall setting is more demanding than in other
kinds of construction, requiring more of a holistic insight. This means that every step of the process
has to be carefully pondered in the design stage, and a quality control in manufacturing and assem-
bling must be thoroughly implemented, otherwise with greater risk of constructive flaws, with likely
negative effects not only in market perception, but also in insurance fees, financing prospects, and so
forth.
A major example is the problem of the thermal insulation in wall systems while preventing water
vapor to be trapped, causing unwanted pathologies. Many of the frame systems have been using
mineral insulation products that have been developed in the 1960s. These succeeded in thermal per-
formance, but cause condensation problems due to temperature differences if the walls’ cavities are
not properly ventilated. To attempt to tackle the problem, plastic moisture barriers were introduced,
but this has also met difficulties, since if any part is pierced during construction, then the water vapor
will collect at that point, causing localized moisture and rotting. The older systems allowed natural
breathability, but poor thermal performance. There have been recent advancements in new insulation
materials made of sawdust, flax, hemp, paper or wool, which are designed to allow moisture to pen-
etrate in harmony with wood and allow breathing without deterioration, and theoretically thereby
eliminating the need for venting and a plastic layer. Additionally, now there are also breathable plastic
layers, which pretty much solve the problem in cases where external coating does not require support
through mechanical elements perforating the plastic in exposed circumstances.
Regardless the improvements, and information and product availability, current prefab technolo-
gies used in the majority of cases are in essence very similar to those used after WWII. Nonetheless,
there are different criteria and design methodologies now in practice. Not only the economic and
construction features are pondered, but other, such as energy efficiency, low maintenance, sustainable
materials and methodologies, are also considered. After, for instance, in Finland, by the 1970s timber
had been mostly replaced by concrete and steel, and more standardized components were being used
due to a boom in housing, today steel construction is not common. Moreover, there is the beginning
of a swing back towards timber because of psychological and health aspects as well as to so-said
ecological gains of the use of this technology140, which in itself is a highly debatable issue. This reveals
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the great power of social and cultural aspects, and that the quarrels and debates are not always exactly
of a scientific or technical nature, often prevailing hearsay truths sustained in corporative agendas of
a capitalist ideology behind the defense of certain products over others. If, for some, steel construc-
tion is more sustainable than wood construction, such could not be the case in this region, as tradition
has proven its cultural strength. Furthermore, currently Norway, Sweden and Finland enjoy a large
surplus of mature forests due to a sustainable resource policy in this field.
2.2.5 PLAYFULNESS AND SOCIAL ACCEPTABILITY
It is hard to account how far the innumerous different occurrences contributed to establish a
peaceful acceptance of the idea of prefabrication. This is also a story made of a certain playfulness.
In 1932, Ole Kirk Christiansen, a Danish carpenter, started making wooden toys in his small com-
pany, which would be named LEGO, after of the Danish phrase leg godt, meaning “play well”, but also
related to the Latin “I put together” or “I assemble”. Initially manufactured in wood, after WWII it ex-
panded to plastic, when in 1947 the company bought a plastic injection molding machine141. LEGO
would become an inspiration source not only for children (future builders or not) and for numerous
architects worldwide, including direct reference in the contemporary practitioner Bjarke Ingels, with
his LEGO Towers (2007), or LEGO House (2014). Now with a worldwide, ubiquitous presence, LEGO
modular construction blocks are truly a microcosm of prefabricated building technologies. A limited
set of eight 2×4 blocks of the limited five-color original palette can produce over eight trillion con-
figurations.
Certainly, one of the greatest conquests of Nordic prefabrication is its social acceptability. Com-
paring with the USA, where the mobile home gave prefabrication a bad reputation, or the UK where
the same occurred with the postwar temporaries, Nordic people have generally viewed prefab as just
that: a different method of building. The large historical ballast brings a positive effect in people’s
minds in order to consider there is good quality construction in prefab. Additionally, prefab is more
typically affordable than traditional in-situ buildings142. Relevance became so high that the Royal Dan-
ish Academy of Fine Arts now has a department for research in prefabrication, the first of its kind in
comparable institutions. Additionally, many companies are now internationalizing.
An example of innovation in this field is the IKEA Company, now with housing branches as well.
A joint-venture of this renowned brand with Skanska—a major player in the construction business—
lead to the creation of Bo-Klok (literally stay-wise), taking the furniture design concept a step further,
into a complete house package, that has business in Sweden, Norway, Denmark, UK and Germany.
It is architecture providing, not anymore form exclusively through function, but form through brand,
in a fashionable, customizable way. The IKEA appeal is one of a global brand that has been set on
an idea of quality and low-cost. The furniture’s kit-like assembly is one that engages the user in the
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process. Even the least handyman in the end may feel a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment.
The word kit itself appeals to a multitude of people143—architects, builders or house buyers. It is
embedded with the promise of every building virtue—economy, speed, quality, reliability. Likewise,
the IKEA houses too conjure a mental appeal of the playfulness associated with the kit imaginary,
although unlike their furniture they have little of kit-like construction.
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2.3 Prefabrication of houses in The Netherlands
2.3.1 COUNTRY CONTEXT
The Netherlands is one of the most liberal and pro-welfare states in Europe. It has a developed
system of social support that includes the field of housing. It is also one of the most densely populated
countries. This situation affects the housing market in a country with a very particular geographical
setting.
Much of the prefabricated housing industry in the Netherlands was developed by the urging need
of reconstruction in the post-WWII. Housing industrialization has been a matter of relatively major
concern because of the acute housing shortage, with the added features of having a high population
density and very little soil availability. The population, of approximately 16 million, inhabits a rela-
tively small usable land area, since 19% is covered by water and 61% is used for agriculture. Its pop-
ulation density (408/km2) is the greatest in Europe and one of the greatest worldwide144. Additionally,
a great part of the land in this country has been retrieved from the sea since the 1930’s. The latent
tangibility of the land-scarcity problem, allied to a Calvinist rooted cultured, are certainly among the
main reasons for the development of a great public awareness of the central importance of planning
policies and design quality as ways for a balanced development. Housing, infrastructures, economic
activities, or land and water conservation all are regarded as fundamental concerns and this has inev-
itable repercussions in the country’s building construction culture and in its built environment.
The Netherlands is mostly a high-density, urban country, with more than 80% of population living
in urban areas. This explains the reasonability of a call for constructive concentration by the Dutch
law. Despite its density, the main house type is the single-family attached houses, and most of the
rest are low-rise apartment buildings and very few are single-family. This is too springing from his-
torical and cultural reasons, as one of the country’s greatest achievements was the number of state-
subsidized houses since WWI, with about half of the country’s housing stock of 7.5 million (2003
figures) built after 1960145. The housing profile is substantially different from the single-family home
scenario of suburban USA, or from the much higher density of high-rises punctuating some other
countries in Europe (comparatively, 53% of Germans live in apartments and most of the rest in
single-family).
Historically, homeownership rates have been low when compared to most EU countries, although
with a steady increase over the last decades from 42% in 1980 to 59% in 2009146. The rental sector is
dominated by social housing, with 75% of the rental stock, with the average rent in 2009 of about
23% of household income. A great part of the current rental stock in the low-rent sector is owned
by housing corporations, which build, demolish, buy and sell houses147. As in other places, the con-
struction sector was hard hit by the economic crisis, with 5% turnover fall in 2013. In the same year,
74
the granted building permits for new houses reached their lowest number since 1953, and the prices
of existing owner occupied houses were on average 6.4% lower than in same period one year be-
fore148.
2.3.2 A SYSTEMS’ DESIGN CULTURE
Unlike in other countries, particularly the UK, there was no anti-prefabrication backlash subse-
quent to the postwar construction. Furthermore, building methods that make far greater use of fac-
tory-finished components, such as roofs and walls, have been commonplace in The Netherlands and
are not confined to the social housing sector149. Up until the 1990s, most of the components used in
housing construction were prefabricated on such a large scale that repetition became monotonous.
However, given some of the implemented state-subsidized policies, it became possible to develop
building systems, mostly concrete-based, that substantially alleviated the in-situ processes, saving time
and money, while also enabling variability. Another characteristic is the widespread renovation and
reuse works in inner-city housing. Like in Japan, many houses are demolished and re-built, as opposed
to being refurbished, therefore contributing for a wider social acceptability of a sort of impermanence
fell. In addition, the demanding building standards ensure that prefabrication and other fast track
methods of construction are popular, helping to reduce costs150. A typical housing scheme will use a
concrete shell or traditional construction, or variations, releasing floors for a free occupancy with
industrialized and/or dry construction. Methods and materials vary, determined by the client’s re-
quirements, the budget, number of houses involved and so on, and are especially innovative in panel
systems for housing151.
In debt to John Habraken’s theory and related with the idea of open-floor layout, as far as back
as the 1960s it was being advocated that two main systems, the support and the infill, should be con-
sidered. During the 1980’s this idea evolved into the philosophy of open building, where different de-
cision levels that can be identified in a building plan that has different life cycles. Latter developments
of this concept introduced deconstruction in the philosophy of building systems, the latest known as
industrial, flexible and demountable (IFD) building152. As in other European countries, after WWII, the
Dutch housing market was dominated by the industrialization of the building process, with an em-
phasis on quantity. As the market became more saturated, the demand for differentiation increased.
In the 1970s the average project involved 200 homes, today the figure is between 10 and 20. Follow-
ing the open building research tradition, with the decision-making process gradually transitioning from
government or large developers, to customer-focused housing concepts, a higher degree of systems
flexibility began to be implemented through mass-customization, industrially driven processes153.
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2.3.3 SOME RECENT CASES
There is a highly dynamic architectural scene in The Netherlands. The state or local initiatives,
imbued of the idea of quality control over the built landscape due to land scarcity and so forth, have
a long tradition of promoting design competitions to address real problems, and actually implement-
ing them. As result, numerous innovative architectural concepts have been devised and executed over
the years. Among some of the most well-known cutting-edge housing designs in the past decades
figure Borneo Sporenburg’s harbor peninsula designs in Amsterdam, by West 8 architects, or Water-
wijk in Ypenburg, by MVRDV architects. In these two examples, there is a clear intentionality of
establishing a frank relation with nature. Alongside, it is undoubtedly visible the use of principles of
economies of scale which potentiate the individuality of solutions, exhibited either by very strict and
clear planning principles in Borneo Sporenburg, or by morphological and structural resemblance in
Waterwijk’s Hagen Island.
The Borneo Sporenburg plan is located in Amesterdam’s former harbor peninsulas of Borneo
and Sporenburg, where a total of 2 500 dwellings have been built. The reification plan covered the
area with a fabric of low-rise/high-density back-to-back courtyard houses, punctuated by three big
landmark buildings. Numerous architects designed each of the expensive patio houses, which resulted
in a controlled, but diversified fabric. Given that there was a pre-established urban criterion, limiting
heights, widths or lengths of plots, the main architectural challenge in each of these plots was to
develop strategies in which daylight could penetrate the houses, while assuring privacy, and so forth.
The general concept does not necessarily imply the use of prefabrication methods. Nonetheless, the
detailing degree of the devised urban strategy impelled the use of typological similarity. The strategy
provided unit to the ensemble, and potentiates spatial and constructive similarity between the differ-
ent houses154.
The urban settlement in Waterwijk, an initiative by the Ypenburg Municipality (The Hague), was
though of to allocate half the housing for social rent and the other half for sale at relatively low prices.
The ensemble consists of several islands, each with different typological characteristics. The bulk of
houses are small, in either multi-dwelling or detached single-family houses, occupying relatively small
plots of land, and going from enclosed to public or semi-public occupation of space. In any case, all
share a non-urban feel. Alongside more conventional house solutions also figure more extravagant
designs, namely MVRDV’s Watervillas or Patio Island. The Watervillas, designed by MVRDV, and pic-
turesquely located by the lake in Hagen Island, form a complex of detached houses, similar in shape,
but with diverse finishing materials, such as wood, ceramic tiles, zinc, and so on. Although similar,
the houses have a varied distribution, and each house has a small plot of land that the inhabitants can
use to cultivate their gardens, overall contributing to create a friendly atmosphere. As to the Patio
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Island, also designed by MVRDV, it can be described as a mass of 44 houses with very similar typol-
ogies, altogether forming a huge block, or island, where too a garden feeling can be present, although
in a much more circumspect way. The ensemble denotes a typically Dutch systematic approach to
construction, with concerns in the economies of scale, through typological repetition, but simultane-
ously revealing a concern in providing formal variability to the overall ensemble.
In places such as Almere, a new land area envisioned as a suburban, commuting region to the
nearby capital, where buildings begun to be constructed in the 1960s, many urban and architectural
experiments and less conventional solutions have been proposed, making it a true architectural la-
boratory. Because all reclaimed land is publicly owned, Almere’s municipality has the potential for
consistent planning, contrary to places with high private ownership. In 2001, it was completed a new
layout of 450 dwellings, distributed over 19 projects with different configurations, from 7 to 70 units.
The guidelines required all units to be different, and there was freedom on where to position the
dwelling in the plot of land. If buyers were unknown, houses where concluded in a neutral fashion.
From these, eventual less-satisfied buyers basically bought a house to be refurbished. A monitoring
process took place to assess customers’ satisfaction throughout the years. MVRDV’s Oosterwold mas-
ter plan is one of such examples, envisioning a broad-band use of use of participatory design princi-
ples.
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2.4 Prefabrication of houses in Germany
2.4.1 OUTLINE
Prefabrication has a wide acceptation in Germany, which in part can be explained by a wide his-
torical background and thus a consolidated know-how. As early as the XIXth century, Red Cross had
barracks manufactured by the German company Christoph & Unmack. From the 1880s onwards, they
produced not only barracks, but also private houses or school buildings in panel or modular con-
struction, exporting them worldwide.
The need for efficient house construction in Germany is acknowledgedly recognized among its
planners, architects, sociologists and others at least since the early XXth century. Nonetheless, indus-
trially produced houses only become historically relevant from the 1920s onwards, when an important
area of research opened up for the steel and timber industries. It pretty much coincided with the
period of the Weimer Republic (1919-1933), during which conditions were created for a cultural
effervescence, particularly in the 1924-29 period known as the Golden Era, given the economic growth
and social stability.
However, the economic crisis, begun in the late 1920s and proceeded throughout the 1930s, and
the dawn of the Nazi regime, in 1933, would lead to a political shift, with an abortion of housing
policies and changes or closing of some institutions such as the Bauhaus. Consequently, the development
of the avant-garde methods of design or construction were relegated to a temporary standstill.
In the post-WWI, hundreds of prefabricated dwelling units were produced using steel frames and
clad either with copper sheets, as in the Hirsh-Kupfer houses (1931), designed by Gropius, or with thin
steel plates, as in the Kastner houses (1930s). Between WWI and WWII, focus was mostly put in
rationalization or in heavy, concrete prefabrication systems, and although with remarkable excep-
tions, house prefabrication was taken to a secondary stand. Christoph & Unmack’s houses are one of
such exceptions, as the company had the benefit of a well-sedimented organization with a large his-
torical ballast, which granted priority in factory rights. Additionally, they had a large demand for
barracks from the beleaguered Prussians, which ensured them a steady income from such a product
disposal155. They would grow to the point of becoming leader in their field in Europe during the
1920s.
The successful story of German prefab can also in part be explained by instilled cultural and
educational principles. A playful example comes from Friedrich Froebel’s wooden blocks for chil-
dren’s education, in 1826. Froebel, a psychologist, developed a renowned education philosophy based
on free self-expression, creativity, social participation, and motor expression156. His wooden blocks,
which would later be known as Froebel’s Gifts, would become famous worldwide, influencing central
architectural references such as Frank Lloyd Wright. More recently, it became an important influence
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on the development of the shape grammar theory, with implications on ruled design conceptions
envisioning great variability of outputs157.
Nonetheless, Germany’s inculcated cultural principles regarding prefabrication have roots that
can be primarily connected with the housing problem. Numerous state subsidized programs have
been implemented over the years, of which Berlin’s case in the early XXth century is exemplary. The
awareness of the housing problem, with a long continuous research tradition, or the key role it had
in the modernist foundations, make Germany’s case undisputedly a technical and aesthetical reference
in the housing and prefabrication subjects, with key importance in the Modernist formulation.
2.4.2 THE HOUSING PROBLEM IN BERLIN IN THE EARLY XXTH CENTURY
Berlin’s population had bursted to 4.5 million by 1920, with the city becoming one of the most
populous and densest in the world. Overpopulated square blocks of 22 meters high and 150 wide
sprang across the city, in agreement to the limits set by regulations. These typically consisted of a
frontal portion aligned to street (vorderhaus), a side area (seitenflügel), two transversal building separating
them (quergebäuden), and one or several backyards (hinterhof)158.
Many thousands lived in basements, rooms had to be shared to the three or four people, in cases
work had to be made from home, and many houses were unbearably icy in winter and agonizingly
hot in summer. In Die Großtädte und das Geistesleben [“The Metropolis and Mental Life”] (1903), the soci-
ologist Georg Simmel warns against the monstrosity of the metropolis. He writes, “in the life of a city,
struggle with nature for the means of life is transformed into a conflict with human beings, and the gain which is fought
for is granted, not by nature, but by man”159. People felt the housing issue [literally] to the bone, and such
created an ideal setting for energetically address the problem through a common, collective ground.
2.4.3 MARTIN WAGNER AND THE STATE PROGRAMS
Martin Wagner, the head planner of the city of Berlin, leading promoter of the Großsiedlung (large
scale multiple units), called for the rationalization of design and construction: “The replacement of manual
labor by machines brings greater productivity. What Ford does with his cars, we want to do with the apartments”160.
A dedicated socialist, Wagner recognized the weaknesses of purely capitalist projects, and was com-
mitted in the search for more sustainable forms of financing. In his view, construction costs should
be reduced in order to allow affordable accommodation, industrial companies should replace tradi-
tional building companies, and machines should replace manual labor. Such would liberate the work-
ers, while increasing the performance of their work, contributing to improve their satisfaction levels
and hence their quality of life. But Wagner also criticized state funding policies, considering absurd
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to finance a stagnant building sector with the dynamic German industry, thus squeezing the latter
with taxes. Construction sector should hence meet the industrial sector.
To improve housing for civil servants, in 1924, the DEWOG is created (Deutsche Wohnungsfürsorgung
Aktiengesellschaft für Beamte, Angestellete und Arbeiter) [“Shareholder German Company for the Improvement of
Housing for Civil Servants, Employees and Workers”], a company whose role was to centralize capital of
the worker’s bank with public funding, in order to redistribute it more effectively. Springing from it
and too masterminded by Wagner, the GEHAG (Gemeinnützige Heimstätten-, Spar- und Bau-Aktiengesell-
schaft [“Housing Cooperative for Savings and Construction”] was created in 1924, which would primarily
enable collective housing initiatives. These undertakings had the edge of a self-financing method
playing the liberal market rules, which resulted in a highly competitive model, which ultimately
steamed effects on the housing quality161.
2.4.4 GEHAG WAVE EXAMPLES
Contemporary of Wagner, Bruno Taut had too firm rationalist beliefs, and was inspired by steel
constructions found among the industrial landscape. Both shared a rationalistic vision, but one which
was critique of a mechanistic minimum—and with a still current argument that the cost per square
meter of floor-space does not rise proportionately with the size of the dwelling162, although that may
not be the case with the value of rents paid by the tenants163. Taut also saw mass production and
prefabrication as way to cut construction costs, as it enabled the elimination of a great share of costs
with intermediary suppliers. The first product of the new GEHAG wave was built in Britz in
Neukölln (1910–1933), embodying the purpose of combating the shortage of affordable living space,
while formally following the principles of a New Objectivity.
In 1926, together with Hugo Häring, Taut designed the Onkel Toms Hütte [“Uncle Tom’s Cabin”],
which would too be financed by the GEHAG. In it, Taut envisioned a utopian, classless society bond
with nature, and criticized the selfish and utilitarian capitalist system. The complex is a triumph of
color and light, of rationalist influence but humanistic in its practicality, diversity and human scale.
Taut avoids monotony by including diversity within homogeneity, and several parts of the estate look
different to each other in terms of shape, size and color164. The sharp lines of a New Objectivity are
here smoothed by homely details such as invitingly individual doors, asymmetric windows and a pol-
ychromatic pallet. Furthermore, space in between buildings is cared with as much importance as the
buildings themselves—gardened, with benches, pathways and other comforting details. In terms of in-
novative construction processes, the Britz or Uncle Tom’s Cabin became known by the use of rational-
ization principles through restriction of the amount of house types, or in the use of technologically
innovative machinery such as excavators and conveyor belts, speeding up the construction, enabling
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a reduction of costs. Nonetheless, despite the improvements, overall the employed construction
methods had no major breakthroughs, being mostly still supported by in-situ manual labor.
In any case, prefabricated systems would be used in some of these new neighborhoods. Such was
the case with the Berlin-Friedrichsfelde estate (1926), where story-height concrete panels were used ac-
cording to the Occident process, a system that had been patented in The Netherlands and had been
previously used in Amsterdam’s expansion. This was a large, heavy-weight panel construction system
of 25cm thick, and between 25 and 40m2 per panel, with maximum dimensions of 10×4m. Because
of its weight and dimensions, the system had to be produced next to the building location, from
where it was directly erected by cranes. The panels were constituted by several layers, with aggregate
concrete on the outside and slag concreted on the inside, and the internal walls with slag concrete on
both sides. Eventually, the system’s characteristics lead to a highly complex manufacturing process
which overtime would lead to the appearance of serious constructive pathologies165.
2.4.5 ERNST MAY AND SYSTEM CONSTRUCTION
Ernst May, the chief planner of the city of Frankfurt, would write Die Wohnung für das Existenzmin-
imum in 1929, calling for flats for subsistence living, with a guarantee of minimum standards of quality
for a low-income working population. These, according to May, “should be designed to avoid all the past
misery that flats for lower paid workers have inflicted on their inhabitants. Whilst the far-reaching field of engineering
technology has been developed through exact scientific methods, until now, building has usually developed along intuitive
lines”166. Additionally, these should regard the principles of industrial production as exemplary mod-
els: “the goal must remain the factory produced dwelling – including internal fittings – that can be delivered as a
complete product, and assembled in a few days”167.
Ernst May would also be the head behind the Frankfurter Häusfabrik [“Fankfurt House Factory”],
which would produce the System Stadrat Ernst May (1927), the first concrete panel system of German
conception. This system differed from the Dutch original Occident process, as the walls and windows
were not directly integrated. Instead, openings would occur in the vacant spaces between panels, and
since these were smaller, such allowed a greater ease in manufacturing and also to effortlessly adapt
to different architectural configurations. The system had three main components: the non-reinforced
window-level panels (fenster-platte), the non-reinforced spandrel panels (brustungsplatte,
300×110×20cm), and the reinforced lintel panels (sturz-platte, 300×40×20cm). Given the smaller di-
mensions, these were also considerably lighter, which enabled the building shell of a single-family
house to be erected in one and a half days, and the construction 26 days to be ready to be occupied168.
Prefabrication as a means for efficient construction in helping to solve the house problem was
not limited to those advocating a new modernity with new formal conceptions. Even with the tradi-
tionally-oriented Stuttgart School, Paul Schmitthenner developed a factory produced half-timber system
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(the so-called Schmitthenner System), using mixed dry and partially dry construction techniques, with
the underlying intention of modernizing the traditional fachwerk frame construction. The system had
serially produced four-sided, closed timber frames with embedded doors and windows, which were
then screwed together on site169. Final rendering of the buildings would be made in-situ, which ena-
bled the system to be undistinguishable from a compared ordinary construction. Besides using the
innovative constructive system, Schmitthenner’s traditionalist Garden City in Berlin-Staaken (1914-17)
was built according to rationalist typological principles, with the buildings spatially based on only five
types170.
2.4.6 BEHRENS AND THE ARCHITECTURE-PRODUCT
In 1906 Peter Behrens received his first commission from the AEG company to design advertis-
ing material. He would work as an artistic consultant to work on a wide range of projects, doing from
typographic design, corporate identity (from which he is precursor), product design of lamps or ap-
pliances, or building design, becoming the first so-called industrial designer in history171. In 1908 he
would design the AEG factory in Berlin, raising too the awareness of industrial forms as source of
beauty. The factory was designed as if it was its own machinery, following an aesthetics resulting di-
rectly from the use.
A new aesthetical view and the new industrial designer profession also called for a new view on
the notion of architecture as product, where the root of the question is the reproducible unit172, and
where ultimately, architecture is no longer conceptually grounded to a place. Behrens influence would
spread and gain new contours by his mentoring of three future key figures of modern architecture,
namely Walter Gropius, Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier.
2.4.7 WALTER GROPIUS AND A NEUES BAUEN THROUGH BAUHAUS
The AEG factory, and the experience as Beheren’s disciple, gave Walter Gropius an unprece-
dented background. In 1909, he proposed AEG the creation of a General House Building Corporation on
Artistically Unified Principles, to develop a “search for an underlying geometry for all formal research and the quest
for an alliance between art and industry”173. However, in 1910, when Gropius presented a prefabrication
scheme to Behrens, he was told it had no practical gains. Regardless, determined to take his ideas
ahead, Gropius sought for alliances among industrialists in order to produce his panel system for
housing.
As it would widely be expressed in several of his writings, Gropius was foremost concerned about
two ideals in architecture: industrialization and social equity. When Gropius founded the Bauhaus in
1919, he kept on defending his ideas on prefabrication. In his 1925 text Die neue Architektur und das
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Bauhaus: Grundzüge und Entwicklung einer Konzeption [“The New Architecture and the Bauhaus”] he called for
a synthesis of technique and arts through Bauhaus, framed within the spirit of a Neues Bauen [“New
Architecture”]. Main ideas were mostly driven by an aspiration of industrializing construction, allowing
repetition of mass produced components, in different house designs, adjustable to individual desires:
it was as if the poor and deprived too could finally see their needs satisfied.
The housing problem was not a new issue, but among architects the prefabrication was certainly
also driven by other, probably less noble social factors, which had to do with a not less legitimate
artistic aspiration of formal experimentation, where, as Gropius writes, “the liberation of architecture from
a welter of ornament, the emphasis on its structural functions, and the concentration on concise and economical solutions,
represent the purely material side of that formalizing process on which the practical value of the New Architecture
depends”174. Ultimately this also came to mean that the idea of prefabrication was suited to the planar
elements and cubic volumes of a new aesthetics—this despite aesthetics being an avoided word, since
form was conceptually supposed to be a direct translation of the purpose or function.
The world of the machine becomes a source of inspiration and enables the creation of authentic,
objective beauty, in an architecture accessible to a much wider audience. The art object can be accessed
by everyone, and thus the idea of a commoditized architecture is reinforced. As it is known, the
Bauhaus (literally house of construction) would become a reference for modernist architecture and
design with repercussions in the formulation of the built environment thereon. That would be en-
hanced after its politically-motivated dismissal in 1933, when its main referential figures were forced
to exile elsewhere, in Europe or the New World, spreading Bauhaus’ seeds throughout the world175.
Among those associated with the Bauhaus, the new spirit remained and many, during the Bauhaus
period (or afterword), would too jump on the prefabrication bandwagon.
In a well-known example, along with Adolf Meyer, Gropius designed Baukasten (literally building
blocks) in 1922-1923, a standardized system of flat-roofed housing, developed to study prefabricated
houses for the Bauhaus in Weimer. Baukasten was thought of as a system of standardized components
to be industrially produced, that would function as a variable kit of interlocking parts, to form a near
infinite array of configurations. It was as if a big toy, as Gropius described: “an oversized set of toy building
blocks out of which, depending on the number of inhabitants and their needs, different type of machines for living can
be assembled”176.
2.4.8 PREFAB EXPLORED THROUGH STEEL CONSTRUCTION
There were plenty of architects and engineers interested in exploring the lightness possibilities of
steel during this period. In 1926, Gropius oversaw a housing estate in Toerten-Dessau, where Georg
Muche and Richard Paulick designed a steel prefabricated house. In 1927, Marcel Breuer designed
two separate steel-framed prefabricated houses, called Bambos I and Bambos II, designed for the
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younger Bauhaus masters. Although never built, these prototypical designs served as a starting point
for several concrete-panel later produced, and marked Bauhaus’s turn towards a philosophy of ration-
alization to achieve a new unity of art and industry177. Around this period, other steel-house prefab
prototype designs can be found among the Carl Kaestner Company, Bruane and Roth, or the Woehr Broth-
ers178.
The housing crisis in the 1920s led some big firms getting interested in the construction business.
Such was the case of Hirsch-Kupfer, a major firm in the copper and brass industry, which acquired a
patent for transportable, insulated metal walls. They created a division for prefabricated houses that
was set to develop an eclectic catalogue of prefab houses with exterior face in copper. Walter Gropius
was posteriorly invited to refine the design, and make it marketable. He would approach the problem
in a quasi-scientific way with a right-angle connection system for the copper panels as well as a cata-
logue of design choices designated as Type M2 or Type K1 depending on the layout179. Despite the
successful presentation of two prototypes, the company went bankrupt. Nonetheless, the copper
house division continued as an independent development. After the National Socialists came to
power, the political changes led to a flea of Jews that took it to market in Palestine, where it proved
popular and even causing a branch of the company to open in Haifa. Albeit the interest and some
initial success, the war would inflate cooper prices, which had become more valuable for arms pro-
duction than for houses—it is said that the last copper house was immediately melted down upon
arrival, copper value being higher than the house cost180.
The formal preferences expressed by Gropius in the Hirsch houses could be observed in houses
designed by Josef Hoffman for Vogel and Noot, Hans Scharoun for Christoph & Unmack, or Johannes
Niemeyer for Bohler, sharing a clear preference for hovering cubic volumes, flat roofs, and tectoni-
cally-expressive panel seams181 . After Bauhaus shut-down in 1933, Gropius, along with Konrad
Wachsman would continue its work on prefab systems in the USA, developing the Packaged House182,
which would also not be commercially successful.
2.4.9 THE WEISSENHOF SIEDLUNG INNER CIRCLE
Also linked to Gropius, and involving some of the greatest European architects of the time, the
1926-27 Weissenhof Siedlung [“Weissenhof Estate”]183 model housing development, built in Stuttgart as
part of the Die Wohnung exhibition, would become indelibly linked with the propaganda of these new
modern forms, as it would be of propaganda to efficient constructive principles184. The development
was directed by Mies van der Rohe, and organized under the Deutsche Werkbund [“German Arts and
Crafts Society”], which had been founded in 1907.
As would later be noted by Henry Russel Hitchcock and Philip Johnson185, the Weissenhof Siedlung
would be inextricably linked to CIAM and the formulation of the Modern Movement through an
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International Style, bringing architects such as Le Corbusier, Scharoun, Oud, Gropius, Behrens, or Max
and Bruno Taut. The purpose was to show the potential of the ideas related with standardization,
rationalization or prefabrication, in order to address the house problem in a wide social scale, becom-
ing a flagship of innovative modern architecture.
Nonetheless, many of the produced examples are closer to bourgeois villas than to houses for the
working class. Mies’s block was built on a steel frame, but most of the work followed in masonry and
coating was in traditional methods. Indeed, regardless the constructive rhetoric (not to mention the
social rhetoric), Le Corbusier’s or Mies’ cases were prefab, but Breuer’s or Gropius’ were not. None-
theless, this fact further reinforces the value of prefab and the ethos of the discussion, as the percep-
tion of some construction methods when compared with the others is undistinguishable.
The issue of the concordance between appearance and constructive method employed is further
stressed when we observe Gropius’ House no. 16 and House no. 17. Gropius had devised this pair of
two-story houses to be using dry panel system and a steel skeleton, placed at regular 1.06m intervals
and a single central column. Both the houses followed the same planning principles, either in the
structural dimensioning, or by using the same standards for panels, windows or doors sizes, which
allowed a close construction time. However, whereas House no. 17 used prefabricated elements in a
dry-construction assembly method, House no. 16 used a traditionally laid masonry. The great percep-
tible difference between both houses was in the visible cover-strips of the external sheets in House no.
17. The plans strictly followed a one meter dimensional regulation (or exceptionally half of it), which
highly constrained their potential efficiency.
Gropius would have argued that any spatial inefficiency could be offset by constructive economy.
With the Weissenhof experiment it seemed he would be right. However, the promise would not always
be fulfilled, as even in the post-WWII period, when panel system building was conducted longer and
at its largest scale, it did not prove particularly cheaper than traditional building methods186.
Contrary to Gropius, Mies van der Rohe was not particularly interested in prefab, although he
was keenly interested in industrialized building as a means of design. From Behrens, Mies had cer-
tainly learned an attention to craft and detail, as noticeable through the precision and quality of his
buildings. He did use the factory to produce his designs, and rationality and potential of detail repli-
cation of construction elements within a single design is normally a rule, but components were mostly
customized for each case. He had no particular interest in building houses for the masses and most
of his designs were anything but inexpensive. Therefore, his influence was more aesthetically educa-
tive towards a wider social acceptance of a Neues Bauen than for the design or production of panelized,
modular or other types of prefabrication systems.
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2.4.10 THE FRANKFURT KITCHEN
The Weissenhof Siedlung vanguard, and again the streamlining of planning and building through
rationalization, prefabrication, or standardization, would too be used as a model by Ernst May as
head responsible for the planning of the social housing project New Frankfurt (1925-1930), in Frank-
furt’s suburbs. In this perspective, the Frankfurt Kitchen, designed in 1926 by the Austrian architect
Margarete (Grete) Schütte-Lihotzky, stood as a milestone for being the first to reproduce the dimen-
sions in relation to the human body, to the movements of the cook and to new equipment (gas, water,
electricity)187.
Designed like a laboratory, the kitchen ascribed to the functional and hygienizing theories. When
researching for the design, Grete undertook detailed motion and anthropometric studies, interview-
ing housewives and women’s groups. Around 10 000 units would be built in the late 1920s. Every-
thing was pondered to detail: kitchens came equipped with a gas stove, a swivel stove, built-in storage,
a removable trash drawer, a fold-down ironing board, and adjustable ceiling light; labeled aluminum
bins provided organization for goods like rice and sugar; the materials were carefully though, with
parts ascribing to specific functions such as surfaces to resist knifes. The standardized unit dimen-
sions promoted interchangeability of parts.
The success of the kitchen is now a proven historical fact. Throughout the 1930s until the 1960s,
kitchens would often be smaller, and the Frankfurter criticized by being too luxurious whether in size
as in the materials. Nonetheless, it stood for its principles, which would soon be adapted to other
places such as Switzerland or Sweden. Whether design-wise or sociologically, its relevance is so per-
vasive that would become a collector’s desired item and it can be found in the collections of numerous
museums, among which figure MoMA in NYC or the Victoria and Albert Museum in London188. The
kitchen has undoubtedly set a resolute shift towards the industrialization of house components, and
can be regarded as the first great step towards the contemporary kitchens, with their typical 0,60m
modules.
2.4.11 THE NAZI HIBERNATION AND A POST-WWII REBIRTH
During the Nazi regime and subsequent wartime period, there are no remarkable developments
in prefab. If that is a consensual fact from a German perspective, on the other hand prefabrication
may have won WWII to the Allied Forces—through the capacity to set up production, barrack troops
or workers in construction that could as easily be built up as they could be moved away, make airfields
and so forth, using efficient and often prefabricated construction methods189. Nonetheless, after the
war, the previous achievements in the production of homes in Germany caught the attention of USA
interests who prepared an exhibition of prefab houses in Stuttgart Zuffenhausen in 1947190.
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A surge in the development of prefab houses occurred in this period, when reconstruction highly
increased housing demand. Examples can be found in system construction by the Holig-Homogen-
Holzwerk company, in Baiersbroon, or in J. Hebel aerated concrete panel houses—the Hebel panels
had 50cm in width by 200 or 250cm length and a 15+10cm thickness for external and internal walling.
The aircraft designer and manufacturer Willy Messerschmidt became interested in joining the
achievements of the industrial state of the art into the building industry, and came up with a solution
of encasing the aerated concrete panels covered in metal sheeting to better withstand the elements
and enhancing finishing materials possibilities.
Another aircraft manufacturer, Dornier, which had previous experience in temporary housing con-
struction, produced ready-built two-story houses, which were structurally built in lightweight steel
profiles. They were built ex-situ in box-like modules with complete internal fit-out which would then
be transported to their final assembly location, cladded and rendered in-situ. When the company
retook aircraft manufacturing, the production of houses was terminated191. In the 1950s and 1960s,
the German timber industry and house builders started to invest heavily in modern methods of pro-
duction192.
2.4.12 GDR’S PLATTENBAU AGE
In the former GDR (German Democratic Republic, or East Germany), industrialization of the
building industry became a political program with evident, cross-fertilized links with the Soviet re-
gime. As with the Soviets, large modular construction, and large panel construction sprang. The most
common system in this period became the WBS 70 (Housing Construction Series 70), which, as it had
occurred with the earlier Occident System, also consisted of elements with finished surfaces and built-
in windows.
This system and several similar concrete-panel systems, at cases with external decorative motives
embedded in the very concrete, or using decorative tiles, became known in the GDR as Plattenbau193
(similar to the Khrushchyovka’s in USSR). These and similar others, in Germany and elsewhere, would
determine the appearance of new social housing developments and also of residential areas, such as
the villes nouvelles and grands ensembles around Paris, the suburb of Neuperlach in Munich or the
Märkische Viertel in Berlin.
2.4.13 WEST GERMANY SYSTEMS
Despite the somewhat monotonic notes in the East, liberalized alternatives sprang throughout
West Germany, as noticed in the example of Günter Behnisch’s concrete-based prototypes, such as
what as became known as the System Behnisch. In 1959-63, together with the engineering school in
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Ulm, Behnisch developed what he called the “the first large-element, fully prefabricated building in Germany”.
In 1965, he would write that “the use of these standardized elements and systems brings us exceptional advantages,
so that in the future we will be liberated from the work that, up until now, has overwhelmed our offices (…) The
architect will be free for new major undertakings”194. However, as it is well-known, such a mythical architectural
solution to all problems would face criticism, and different design philosophies and their associated trends
would emerge.
In 1970-72, Otto Steidle, together with the Swiss architects Doris and Ralph Thut, executed an
experimental housing in Genterstraße in Munich, employing a prefab concrete system allowing vari-
ation and flexibility, and inciting dwellers to freely fit-out and adapt their house to changing needs
over time195. The structural system is openly expressed, providing a frame for different infill elements.
The system has load-bearing and non-load-bearing parts, which can be visually recognized, and
thereby intuitively provide the inhabitants with knowledge that enables them to alter or add to their
respective house without great technical expertise. It is an open system which greatly ascribes to
Habraken’s support and infill notions, successfully deploying it. After 50 years, the external perception
of the buildings is still aesthetically intact, regardless the considerable interior changes that have oc-
curred.
Also related to an open approach to design, Richard J. Dietrich, of the University of Stuttgart,
designed a steel-frame modular building system called Metastadt-Bausystem (1965-72). As the name
states, the design, envisioned as a meta-system, is supposed to provide a concept for a flexible model
of urbanism, and which, as if a giant Meccanno set with endless parts, can be varied as created. The
implemented pilot scheme is developed in a plan that is supposed to expand unlimitedly both hori-
zontally and vertically. The structural module is 4.2×4.2m and 3.6m height, with a spatial modulation
of 0.6m. There are main supporting columns every 16.8m and cantilever spans up to 8.4m. Within
this setup, spaces can be enclosed as needed. The different elements—loadbearing and non-load-
bearing elements, and services—are kept independent: the structure is kept separable from the infill
through demountable walls; the frame structure itself is bolted so it can be rearranged as necessary;
the external panels are interchangeable. Up to the very name, Metastadt (meta-city), hints an idealistic,
uncompromising, open nature. The result is a cluster form, resembling a randomly laid set of blocks.
In the end, due to technical faults that resulted from cost cutting measures, the building was demol-
ished in the early 1980s196.
In a totally different approach, but too ascribing to a cluster kind of form, the firm of Hübner-
Forster-Hübner developed the theme of octagonal capsules, which had been previously worked out by
the Israeli architect Zvi Hecker in his design with polyhedric modules’ cluster of 720 units for the
Ramot Housing Complex in Jerusalem in 1974, also known as the beehive. Whereas Hecker’s modules
were made of steel, Hübner’s cluster of 23 prefab cells, located in Stuttgart’s suburbs, were made of
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plastic. Each module was delivered to site fully equipped with heating, pumping, wiring and even
wallpaper197. More than a contribute for housing and construction efficiency problems, these designs
contributed to enrich the available formal vocabulary, their greater value standing in their experi-
mental character and vanguard (even if naïve) spirit.
2.4.14 CURRENT PREFAB BUSINESS
The prefabrication industry is now a significant force in the German market. In 2002, over 23 000
lightweight prefabricated homes were completed, equivalent to some 13% of all new detached or
semi-detached homes built that year. In Eastern Germany, the proportion was higher than the na-
tional average, at around 20%198. The use of steel, timber panel, concrete framing and masonry panel
systems is growing rapidly, with many eco-designs also being marketed.
German clients favor packages that include financial services, assistance with finding sites and a
range of standard, customizable house types. This has led, since re-unification, to packages offered
by contractors, architects and building societies that combine multiple expertise. In many cases, build-
ing societies have been concerned with the increase in house prices, which prevented young families
looking for their first home. These building societies recognize that a reduction in housing cost by
22% could generate millions of extra homes and hence, of course, millions of extra customers199.
Overall and unlike in the 1980s, with the Plattenbau hangover, contemporarily prefab in Germany
has a good image, being associated with good quality construction. Reasons found on current com-
panies and market practices for a wide acceptation of prefab methods may be ascribed to the contin-
uous innovation and staff training, or in the implementation of quality control processes. Building
associations also have an important, dynamic role, promoting conferences, training sessions, contrib-
uting in the development of quality standards and certification schemes and consistent promotion of
the merits of prefab. Like in the rest of Europe, most construction companies are SME’s, nonethe-
less, the prefab market is dominated by major companies such as WeberHaus, Schwörerhaus or Elk-Bien-
Zenker, with some exporting to European markets (e.g. UK, Austria or Switzerland) or World markets
(e.g. Japan or Russia).
Ordinary, non-authorship prefab has kept moving at its own pace, but although often with strong
architectural contributions, the fervent spirit of the early modernist times has never been felt again.
The naïveté of the fervent belief in technology to move humanity forward, or in design to solve the
societies’ issues is presumably no longer occurring as it was in the 1920s or the 1960s. On the other
hand, what is a state-of-the-art technology, when tested in time and proven fit, soon becomes part of
regular practices. The speed of our days contributes to a faster obsolescence of new practices, as their
novelty is tested and discarded, but it also contributes for an oblivion of good old practices.
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From a designer’s perspective options are numerous, and is often hard to discern what the best
solution can be for a given case. In terms of house construction solutions these are most generically
divided in to two types of structural technologies: the Fertigbauweise (literally meaning “Prefab Construc-
tion”), which makes use of lightweight construction elements and is typically linked with a traditional
idea of house prefabrication, and among which can be found companies such as Baufritz or Weberhaus;
and the Massivbauweise (meaning “heavy construction”), which includes concrete or masonry elements,
and is normally more dependent of in-situ practices, and among which can be found companies such
as Glatthaar Fertigkeller, or Johanni Ziegelhaus.
In the current state of the prefab market, technologically numerous materials and techniques can
be found: from timber, concrete, steel or lightweight steel based structures; in frame, light-frame,
panel or modular systems; with composed elements with insulation and with or without internal fin-
ishing, and so on. Production-wise, among the different companies the degree of mechanization and
automation in the different stages, factory or in-situ, also varies immensely.
Market-wise, prefab is frequently used in new detached single family houses. Most of the pre-
designed houses have a traditional look, but other forms are marketed, given the substantial flexibility
and variety in finishing materials. Prices vary a lot, depending of materials and equipment, and so on:
a starter house can cost about €80 000, whereas in the top market there are no limits, but can normally
range up to €400 000 (2004 figures), depending on multiple factors.
Some companies offer several finishing materials options for similar design layouts to meet the
client’s budget, or a greater or lesser flexibility in terms to adjustment to the client’s greater or lesser
spatial or aesthetical expectations, with typically a higher price for more flexibility in the customer’s
customization options in terms of design layout or materials and vice versa. Customers choose among
the numerous procurement options, among which the catalog houses have been growing. In such
procurement option, generally the client is also responsible to acquire the land and take care of legal
permits and so forth. Houses can too be bought in different stages of the construction process. One
of such procurement ways is the Ausbauhaus, in which the external part of the house is pretty much
built, but the interior is not or only partially built. This has been a growing procurement option, since
it allows for buyers to have more latitude to adjust houses to their needs, spending less in the initial
buy, and get more engaged in the construction process, with potential savings and certainly with a
different sense of fulfillment. It also is important to refer that the German law imposes an additional
fee to the real-estate promoters which also design the houses they build. To a certain extent, such
discourages prefab manufactures’, at least the smaller ones, to go into the real-estate market, leaving
it wide open to the prefab sharks’.
As in any other competitive market, manufacturers invest highly in promoting their products.
Besides individual companies’ showrooms house prototypes, to aid customer choice, there is a big
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investment in presenting prototypes in show villages and home show parks, which have in display
dozens of houses of several manufacturers, each fully equipped and furnished. Another important
promotional method makes use of magazines, such as Pro FertigHaus, to divulge prefab construction,
presenting a range of different configurations, styles and products, which helps keeping consumers
informed. Some companies are selling kit-of-parts homes in retail stores, which makes them true
consumer products.
Companies also develop great efforts in terms of quality delivery, highly investing in areas which
are not directly visible to clients, such as R&D or staff training, often with a combined purpose of
achieving certain desirable certification labels which too contribute to promote their products. The
more recent trends in certification has been the energetic efficiency and/or sustainability labelling,
such as the widely implemented Passivhaus, which has led many manufacturers to develop new stand-
ards in terms of material, light or energy demands. Coordination among real-estate sector expands
the scope of some of these companies, allowing them to act in different sectors of the market, where
they act not only as house producers, but as real-estate developers, and on the procurement level,
offering a complete, integrated package of services to the client. These give more visibility to their
brands, and contributes to expand their market into the multiple streams of the sector.
2.4.15 THE CASE OF WEBERHAUS ‘OPTION’ (BAUART AG ARCHITECTS) AND WEBERHAUS SYSTEMS
A contemporary example of collaborative work between the German industry and an architectural
firm is the WeberHaus ‘Option’. Developed from the smallhouse.ch concept by the Swiss architects Bauart
AG, is a modular built house manufactured in wood, totally ex-situ made. The appearance is mini-
malist and the house philosophy is, according to the architects, for a minimum cost and maximum
design quality—outside is blocky, inside of “surprising generosity”. The modular house grows with the
needs of its residents. Only one thing remains the same—the unconventional mixture of panoramic
windows and horizontal wood siding. The small sized, yet sophisticated design and construction, is
thought to be a standalone building or to complement existing buildings and facilities.
The basic version modules are of 4.13×10.11m, having a clear interior area of 35m2 on the ground
floor and 30m2 on the first floor. Four generous windows, located on each face, provide the box with
the necessary natural light. These are associated with four spatial zones, characterizing its appearance,
contributing for its overall consistent and reduced, functional and object-like look.
Functionally, the basic version of the two-story box-like house offers living and dining room,
hallway and complete kitchen, a fully equipped bath, a gallery and, separated by a sliding wall, two
rooms for sleeping or working. Access to the house is via the short side straight into a front room
with an open connection to the kitchen space that is positioned in the center of the house. Past the
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kitchen is another room from which the first floor is accessed. The upper story is identical to the
ground floor plan.
In addition to the basic box, ground plan variants like an L- or U-shape with an inner atrium are
possible. Other options of this system include the grouping of volumes. The simple, volumetric, form
can be either used on its own, or two and three of these volumes can be combined to create a bigger
unit. One basic module with a one-story extension can be combined with a mirrored version of the
same to form a small courtyard in-between; or, any number of ‘L-shaped’ modules can be built next
to each other. A one-story module can be attached to either side of the back room of the ground
floor—either to simply enlarge this room or to create another room. On the first floor this module
can become an accessible roof terrace. An option for pitched roof may also be used. Additionally, if
building regulations allows, the modular concept and the rational construction allow for later exten-
sions without any problems, allowing a prospective buyer to start with one small house and extend
this when needed.
The construction is of wood frame, with final assembly of a panel type of construction. The con-
struction system is developed by the building company Weberhaus, which currently provides three
main types of wood walls systems: breathable wall construction, styrofoam and PE foil-free. These
systems allow virtually any finishing type. The same applies to their other systems—roof, windows
& doors, and basement.
The company’s philosophy may be regarded as one of developing high standard construction
products which may be adaptable to different design specifications. This enables the client to build
its own design, adjusting it to their system’s characteristics and limitations; for Weberhaus to develop
their own catalogue; or for the client to use the company’s design teams. In all cases, either a more
traditional, or more contemporary designs may be developed, as it is the case of Option. Additionally,
since there is a strong concern on developing certified systems on multiple fronts—sustainability
practices, toxicity proof and allergy-friendly standards, product warranty, quality control in construc-
tion production and erection processes, and so on—there is an enhanced reassurance for both the
designer and the client that the end-product will satisfy demanding requirements.
The compactness of the house can certainly be regarded as an indicator of the willingness of
people to actually live in a small, compact house like this, even when such is not dictated by an urban
context. Its basic version size foresees a small house for singles, at best a couple; as a vacation home
or interim accommodation, some may regard. But nonetheless its expansion possibilities keep a sense
of compactness in space that goes beyond the mere vacation bungalow that a distracted look may
regard at first sight: it is a compact, adaptable and expandable house fit to contemporary family pat-
terns and a contemporary lifestyle.
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2.5 Prefabrication of houses in the UK
2.5.1 OUTLINE AND EARLY EXAMPLES
UK’s colonization efforts were probably the main igniter of prefabrication in the western world.
These efforts would have increasingly serious and sustained attempts from the late 1700s and early
1800’s onwards, when the devised constructive systems would definitely be spread all over the world,
propelled by the developments of the industrial age and the prosperity of Victorian Britain. Easy to
transport and assemble construction systems were of utmost importance in the military and colonial
expansion. In the military, since early stages, the focus has been in speedily erecting and dismantling
temporary structures—barracks, as they became called. In the colonization efforts, besides house con-
struction, also were included schools, hospitals, churches or storehouses. Simple houses, with not
much detail were manufactured in the UK, then dismantled into transportable components, and fi-
nally globally shipped as building kits to the USA, Africa, Australia or India200. These were not as
extensively prefabricated as it can be understood in our current state-of-the-art. Nonetheless, they
already represented significant gains in efficiency and speed of construction. Their appearance was
usually unpretentious and shed-like, and the construction typically made with precut wood frames
and board cladding, with the different parts often requiring some in-situ trim and fixing, and in many
cases with doors and windows prepared and shipped as complete components201.
There are numerous early examples. The first is recorded in the USA in 1624, and consisted of
portable cottages shipped from the UK and assembled in the fishing village of Cape Anne. These
panelized wood houses, initially destined to be used by the fishing fleet, were subsequently disassem-
bled, moved, and reassembled several times. In the late XVIIIth century a hospital, a warehouse and
several small houses (or cottages as they were called) were shipped from England to Sidney. The cot-
tages were in timber frame and had wood panel walls, floors and roofs. Similar systems are reported
to be shipped to Freetown, in Sierra Leone, to build shops, a church and several other buildings. In
1790, the British shipbuilder John King builds and assembles a double-story house called The Hut at
his shipyard. He then disassembles it, and hauls it in pieces to its final site in Emsworth, England, re-
erecting it in only sixteen hours202. In 1820, a colonization mission in Eastern Cape Providence, in
South Africa, was accompanied by three-room wooden cottages203.
Due to the increasing insurance premiums on wooden houses, and the increasing range of areas
in which iron was being used, the latter would become a predominant building material by mid XIXth
century. Whether in wood or iron, this coincided with the first serious and sustained attempts to
devise prefabricated systems, shifting labor from site to controlled and mechanized conditions in
factory. Among these, the wood-based Manning Portable Colonial Cottage, built in England and shipped
to Australia, is probably the most influential throughout XIXth century British settlements. It began
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as a portable cottage made by Henry Manning for his son, who was emigrating from London to
Australia. His son’s cottage would become the prototype for what would turn out to be the first
widely documented, fully prefabricated and packed house system. It was a commercial success, as
Manning developed several models of varying size and cost, testifying to the fact that the houses were
provisioned for clients across a range of incomes, and to the notion that the prefabricated house
could be a measure of status in the colonial setting. Furthermore, it was widely publicized, as illus-
trated in a famous 1837 advertisement in the South Australian Record. The system included the prefab-
ricated wood frame, infill components, the standardized and interchangeable panels, and used the
same dimensional logic with all the elements. Structurally, the cottage consisted of grooved wooden
posts, embedded and bolted into a continuous floor plate carried on bearers. The posts carried a wall
plate that supported the roof’s simple triangulated trusses. The standardization of all parts eased its
construction, and spatially constrained all the layouts to rectangular based shapes. The final cladding
was performed with various wood panels of standard size occupying the full height of the facade,
alternating fully opaque with window or door panels. While many houses in Australia and other Brit-
ish colonies prior to 1833 had been built with materials shipped from the UK, the Manning Cottage
appears to be the first designed specifically for ease of travel and construction, with Manning stating
that a single person could carry each individual piece constructing up the cottage. Some of the generic
principles of the system would influence subsequent technologies, pioneering the values that would
become common in prefabrication, such as dimensional coordination or components standardiza-
tion204.
2.5.2 A GLOBAL REVOLUTION
Through ingenious technical advances occurred throughout the industrial revolution, the ancient
knowledge of iron speedily expanded to a mechanized sphere during the XIXth century. Not only the
more malleable wrought iron or the harder and heavier cast iron, but also steel (the best of both
worlds), could finally be produced in large scales, and such was in a great deal due to several British
contributions. By using coke instead of coal, using higher temperatures, compressed air, and other
techniques that were feverishly being developed and readily becoming available, it became possible
to manufacture better quality iron-based materials in sizeable quantities205 . From a deepened
knowledge of iron and steel, to its employment in construction was just a small step. Initially used
primarily in the machines, rail tracks or shipbuilding, soon it became obvious that it enabled longer
spans. That meant larger, non-obstructed spaces, useful in building factories with large machines.
The employment of the different forms of iron for a wider range of buildings would follow.
Via the British contributions, prefabrication soon became a true iron flagship. It certainly was a
major contribution to the British colonial movement, with many applications in components such as
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windows, columns, beams or foundation elements, and with many innovative by-products, such as
the corrugated metal sheets. In 1829, Henry Robertson Palmer, Architect and Engineer to the Lon-
don Dock Company, registered Patent No. 5786, for “indented or corrugated metallic sheets”, envisioning
its use primarily for roofs. However, the development of the machines to corrugate the metal plates
would be in the hands of Richard Walker and James Jones. Corrugated iron, useful for its lightness
and durability, rapidly became popular, and thus widely used in prefab construction. Indeed, with
greater or lesser variations, it is still currently broadly used for many different purposes206.
When in the late 1840’s wrought iron became reasonably cheap, its mass use in construction be-
came possible. Prefabrication with timber still continued when in the 1850’s numerous different iron
structural systems were developed. Initially cast iron was used mostly in a one-off basis for specific
customers, in structures which required a high durability, such as lighthouses, and then also in a few
grand houses. However, with the introduction of corrugated metal this began to change, since cor-
rugation outstandingly increased the rigidity of the thin sheets while maintaining its lightness, which
favored maneuverability and transportability of the constructions207. Among the places of export, the
Californian story is quite remarkable. Before the opening of the Panama Canal (1914), ships had to
travel long down south to Cape Horn and up back north to transport goods from one side of North
America to the other, and in practical terms this meant California was nearly at the same distance of
Europe as of New York. With the huge house demand caused by the California gold-rush (1848–
1855), the context favored the British know-how, with its producers seizing the chance to plentifully
export their iron houses208.
An architectural or a building construction background was rarely the case among the developers
of iron prefab. One of the first exported buildings came from Liverpool and was designed by a naval
engineer, John Grantham, and built by the shipbuilders Thomas Vernon & Co. Shipbuilding remarkably
added technical know-how, as it was where iron frame construction was most advanced. Throughout
the 1850’s prefab iron houses were built by the thousands for the Californian, South American, South
African or Australian markets, by producers with diverse backgrounds, such as: John Walker of Ber-
mindsey, son of the first corrugated iron manufacturer; Edward T. Bellhouse of Manchester, a engi-
neer and millwright who had developed his iron construction skills in constructing cotton mills; Ed-
win Maw of Liverpool, whose background was as manufacturer of railway rolling stock; or Samuel
Hemming of Bristol, which would dedicate most of his work to iron prefab.
Among these, there was a wide variety of constructive systems, which were independently devel-
oped by each company. For instance, Edward Bellhouse used his 1853 patented system of round
cast-iron flanged columns, shaped for ease of attachment of the corrugated iron paneling; Samuel
Hemming, one of the most prominent builders entering the Australian market with an astonishing
quantity and variety of buildings, typically used either a timber or wrought iron frame, internally clad
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with wood planks and externally with corrugated iron209. But the iron prefab golden era would be
quite short-lived, with the business eventually declining after 1860, with several contributing reasons.
The rise of iron prices by mid 1950s, and the Crimean War (1853-1856), diverted the trade, setting
up a shift. Meanwhile, colonies started to develop their own construction industries, and the corru-
gated iron got out of fashion because of its lack of thermal mass and high conductivity, unbearable
in the hotter tropical or sub-tropical climates.
2.5.3 CRYSTAL PALACE AND A SYNTHESIS OF AN IRON TRADITION
The first iconic architectural use of cast iron had been in bridge construction, in 1779, for the
Coalbrookdale Company Bridge over the river Svern, designed by the Darby brothers, which was mostly
prefabricated. Cast iron construction envisioned the use of mass-produced components as a kit-of-
parts. Although not a pioneer, cast iron prefab would become highly visible after the construction of
the Crystal Palace, by Joseph Paxton, for the Great Exhibition of 1851 in England, which would turn
into a worldwide icon of the use of standardized cast iron components. The structure was a seemingly
repetitive system of standardized components that took only eight months to design, manufacture
and assemble. Such would only be possible with manufactured kit of parts, and the idea of using
repetitive, self-supporting bays that could be erected independent from one another by unskilled
workers210. It reiterated, on a grand scale, a philosophy of construction underwritten by all the pio-
neers of prefabrication, both in theory and in practice, linking the precut timber frame of a remote
ancestor, the Manning Cottage, with the new material, the cast iron.
Considering the context of the epoch, the amount of industrially produced parts in the Crystal
Palace is quite remarkable, with columns made of composite structures that could be connected to
extensions or several decorative features, glass panels of standard dimensions and their supporting
framework accordingly: a complete building system of modules, components and connections. Be-
sides its intrinsic architectural quality, as stated by Gilbert Herbert, “its value also resides in its dramatiza-
tion of the possibilities of prefabrication, in its revelation of the potential of industrial processes speedily to create vast,
precision-built, immaculately engineered architectural works – a potentiality that was only hinted at in the pioneer
works”211. Paxton’s intention of completing most of the work in factory was however undermined by
the reality of the construction circumstances that have partially detracted the initial concept. Anyhow,
its significance goes beyond the industrial processes it relied upon, to the extension of the rationali-
zation of the building to the entire construction process. About this, Herbert writes: “in its organiza-
tional concept, its realization of the processes of building, its handling of the flow of materials, components, and labor,
in its production of systems and subsystems, and in its coordination of the entire vast enterprise as a planned sequence
of events, the building is unique for its time”212.
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According to the modernist angle of Siegfried Giedion, from an architectural perspective, the
Crystal Palace is, in a great deal, also responsible for an architectural shift of the understanding of the
form besides history, and towards an aesthetics derived from the function213. It is also important
since it proved how architects, engineers and producers could work together, representing, according
to R. E. Smith “a shift in understanding among architects, that beauty may be as simple as the functional means of
production”214. The bulk of anonymous prefab would also have a fundamental role in the buildup of a
new perspective on form and on a collaborative notion of design. The industrial revolution not only
had brought up new materials, and changed manufacturing capabilities and public perception of the
desirability of industrialized products215, but also had brought up great housing needs to cities
crowded by a migrated rural population. To fulfill these needs, mass production seemed problematic
among some architectural circles. Criteria of economy and efficiency were not consensual as orna-
ment appraisal was valued by architects and the intellectual community at the time, as was the case
of William Morris; not to mention that many of these innovative cast iron buildings, or even the
bridges or other constructions, were highly ornamented, at least for today’s standards, and such was
also an indelible mirror of the epoch. However, growing housing needs and its inevitable social pres-
sure would demand large scale production. A new fusion between art, science and industry was re-
quired, and such would also be one of the grand projects of architectural Modernism.
2.5.4 POST-WWI PREFAB PROGRAMS
As in other places, the housing shortage would be a major problem in the critical postwar periods.
Given the degree of destruction and a convalescing productive tissue, the huge volume of demand
following both WWI and WWII conflicts could not be fulfilled. In the UK after WWI, it was esti-
mated a need of 500 000 new houses just for the heroes returning from war. The scarcity of raw
materials, shortage of skilled personnel, and the long construction times of ordinary methods, were
unable to meet the needs. Skilled labor was about half of the prewar level, and union blocks resulted
that progress in training newly demobilized soldiers was slow. Conditions were thus created to the
inevitable recognition of the need to use different approaches, leading to a deep reconsideration of
construction methodologies towards innovative processes. Wartime development of the armament
industry had too produced a considerable spare production capacity, as well as technological advances
in construction equipment whose use was feasible by unskilled workers. In such a scenario, the gov-
ernment envisioned a combination of technical innovation and financial incentives as a way to capi-
talize the available resources216. A number of official acts would prepare the way for prefabrication
developments. The chief financing instrument was the Addison Act of 1919, which introduced con-
siderable subsidies for local authorities, while giving incentives for houses embodying new construc-
tion processes. The government also launched the Homes Fit for Heroes programme, which encouraged
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non-traditional house construction. The Standardization and New Methods of Construction Committee was
another mechanism launched in this period, an agency set up to validate alternatives, approving a
great number of system comprising a wide range of new techniques and materials217.
One of the most successful of these new construction systems approved by the committee would
be the Dorlonco System, by the steel company Dorman Long, which presented a somewhat unusual,
hybrid configuration. The system’s architects, Adshead, Ramsey and Abercrombie, created a house
conforming to the popular, traditional looking, neo-Georgian style with sloped roofs, solid orna-
mented chimneys, and sash windows. The regulated sizing and placement of door and window open-
ings fulfilled the simplification and standardization aspirations, and was suited to systemized con-
struction. Constructively, the system is a hybrid of dry and wet technologies. The structural frame,
consisting of pre-cut rolled steel angles erected in-situ, was designed to accept a number of different
claddings, from conventional brickwork to concrete rendering on an expanded metal lath reinforce-
ment. Internal linings were very robust, consisting of plastered clinker concrete blocks. As a result,
the houses give the impression of being extremely solidly built. However, in some of the construc-
tions, the system would reveal severe pathologies, with thermal variation derived cracks in the con-
crete cladding letting in the water and rusting the steel. The Dorman Long Company manufactured and
erected the steel frame, while the remaining construction was carried out by local builders. The system
would be considered the most successful in post-WWI house types, with around 10 000 built in the
1920’s. It was not only a success in terms of commercial viability, but also in terms of production
longevity, with some examples dating from post-WWII period218.
The Duo Slab, produced by William Airey and Sons Ltd, was another of these new systems. It con-
sisted of in-situ wooden cast concrete columns, and precast concrete slabs. The houses were also of
a traditional appearance. Around 4 000 were built and would prove remarkably durable. As in the
generality of the postwar constructions, since there was shortage of skilled labor and lack of in-situ
machinery, construction elements had to be light enough to be manhandled, and more than using ex-
situ prefab methods, these used site-prefabrication methods, as was usually the case with precast
concrete. After all, concrete was a relatively new and innovative technology, under a great deal of
experimentation, and it is common to find a mixed use of concrete cladding or filling with steel
frames. Nonetheless, steel paneled houses were also developed in this period, as was the case of the
Cowieson, the Atholl and the Weir, the latter with 1 500 units, all with timber frames clad by flat steel
plates219. Regardless the technology, the systems that emerged during this epoch can be clearly divided
into two major groups: those that employed skilled workers in factory and shipyard production, and
those that employed a combination of small-scale in-situ precast concrete and in-situ formwork con-
crete to maximize the use of unskilled workers. Dorlonco system, as well as Atholl, Telford, Weir, Scano,
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Boot or Parkinson systems were among the first group, whereas Duo-slab, as well as Winget, Fidler, Bos-
well, Dry Walls, Easiform, Forrester-Marsh or Universal systems were among the second group220.
With the shortage of materials and labour after WWI and the consequent acute increase in the
price of building, the huge demands made on the Treasury by the Addison Act subsidy meant that the
programme would be severely cut. When it ended, in 1921, only 214,000 houses had been approved,
bellow the initial estimated needs221. Of these, only some 50,000 non-traditional houses had been built,
short for the original expectations, but deep in impact. The influence on the country and the building
industry was relatively minor, but it would have a long-lasting impact on consumers, producers and
building professionals. By the 1930’s, the idea of cheap prefabricated bungalows, clad in materials
such as asbestos or corrugated steel had proven broadly attractive to the public, in particular in the
niche of holiday or retirement houses. Their sprawling effect on the countryside was pernicious, but
they had public acceptance and offered advantages in cost and building speed. Initially, one of the
major propelled goals of the incentive program had been to contribute to overcome the housing
shortage. However, this contribution had had a clear political and economic agenda, set to implement
a postwar economic stabilization and employment growth. As time went by, and with the balanced
situation of the early 1920’s, the initial agenda eventually lost its relevance222.
Despite the strong inputs, the prefabrication evolution would not occur steadily, virtually ceasing
after this period for not being sufficiently consistent to compete with ordinary construction methods.
As incentives terminated and skilled labor and traditional materials came back on stream, proven
techniques retook their regular use, and so faded the interest in the prefabrication methods. The
general lack of price competitiveness in comparable solutions also did not contribute. The govern-
ment had never been completely committed to prefab, but to the agenda, seeing prefab as a temporary
solution. It was useful in the post-WWI period due to the high number of houses being built, but it
turned out to have little long-term impact in the construction sector at the time. Nonetheless, UK’s
post-WWI construction methods, their ebullient development, placed them among the most ad-
vanced in the world, and were attentively watched in the US and Germany223.
2.5.5 THE RISE AND FALL OF THE POST-WWII TEMPORARIES
It was not until post-WWII that the UK would again see great improvements in prefab. Most of
the new designs were developed from scratch, rather than evolving from any of the interwar systems,
and with a great proliferation of different building techniques. The State was faced with the problem
of providing speedily built dwellings on a colossal scale, and how to ensure factories kept on working
after the wartime demand had ended, while economy was still in recovery. From this point, to imple-
ment a framework of incentives to prefab or system building, it was just a small step224. Therefore,
again, an incentive program was created, alongside a series of committees, workgroups and the like.
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In September 1942, the UK Interdepartmental Commitee on House Construction was formed. Its chief goals
were to implement and promote the development of alternative materials and construction methods,
in order to increase the efficiency, economy and speed of construction. The program was to investi-
gate alternative techniques and materials, consider its application and test them through experimental
methods. Prefabs would become a major part of the overall housing construction efforts, envisioned
during the government of wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and legally outlined in the
Housing (Temporary Accommodation) Act of 1944, familiarly known as the Temporary Housing Programme
(TPS), with an initial projected state allocation of £150 million. Through the aegis of the programme,
some 156 623 two-bedroom temporary bungalow houses would be supplied between 1945 and 1949,
exceeding the initial valuation, with a cost of over £200 million. The average price per bungalow was
of £1 324225, also exceeding the first estimates of £1 200 for a house in the country and £1 300 for
an urban house, with values including the land cost and all site preparation226.
The bungalows were subjected to a design brief and a prototype from which a competition was
organized. Therefore, the bungalows would not be based in a single spatial or constructive design,
but instead in different layouts through different methods of framing and cladding for a basic set of
accommodation. These different methods were constrained to the house brief set by the prototype
developed through the tutelage of the Ministry of Works (commonly named Portal Bungalow after the
Minister, Lord Portal), and first exhibited in the Tate Gallery in February 1944227. The maximum area
that could be built was 92.9m2 for a two-story house and 86.4m2 for a bungalow228. Due to war, the
bungalows were also forbidden to use materials that were in short supply (e.g., timber), and with its
construction following strictly economic principles or, in alternative, using available materials that
had not been previously associated with housing (e.g., aluminum). When the Ministry of Works
opened up the design competition based on these conditions, some 1 400 designs were submitted,
with many rejected at a conceptual stage, while others after a prototypical stage.
Of the relatively few approved for construction, only four types would be made in sizeable quan-
tities. The Aluminium Bungalow (54 500), produced by AIROH (Aircraft Industries Research Organisation
on Housing), a 62.7m2, easy to assemble, four sections all-aluminum frame house, with two bedrooms,
kitchen and bathroom, and fully furnished down to the curtains. The Arcon (38 859 units), developed
by Taylor Woodrow and later Edric Neel, a 57.2m2 asbestos prefab house with fully-equipped kitchen
and separate bathroom module, and two non-equipped bedrooms. The Uni-Seco (28 999), produced
by Selection Engineering Company Ltd of London, which had three different versions, made with a timber
frame and asbestos paneling, and with a flat-roof. Finally, the Tarran (19 014), produced by Tarran
Industries Ltd of Hull, with timber frame and concrete paneling, and that would have both one- and
two-story versions. Produced in incomparable lower numbers, others would however be built in non-
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neglecting quantities, such as Spooner (2 000), Universal (2 000), Phoenix (2 428), Orlit (255), or Miller
(100)229.
For the number of built units and for the technical achievements, AIROH’s bungalow was defi-
nitely the most interesting. It was designed to use the unused capacity of the aircraft industry, and
was made in five factories spread across the country: an authentic mass production of houses dream
come true. The assembly lines that once had produced airplanes could now produce the four com-
plete sections of the ten tone Aluminium Bungalow in just twelve minutes. The frame and external
paneling were in aluminum, while the interior was lined with plasterboard and the core filled with
aerated concrete for thermal insulation. Roofs had two layers of aluminium sheets resting on alumi-
num trusses. The floor was the only part in wood. Wiring, plumbing, furniture, doors, windows, or
fully equipped kitchens were all installed in the factory in each of the four modules. They were then
transported by truck to site, and assembled through an ingenious self-positioning connector blocks
mechanism. This was state-of-the art housing technology, yet it looked quite normal both technolog-
ically and architecturally, since after built few could distinguish them, for instance, from the relatively
more primitive Arcon230.
Despite the successful number of built units steaming from the TPS program, the prefabs and, in
particularly the AIROH’s, were relatively expensive. By 1947 AIROH’s were costing £1 610 each,
which outstandingly exceeded the initial estimates of (£1 300), as well as the average of its competi-
tors’ houses (£1 178). Its costs, alongside its commercially success—since it constituted about one-
third of the total TPS production—would have an important weight in the overall average house
price of the total program, raising it to over £1 300, while the weighted average of the remaining two-
thirds of total production was only £1 125. These figures also did not contributed for a very favorable
comparison with the average cost of permanent house in 1947, which was £1 400 for a three-bed-
room house231. According to Davies, given these numbers, in free-market conditions with no state
subsidies, as in the USA, the whole TPS program would probably have failed232.
Regardless the construction types, the TPS gave people detached bungalows that could be rented
through the local authorities233. Thought of to be temporary, and using unusual materials, their ap-
pearance was considerably different from both the inter-war local authority cottage and the inter-war
speculative bungalow. If these, and prefab in general, did not represented a paradigm of industrialized
construction for the architect and designer, there was nonetheless an impact in public opinion, which
through it became somewhat prepared for the unusual looks and unusual methods of house produc-
tion. Notwithstanding their unconventional and apparently impermanent materials, the bungalows
swiftly became homes, that is, places cherished by their inhabitants. Indeed, they have always been
popular, particularly because their layout foresaw a garden space to be attributed to each tenant.
Although not overjoyed by their appearance, the public would retain a certain affection and nostalgia
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for these houses and their small gardens, and some have even found their ways into museums. As
prove of such affection, a fierce conservationist battle, praising for its heritage value, took place about
the Excalibur Estate near London, where the last of these temporary houses remained. The side favor-
able to the demolition claimed that the prefabs had no value for any sort of heritage classification,
arguing that they were mere “temporary prefabricated buildings, not architectural gems”. Considering their
immense social value the statement is controversial to say the least. In 2011 the Estate demolition
was announced, in a conversion program set to last until 2018234.
Initially the TPS envisioned the houses to have an expected life-span of 10-15 years, though many
have lasted much longer. But such short life expectancy—as well as its ‘temporary’ label—had its
reasons, which certainly were more of political/publicity statements, than technically based ones.
According to Brenda Vale, there were three major reasons for the ‘temporary’ label: to accommodate
the idea of technology in people’s minds235; to work as an insurance to the traditional building trades
and their unions236; and last but not least, because of their method of finance. The latter reason seems
to be the most important, and was likely related with the past financial experience on post-WWI, in
which the Addison Act program for permanent housing ended up severely shortened. In the TPS, the
program implementation was relinquished through licensing schemes to the local authorities. For the
bungalows to be produced in the same way as, say, a car or an aircraft, many different production
facilities had to be engaged so to achieve the desired economies of scale. Such implied a centralized
effort, which nonetheless had to be concealed so to avoid conflict with local authorities. In this sense,
the temporary label could be regarded as a convenient tag, in what was actually a government-owned
emergency housing program237.
2.5.6 SUCCESSFUL POST-WWII COMMERCIAL SYSTEMS
In terms of permanent housing, the official policy after WWII had many similarities with the post-
WWI experience, that is, while taking the chance to further explore the prefab potential, go back to
ordinary construction practices as soon as possible. As with the post-WWI workgroups, an Interde-
partmental Committee on House Construction (also known as Burt Committee) worked between 1942 and
1947 in order to “consider materials and methods of construction suitable for the building of houses and flats, having
regard to efficiency, economy and speed of erection, and to make recommendations for post-war practice”238. Among
the several systems approved by the committee, the most successful was a steel-framed permanent
house, designed by the architect Sir Frederick Gibberd, and the engineer Engineer Donovan Lee, and
sponsored by the British Iron and Steel Federation (BISF).
The BISF was an association of steel producers formed in 1934, in order to provide central plan-
ning for the industry, and had had a prominent role in output coordination through the War. Gib-
berd’s office had also design the steel-framed Howard House, privately developed by John Howard &
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Company (1 500 units produced), and both designs were approved by the Burt Committee. In total
36 000 BISF houses were built between 1946 and 1951. Three BISF house types (A, B, and C), with
minor differences would be built as prototypes but only a fourth A1 type would be mass-produced.
These were built as either semi-detached or terraced houses, with 89.18m2. Formally, they were two-
floor, double-slope roof houses. Although quite flexible in terms of outer cladding, these normally
differed the lower and upper stories’ cladding material. Overall, the houses transmitted a solid ap-
pearance, which is probably linked with the claddings that were normally used. The external cladding,
particularly on the first story had a prevalent incorporation of traditional or simulated-traditional
materials, such as brickwork. In some cases, the first story material would be extended to the second
story, but usually the latter would be clad with a steel sheet profiled to match timber weatherboarding.
The final cladding was set against a 50mm layer of in-situ concrete on expanded metal lath, which
was supported by a structure of prefabricated rolled steel tubes. A tubular steel structure was too
used to support the floor pavements. The inner cladding and the partitions were usually of timber
framing faced with plasterboard or hardboard, and the ceilings were often of site-applied plaster over
a layer of concrete on expanded metal lath. Some of the lower story partition walls were often also
plastered over concrete blocks masonry, which too ascribed for the overall sense of robustness.
The Airey Duo Slab was another successful system which, alike BISF, too had prewar roots. Sir
Edward Airey was a builder who had used concrete for a house design in the 1930s. As part of the
postwar housing programme, he developed a new design with prefabricated concrete columns and
prefabricated concrete slabs. The concrete was reinforced with steel tubes extending in the ends of
the columns so that first story and second story columns could be fit together. Columns were posi-
tioned at 457mm center around the perimeter of the house and clad with shiplap style concrete panels.
Internal lining was made with a variety of materials, with plasterboard over glass fiber insulation as
the most common (particularly upstairs), but also with concrete block masonry (mostly downstairs).
The triangular spandrel panels over the gable ends were finished in timber weatherboarding or plain
tile hanging. With time there was a number of pathologies that came to be associated with the system,
namely because of the corrosion-prone column joints and the column slenderness, where at best the
concrete cover was 12mm. The concrete components were made across nine factories. The system
was used to build many house layouts. The most common are the North Aspect (the Urban version),
with hipped flat roof, and the far more popular South Aspect (the Rural) house, with a steeply pitched
roof, both semi-detached two story three bedroom houses. The Airey Company was a pre-cast con-
crete firm rather than a building contractor and most Airey houses were erected by local firms. The
components were relatively lightweight, dispensing the need for large cranes, but the building process
was relatively slow; substantially slower than panel system. Some 26 000 Airey houses were built after
the war239.
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There is an immense proliferation of systems throughout this period. Developed since the 1920s,
commercially the most successful in the post-WWII were the price-competitive in-situ concrete sys-
tems. Amongst others, renowned styles and trade names include Airey, Boot, Cornish, Laing Easi Form,
and Wimpey No-Fines. These were not strictly prefabs, but had a great degree of systematized building
procedures. Used in different business models, the No-Fines System was the most successful, particu-
larly among the Laing Easi Form company, and most remarkably through the Wimpey No-Fines com-
pany. Together these two companies would build over 100 000 units. Laing Easi Form built over 25
different styles ranging from bungalows, through traditional looking houses to four story apartment
blocks240. The Wimpey No-Fines product was also very flexible, as it could be used for a variety of sizes
and styles of housing, low, medium or high-rise, its construction was lighter and used mainly unskilled
labor, which overall made it cheaper; finally, the company had a well-established business network,
which eased its promotion to local authorities241.
2.5.7 SOCIAL PREJUDICE AND THE RISE AND FALL OF SYSTEMS
Among architectural circles, the idea of prefabrication or system construction was regarded with
some resistance. During wartime, RIBA had depreciated prefabrication, regardless the obvious need
for some form of mass housing construction. Nonetheless, in 1943, RIBA would recognize prefab
advantages, yet only in a temporary housing scope. They also regretted the de-skilling that prefabri-
cation would represent to the building industry. Those more conservative feared that it would reduce
the need and scope for original design, or even to the point of destroying the demand for architects242.
There was also a latent fear of permanence of a traditional aesthetics, unlike what was relieved in the
work of some remarkable architects such as Richard Neutra in the USA, or Walter Gropius in Ger-
many. However, some architects were more open minded about the idea and would give their con-
tribution in the development of many of these systems. Among the progressive supporters figure
architects such as Frederick Gibberd, F.R.S. Yorke, Hugh Casson or Grey Wornum243.
The goal of building large numbers of houses, while still attempting to maximize the use of space
was a permanent concern. By the mid-1950s precast concrete panel systems, more keen to medium
or high-rise construction, were proven the cheapest among the different available systems. These
were also more appealing to architects, “who could imagine themselves to be realizing Le Corbusier’s Utopian
urban visions of the 1920s and 1930s”, as Davies says244. Alongside, one of the most relevant realizations
of State sponsored research would be the modular coordination in the 1960s, as it introduced a fun-
damental framework to networked modular prefab systems, which would hardly be developed by
commercial firms alone. One of the applications would be in the Consortium of Local Authorities Special
Programme (CLASP), a consortium that was responsible for a major school building program. The
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large-panel concrete systems (LPS) were also developed from this modular coordination research245. A key
advantage of LPS was that they were cheaper than any other form of construction.
Bison would become the most active company in the development of panel systems, designing and
producing several building systems, of which the most prolific was the Bison Wall Frame246. Using
licensed technology developed in Denmark, the LPS were introduced in the UK in the early 1960s.
These consisted of precast concrete panels of large dimensions, which relayed on their own dead
weight, and the friction it produced, to hold everything together as if a house of cards. Assembly on site
was thus simply a matter of lifting panels into place with cranes, where they were then located onto
bolts. In 1965, 163 developers were producing 138 different large panel systems for housing. Each
main contractor bought the licenses to produce LPS to a Danish firm—Taylor Woodrow bought Larsen
Nielsen, calling it Taylor Woodrow Anglian; Laings bought Jespersen; and Wates developed its own based
on similar principles. The variations between the systems stood mostly in the edges of the concrete
panels, and thus in the modes of joining.
Many of the buildings constructed at the time with these elements ended up having waterproofing
problems, leaks and poor thermal performance. Many of these problems are said to have their most
probable cause in the lack of skilled labor and not on design errors. Nonetheless, the perception of
poor-quality construction would inevitably become associated with prefab. The episode of the 1968
gas explosion in the Ronan Point tower in East London, which used a Larsen Nielsen based system,
would determine the end of panelized concrete high-rise construction in the UK247. The explosion
on the 18th floor caused a progressive collapse of an entire corner, whose panels fell like a house of
cards. Although it was proved in 1970 that the collapse had not been related with the kind of con-
struction, but of poor workmanship, public confidence in the safety of residential tower blocks was
irreparably shaken, and would have legal effects, tightening regulations of panelized concrete con-
struction, with effects that would spread to other countries. State withdrew sponsoring on this type
of buildings and a massive demolition of the remaining LPS buildings would be witnessed since248.
With the cheaper and scalable LPS gone, the needle was pointed back to other alternatives. In the
postwar, the Burt Committee had rejected timber frame designs because of the shortage of wood supply
and the need to import, hence preferring steel or concrete buildings. By the mid-1950s the shortage
was less significant and the Ministry of Housing began experimenting with timber frame systems. The
National Building Regulation introduced in the mid-1960s encouraged the use of timber frame. Subse-
quently, from 1966 to 1975 many timber frame systems were developed, however not differing much
from earlier frame systems (and from each other). In total, it was built more than 80 000 timber frame
dwellings in over 30 systems249.
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Propelled by the changes introduced after Ronan Point, during the 1970s private developers and
local authorities begun developing timber frame housing on a big scale, and six years after the explo-
sion, the most common form of prefabrication method was in wood frame250. Probably the biggest
advantage of wood over steel or concrete is that the investment in manufacturing equipment is rela-
tively minor. One of the most successful systems in the 1970s was the Frameform, by James Riley and
Partners. It was mostly a set of standard construction details, and designs could be sent for Frameform
to detail, hence appealing to system-minded architects. Timber frame was enthusiastically adopted by
private builders in this period, peaking in the late 1970s. By the beginning of the 1980s some 20% of
new houses were timber-framed. However, in 1983, a TV broadcasted documentary pointed to tech-
nical failures in timber frame houses. Although these were later proven to be primarily related with
poor workmanship, the negative publicity undermined public confidence in these. As consequence,
the percentage of timber frame houses reduced considerably251.
2.5.8 REMARKABLE ARCHITECTURAL CASES
Aside the systematic approaches, many architectural experiments related with prefab have been
made throughout the years. In the 1960s arouse a design trend which ascribes to a post-industrial,
space-age pop vision, with projects such as the Zip Up enclosures Nos. 1 and 2, (1968-71), by Richard
and Su Rogers, or Archigram’s Living Pod (1966), by David Greene. These would foremost stand by
their appealing images, particularly to architecture students. Emerging in the 1970s, the High-Tech
movement was conceptually bonded with an idea of factory made components with in clean,
glossy appearance, made of plastic, metal or glass, that could be quickly assembled in-situ without the
relatively messier wet methods of in-situ concrete or masonry. Most of the outcomes would not
be individual houses, nonetheless, a few one-off examples may be listed, such as the Hopkins House
(1975), by Michael Hopkins, or the Yacht House (1983), by Richard Horden and Horden Cherry Lee.
In 1968 the Dupont company promoted an architectural competition called House for Today, where
Richard and Su Rogers came second with the remarkable, pop futuristic Zip-up House—a kind of
Yellow Submarine on pink legs. The design envisioned a house built of insulated aluminum sandwich
panels, joined by neoprene gaskets formed into a rectangular tube with rounded corners. The train-
like windows, the formally stressed modularity and its site-adjustable slopes, gave it a kind of space-
age ship resemblance. The project would stand mostly by the simplicity of the concept and the ap-
pealing image252.
The Living Pod, was one of the multiple products of the Archigram fantasy factory. One of the most
well-known designs, Plug-in-City (1964), envisaged a megastructure of diagonal steel tubes, to which
thousands of Living Pods look-alikes would fly or drive into. It is an odd mix of fantasy and realism:
the enormous dimensions of the structure; the complexity and awkwardness it creates. David
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Greene’s Living Pod stands as an investigation into a housing unit that could function independently
of the megastructure, as if it was a spaceship. The design draws a clear distinction between the phys-
ical envelope of the housing unit—the pod—and the mechanical apparatus that makes it livable for
its inhabitant253.
The Hopkins House was designed for and by Michael Hopkins himself, a former Norman Foster
partner. Hopkins designed his own high-tech version of the Eames house, to function as a house, as
well as studio for the recently established architectural practice. Construction techniques used in
larger commercial buildings were used in the design, with a structural grid of 2×4m to rule the com-
ponents dimensions. The high-tech aesthetics is clear, and resulting both of a preference and mani-
fested in elements such as: the visible steel of the structural elements, the glass, the expanded metal
lath for decking or corrugated steel for roof, or the use of full-height sliding doors. The floor plans
are open and flexible, with venetian blinds hanging between the internal columns defining the various
living functions, whereas prefab melamine partitions enclose the more private areas of bedrooms and
bathrooms254.
Finally, the Yacht House, was built in 1983 for a family with modest means, which, after the con-
crete base was laid by a local firm, would themselves build the frame in little over 5hrs. Also a former
Foster collaborator, Richard Horden designed a house which is the living example of ‘technology
transfer’, a theme much cherished in the High-Tech trend. The particular technological element to be
appropriated was aluminium and stainless steel spars from a Tornado Yacht, designed by Rodney
Marsh—the owner worked for a local yacht component supplier—which would be used to build the
spatial frame. The house is a simple assemblage of standard components. The structure follows a
3.7x3.7m grid, on a plan made up of 5x5 bays. If the owner so desires, the roof and cladding compo-
nents can be moved, rearranging the plan255.
2.5.9 CURRENT REALITY
In the present-day reality256, the application of prefab is still currently limited. In 2004, it com-
prised only about 2.1% of the construction sector, including new buildings, rehabilitation, repair and
civil engineering works. The biggest reason for the reluctance of users to accept this kind of innova-
tion is probably related with the difficulty in determining its benefits, and, for many of the actors in
the construction process, these are still not clear. There also still a number of barriers to overcome
which can be related to an enrooted perception that the prefabricated buildings are of poor quality.
The UK has been since the earliest stages a leader in prefabrication. However, investment in
quality has not historically been as recognized as for instance in Germany. Public prejudice on prefab
certainly can find many reasons throughout history. However, normally these are due to poor work-
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manship, rather than to the systems themselves, nonetheless with a contribution to an overall stig-
matization of these. It is important to know the associated potential of prefab so that it can be used
within a sustainable development frame. Overall, it is clear that its success, on the one hand, and
regardless the trends, will be related with a sustainability scope and, on the other hand, that it must
satisfy high design quality standards, and not to be exclusively focused in technological standards.
Nonetheless, there is a latent concern on these issues reflected in the abundant UK based research,
institutional reports, committees, building associations, published materials, and so on.
The mid 1980s break in timber frame houses, adding to the earlier break in LPS and to negative
perception of the postwar temporary prefabs, was also a determinant backlash for prefabrication in
general, from which it would only begin to recover in the late 1990s and early 2000s, as noticeable in
the themes of numerous research reports. Indeed, much of the institutional efforts have been focused
in recovering a certain lost enchantment with prefab, trying to move away an installed prejudice.
These normally point not only to old-known recipes of economy and speed, but also to the new
concerns in environmental sustainability. As result, a number of key reports have come up, namely:
John Egan’s Rethinking Construction (1998)257; the DTI report on Current Practice and Potential Uses of
Prefabrication (2001)258; the Housing Forum report Homing on excellence : A commentary on the use of offsite
fabrication methods for the UK housebuilding industry (2002)259; the SFC report Accelerating Change (2002)260;
the EPSRC and DTI report conducted by Gordon University under the LINK Project, on Overcoming
Client and Market Resistance to Prefabrication and Standardisation in Housing (2002)261.
The construction sector contributes with 6.7% of the total economy in the UK, with around 10%
of the employment associated, being the sixth largest construction sector in the world. Prefabrication,
or OSM (Off-Site Manufacturing) as it is more commonly called in the UK, has historically been, and
keeps on being, a highly scrutinized area. Given the importance of the sector for the overall economy,
and the relevance of OSM, there are numerous reports available, not only describing the sector com-
panies and market profile, such as the Housing Forum Manufacturing Excellence UK capacity in offsite
manufacturing (2004), but also looking ahead, tracing scenarios of what may be in the future.
Some 30 years ago, in A Private Future, Martin Pawley262 told that housing was a product in a
consumer society. A great majority of people in the UK rented their homes instead of owning them.
Additionally, a negative image became associated with prefab. If for the postwar tenant dwellers life
could be good in prefabs, it is hard to understand for younger generations how those temporary
houses could ever have been good. Meanwhile, the numbers have reversed: in 2009 roughly 80% of
British dwellings were owner-occupied263.
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2.6 Prefabrication of houses in the USA
2.6.1 EARLY HISTORICAL LANDMARKS
USA culture is embedded with a feeling of impermanence and pioneering dating from its very
foundation. This is reflected on a very different view of the house when compared with the Europe-
ans. The very notion of traditional home is certainly a lot different for a USA citizen, with many social,
cultural, natural or technical reasons contributing for that fact. The evolution of construction meth-
ods throughout history in the USA had different nurturing conditions than in Europe. For instance,
for an unfamiliarized southern European, probably more accustomed to observe masonry construc-
tion, the balloon frame construction can seem somewhat strange. In the least, this signals that, despite
the feared dangers of homogenization blowing from globalization, there are social and cultural idio-
syncrasies that just stubbornly root things to a place or a common practice.
Nonetheless, the USA prefabrication begins with Europeans, British settlers, in the XVII century.
Circumstances such as the expansion to the West and the Californian Gold Rush provoked phases of
urgent demand in housing, many of which suppressed by British prefab exporters. Demand would
nurture the development of new technologies, such as the corrugated iron in the early 1800s. It would
also foster the refinement of existing technologies. The case is most obvious in the evolution of wood
construction and the development of the balloon frame, and later the platform frame and subsequent
developments, with effects spanning all the way to contemporary frame constructions, whether of
wood, light-gauge steel-frame, or others.
The light timber-frame, which includes both the ballon and the platform frame, resulted from two
main factors: abundance of wood and a rapidly growing industrial economy with mass-produced iron
nails and lumber mills. Buildings could be erected so quickly that Chicago was almost entirely con-
structed of this technology before the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. The tragic event would lead to a
massive rethink of fire-safety issues, insurance policies, and ultimately of construction methods. On
the hangover of the Great Chicago Fire, the Chicago World's Fair: Columbian Exposition (1892-93) would
be set with an optimistic view towards the future, with many innovative house appliances on display,
and with innovative electrical house appliances making their première and causing great buzz. The
exhibition displayed high-end technological products that would find their ways to homes nationwide
in the following times, such as the first fully-electrical kitchen, including an automatic dishwasher,
and phosphorescent light bulbs.
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2.6.2 INVENTIVENESS AND PLAYFULNESS
As in other places, a certain playfulness and feeding of an inventive spirit has become familiar
over the time. Evidencing it, are those toys that have spanned generations such as the Erector Set or
the Lincoln Logs.
Erector Set is the trade name of a metallic toy construction originally patented in 1913, invented by
A.C. Gilbert in 1911, and manufactured by A.C. Gilbert Company, at the Erector Square factory in New
Haven, Connecticut, from 1913 until its bankruptcy in 1967. It consists of collections of small metal
beams with nuts, bolts, screws, and mechanical parts such as pulleys, gears, and small electric motors
that became the most popular toy construction in the USA. The brand would be bought and is still
currently for sale—currently with the brand name of Meccano in the USA. The Erector Set is believed
by many to have been the subject of the first national advertising campaign in America for a toy. Its
great success made it part of American folk culture, although its popularity has faded in recent dec-
ades in the face of competition from molded plastic construction toys, electronics, and other more
‘modern’ toys. As other similar metal building toys, and unlike other building toys, such as Lego or
Lincoln Logs, it is not mimetic of modular or kit-of-parts construction but involves a prescriptive way
of bringing together prefabricated unique parts. Many other metal building toys were made in differ-
ent parts of the world. Brands like Ami-Lac would sound in Italy, as Stabil or Armator in Germany,
Dan Dare or Vogue in England, Exacto in Argentina, Stokys in Switzerland, Temsi in The Netherlands,
Merkur in the Czech Republic, Steel Tec in China, or Mecanno, the most famous worldwide264.
Lincoln Logs is the brand name of a building toy, that was invented in 1916 by John Lloyd Wright—
the patent was obtained in 1920 and the name registered in 1923—the son of Frank Lloyd Wright,
and was named after Abraham Lincoln—the President who had begun his celebrated life in a log
cabin in Kentucky. They are among the building toys developed in parallel to prefabricated housing
research in the XX century, consisting of notched miniature logs, analogous to the ways US log cabins
were built. With them, its author makes a convincing case that the vernacular log cabin is indeed a
system born of prefabricated way of thinking and making265.
2.6.3 FORDISM AND TAYLORISM
Big boys have big toys, and Ford’s Model T is the epithet of an American way of life, of liberty acces-
sible to everyone. To produce his Model T, in 1913 Henry Ford fully implemented its iconic assembly
line—worked out along the previous five years since he first tested the idea in 1908—in the brand
new Highland Park plant, revolutionizing industrial production systems. Although overcome in to-
day’s high-end production philosophies—such as the lean production—at the time, with Ford’s method,
lower cost was possible but with higher end-product quality. On the basis was the purpose to achieve
a more precise product while decreasing labor and production time per unit266.
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Although not directly related, Frederick Taylor’s economic philosophy expressed in the Principles
of Scientific Management (1911), would be frequently associated with Henry Ford’s production philoso-
phy. Taylor’s work was a decisive influence in production management and efficiency that endured
in the decades to come, in what came to be known as Taylorism. It would only be in the late 1900’s
that his theory would start being questioned with the rise of new methodologies and theories such as
the Toyota Production System (TPS) or the Lean Thinking philosophies. His scientific management, at
times controversial, consisted on four main principles. Firstly, to replace rule-of-thumb work meth-
ods with methods based on a scientific study of the tasks. Secondly, to scientifically select, train, and
develop each employee rather than passively leaving them to train themselves. Thirdly, to provide
detailed instruction and supervision of each worker in the performance of that worker’s discrete task.
Finally, to divide work nearly equally between managers and workers, so that the managers applied
scientific management principles to planning the work and the workers actually perform the tasks267.
Following the ideas of both these precursors, by the late 1910s, several companies began offering
high-quality prefabricated houses. Producing houses in factories, these followed principles derived
from consumer goods production, yielding quality and lower costs.
2.6.4 CATALOGUE HOMES AND A CULTURE OF CONSUMPTION
The home appliances, and soon the homes themselves, alongside a myriad of different purposed
products, were divulged by numerous publications across country. The advertisement methods found
one of its great precursors in 1842, when Andrew Jackson published Cottage Residences, and later, in
1850, when he published The Architecture of Country Houses. These books contained designs based on
the balloon frame and dozens of imitations appeared subsequently268. In 1876 George Palliser, an Eng-
lish immigrant who had worked as a carpenter and joinery manufacturer, published Model Homes for
the People, a booklet that would be the first of 21 to be released by him and his brother in the next 20
years. They would market themselves as architects. The potential clients would choose from their
catalogs and require its own adjustments from which they would produce the required drawings for
permit and production by local carpenters. The Palliser’s were not the first firm to offer blueprints
by mail-order, but they were the first to turn the process into a kind of architectural consultancy
based on the adaptation of standard designs269. In another example, in 1903, Gustav Stickley founds
and edits The Craftsman, a monthly magazine “set out to cleanse the American architectural palate by promoting
a new, simple Arts and Crafts influenced style”270. He would publish pattern books to make the style acces-
sible to clients and builders—More Craftsman Homes (1912) contains plans and views of 78 so-called
mission style houses and bungalows. His business would collapse in 1916 but his style lived on. These
cases are marks of the installment of an American suburban vernacular, and signal the beginning of
an era where houses by catalogue would dominate the built landscape in a sprawled countryside.
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Among other factors, technologies, together with advancements in production methods and an
increasingly better transportation infrastructure, namely railways, created great conditions to the de-
velopment of catalogue companies. Aladin Homes and Sears Roebuck and Co. feature among the most
prominent catalogue houses selling companies, which would have a big boost in the early 1900s, to
later fall under the harsh economic conditions of the Great Depression. The Aladdin Company was
among the first and one of the most long lived manufacturers of mail-order kit homes in America.
Between 1906 and 1981, the company sold precut home kits (of numbered, precut pieces) that were
assembled in-situ by the purchaser, or a contractor hired by the purchaser. The manufacturing pro-
cess was efficient because it removed the waste associated with in-situ framing, increasing speed and
improving precision. Over 75 000 kits were sold along its lifetime271.
In 1908, Sears Roebuck & Co. Houses by Mail launches its first catalogue, Book of Modern Homes and
Building Plans. Two years after, the company, at the time famous for its multi-product catalogue sales,
decided to start the houses program (it had started selling building elements of their catalogues in
1895). In 1940, when it was shut down, the company had sold over 100,000 houses. The owner,
Richard Sears, believed that if a company sold an entire house, then it could sell all the items to go
inside the house. The company eventually eclipsed competitors mostly due to two reasons: first, not
only could a buyer purchase the entire house and furnishings from Sears, but Sears would also finance
the purchase with a house mortgage; second, Sears owned the entire fabrication process from the
lumber mills to the doors and windows factory. Houses selected by customers on the catalogue were
shipped directly to them by railroad, and the packaged precut materials were numbered and assem-
bled according to a plan book, like a giant toy.
The mail-order catalogue promised door-to-door delivery and assembly of every element of the
house. The models ranged from simple one-room structures to elaborate multifamily, multistory
units. Almost all models used the ballon frame or some kind of derivative, but different veneer coatings
would hide any traces of the constructive techniques, following the trends in popular home design
and affording the client the added benefit of customizing numerous aspects of each house. Sears
houses also pioneered the use of drywall and asphalt shingles, and they introduced the central heating
for residential use. The houses were produced massively, systematically, efficiently, and affordably.
Nonetheless, the designers (and customers alike) self-consciously made every effort to bury these
qualities underneath an artificial veil of handcrafting that was remarkably easy to spot. This earned
the discredit among architecture circles, despite the immense social significance to the history of the
prefabricated house272.
As in other places, the success story of American prefab is essentially a story of people with needs
and aspirations that are ought to be satisfied—to live in a nice place, in a nice house with good
neighborhood, safely, and so on. Exclusively looking into numbers, these needs and aspirations are
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more often detached from architectural practices than the opposite. It is a story of the social relevance
of an idealized simple, happy and prosperous life, grounded on construction technology, more than
artistic or intellectual relevance of an architectural aesthetics, of a taste, or of a way of life. And it is a
success that is probably more linked with the psychology of consumption, acquiring or blending
within a certain social status through the more or less visible, more or less subtle possessions—e.g.
the car, the clothes, the phone, the house with swimming pool, and so forth—than with anything
else. Moreover, it is a culture that is inculcated since early stages, as utterly represented in the idea (or
narrative) of the American dream and of an American way of life.
2.6.5 A MEDIA DRIVEN, INVENTIVE AND COMPETITIVE SPIRIT
While many developed experimental new ways to address the production of houses, trying out
various materials and technologies, in other cases the endeavors would benefit from a solid financial
support by major industry players. Anyhow, it would stand a strong linkage to the media, promoting
the buildings, bringing them closer to the public. Publications such as the American Builder, the Building
Developer or the Popular Science magazine, would contribute not only for advertising houses, but also
for a myriad of products or ideas, towards not only a consumer, but also an inventive audience.
Indeed, the American prefab industry is too a story of remarkable inventors developing their often
commercially non-successful experiments which nonetheless have stood for their innovative, out-of-
the-box ideas, and with it contributed to set a more competitive ecosystem from where bigger players
would arise.
In 1906, Thomas Edison starts building his Single Poured Concrete Houses. In 1927, Robert Tappan
designs what is arguably the first steel-framed house, which would be reported in New York Times
edition of November 7, 1926, and latter publicized in a March 1928 issue of Popular Science. That same
year Buckminster Fuller introduces an early concept of his Dymaxion House. In 1931, Albert Frey and
A. Lawrence Kocher debut the Aluminaire, the first lightweight steel and aluminum house in the US.
Nonetheless, prefab industry was slow to expand, and it would take the Great Depression, and a
subsequent impetus to stimulate the economy, to develop real interest in mass prefab in the US. The
house industry began following Ford and Taylor’s secrets, and depression fostered a climate in which
factory production seemed the most viable option.
Thomas Edison’s Single Poured Concrete Houses begun in 1906 as an experiment to expedite the
products of his cement plant. After a financial disaster of its cement plant, Edison announces he is
going to create its own cement demand by making his houses to produce in a large scale. These would
become no less of a mistake, as they would reveal to be technical and financial failings. With probably
as much ingenuity as ingenuously, Edison is one of the first designers to imagine that concrete could
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be used to construct an entire house repeatedly, without a single secondary building material. A con-
tinuous mold that formed walls and floors alike with designated voids for windows and doors
assembled in the construction site. A specially designed rotating kiln on wheels with a hydraulic ver-
tical pump would then feed the wet concrete mix through a funnel-like opening at the top of the
mold. The challenge of maintaining a requisited homogeneous mix through each layer proved
nearly impossible for Edison and his team and led to severe cracking in many of the houses. The
houses had persistent problems in the following years, yet the ultimate demise of the scheme, in
1919, was more likely due to the limited interest of clients273.
Another example, the construction of a model house in the Jamaica-Hillside area of Queens, New
York, by the architect Robert Tappan through the Jones & Laughlin Corporation, made news in The New
York Times. It was news not because of the house itself, but because the Jones & Laughlin Corporation
was a steel company, not a timber company. Between the Jamaica-Hillside House in 1926 and the Big
Crash in October of 1929, a few companies and architects pushed steel technology in house con-
struction to higher levels. The Jamaica-Hillside House was advertised as being fire proof, and con-
cordant with an increased concern with safety and sanitation issues, in a typical 1920s appeal to the
language of Progressivism. It was not until 1928 that the American Builder magazine began to make news
of the steel trend. However, when the subject was first mentioned, it was with a paid two-page article
by Walter Bates Steel Corporation (WBSC) of Gary, Indiana, not with Tappan. According to Walter
Bates, the steel houses were safe and sanitary, its cost was approximately the same as timber-framed
houses, but with better quality and lower insurance fees. In the same year, American Builder mentions
the activities of contractor C. H. Dexheimer, attracting the attentions with his steel-frame house con-
struction in Toledo, Ohio. However, it was not until Steel Frame House Company (SFHC) entered the
business, backed up by a large steel manufacturer, that steel houses would begin its large scale pro-
duction, with the steel-frame technology coming to dominate residential construction by the fall of
1928. The company’s Shaffer House was selected while in steel skeleton stage as cover of the American
Builder in November 1928. SFHC was a subsidiary of McClintic-Marshall Corporation, which at the time
was sold out to Bethlehem Steel (in 1931), which was the second largest structural steel manufacturer in
the US, only outdone by American Bridge Company (subsidiary of US Steel). In this steel-frame house
construction inceptions, a silent competition, with advertisements and paid articles, was occurring in
the backstage to see who would first hit the press (and provoke greater stir). Such is expressive of
the aura of excitement surrounding the steel-frame house construction in the late 1920s, which
naturally would too be used as a vehicle to display other breakthroughs in residential building274.
Regardless the seeming widespread interest in steel frame houses, there was a certain distrust
climate on the use of steel, motivated either by architectural, economical or psychological reasons.
Companies made a considerable investment in the promotion of their products, educating the public
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opinion, architects and entrepreneurs to the range of advantages of the new technologies, with articles
and advertisements either in specialized or popular newspapers and magazines, as The New York Times.
As expressed in the pamphlet on Henry B. Neef House by Gate City Iron Company the use of steel in
house construction “is a revolution in home building methods the public must see to be convinced”275. However,
not everyone was convinced. If the economic argument could be straightforwardly set, needing just
houses to be cheaper, the psychological reasons related with an industrial-like aesthetics were harder
to overcome, and would become the most visible part of the installed doubts. A conflict was partic-
ularly set between what was a popular image of the American home and what were some of the
aesthetical new visions which some of these new proposes carried. Eventually, the economic down-
turn derived from the 1929 crash would affect residential architecture, no matter what material or
aesthetics was used in its construction, contributing to at least set apart the aesthetical mistrust related
with steel construction.
2.6.6 NEW AESTHETICS AND THE MASSES
A repeated argument by steel house manufacturers in the late 1920s was that their technology in
no way held up the architect’s or owner’s aptitude to achieve their design goals, regardless the style.
The numerous examples of steel framed houses rendered in popular style of the day, the Period/Tudor
Revival, were a solid argument to convert those fearing a certain industrial aesthetics connoted with
steel. What truly mattered for the companies producing houses was business, and in that sense, any
style would be good as long as the client bought it. Despite the business perspective of the companies,
not everyone in this period was so conformist in what concerned style. By 1927, Richard Neutra had
begun the Lovell House in Los Angeles, a lightweight prefabricated steel house that would become an
architectural landmark276.
The European vanguard experience of the modernist movements, the debate of the housing prob-
lem, and an aspiration to reach building technologies that would be more efficient, were late to touch
the architectural forums in American shores. Such would first notably happen when Henry-Russell
Hitchcock and Philip Johnson organized the 1932 MoMA entitled The International Style: Architecture
since 1922. However, the International Style did not have a particularly great impact in the USA house
building industry, as the established catalogue companies were enjoying success with their products
and hence there was no reason to embrace the new modernist aesthetics. However, it would have a
tremendous influence in USA architects, with impact on the course of architecture over the following
decades277.
Propelled by the economic mood, in 1932 the Harvard-graduate architect Howard T. Fisher es-
tablishes the General House Inc. The company sold a kind of design, building coordination and assem-
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bly service, with the components produced by third-parties, including the Pittsburgh Plate Glass Com-
pany, General Electric or Pullman Car and Manufacturing. The business model targeted the middle class.
Technologically it used pressed steel and standardized elements. The several model houses produced
by the company, mirror Fisher design vision, where “the final decision in the matter of design will of course
depend on what the public wants (…), but in everything else the public has shown a preference for the best in modern
design, and I doubt it will pay extra for fake imitations of the past when they buy their own house”. Fisher’s beliefs
would ultimately prove wrong, as noticed by the larger numbers of houses produced in dated styles.
Nonetheless, other companies such as the American Houses Inc., the American Homes or the Homosote
Company would make their contribution in pursue of Fisher’s vision278.
In 1932, the architect Robert McLaughlin of American Houses Inc., unveiled a prototype directed to
the low-cost housing market, from which he would develop the brand of prefabricated houses known
as American Motohomes. With a steel frame structure, the houses ranged from a simple four-room lay-
out, to a six-bedroom, four-bathroom, and two-car garage layout, promising “durability, beauty, economy
and convenience”. However, the flat roofs and the geometric outline, subtly referenced to the International
Style, would not appeal to the masses, and the company was forced to abandon the concept for more
conventional styled houses279.
In any case, the need for housing noted around the WWII would indirectly create the perfect
conditions for a wider acceptance of the Modern aesthetics. The geometrical shapes showcased in
the 1939 New York World Fair, illustrated the pronouncement of the supremacy of the Modern.
2.6.7 IMAGINING FUTURES (THE 1933 CHICAGO WORLD FAIR)
The Chicago Century of Progress World Fair, in 1933, would stand as a milestone of a new spirit. As
the US were coming out of the Great Depression, the Chicago fair opens with a section dedicated to
progressive housing prototypes meant for replication. The houses displayed an eclectic variety of
modernist approaches, planned by leading USA practitioners. The fair suggested that America, de-
spite the Depression, was well on the way towards becoming a consumer paradise. Numerous build-
ings and exhibits drove the message that cooperation between science, business, and government
could pave the way to a better future. Americans just needed to spend money and modernize every-
thing from their houses to their cars.
The featured homes revealed synthetic building materials and anticipated a future where new elec-
trical devices such as dishwashers or air conditioning would be common household items. Many
houses were commissioned and built, with several companies attempting to create aesthetically pleas-
ing houses combining both modern technology and futuristic design. While some used unconven-
tional materials, others were more traditional, yet included built-in modern appliances. The Good
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Housekeeping Stran-Steel house, by the Good Housekeeping magazine and Stran-Steel Corporation and de-
signed by the architectural firm H. August O’Dell and Wirt C. Rowland, Architects, as well as House of
Tomorrow and Crystal House, by the builder George Fred Keck stood out for diverse reasons.
The Good Housekeeping Stran-Steel joint venture proposed a house that ought to be fireproof, pre-
fabricated, and affordable to the average family. Structurally it was built of steel and baked iron
enamel. The baked iron enamel modular panels cladding the steel skeleton were until that moment
entirely unknown to the realm of housing. The steel frame consisted of newly designed steel beams
developed by Stran-Steel. These were the first such beams to have greater flexibility than wood beams
while also being lighter and stronger, each beam connecting to the other by interlocking joints rather
than on-site welding, which would have increased cost and assembly time. A specially designed nail
penetrated the girders and held both the wallboard and exterior enamel panels in place.
The House of Tomorrow and Crystal House, two glass house prototypes, stood out the popularity since
together they would be toured by more than 750,000 visitors. It somewhat anticipated the engineer-
ing-oriented direction of later, Miesian influenced, Chicago architecture. House of Tomorrow was an
eye-catching, three-story, twelve-sided structure built on a steel frame, which took advantage of pre-
fabricated components280. The house had central heating, air conditioning, and window-shading de-
vices to control the level of incoming light. Keck used it for his four-point manifesto: (1) open plan
in relation to cost effectiveness; (2) the house as the servicer to its inhabitant, not vice-versa; (3) the
health of passive heating and the modulation of natural light; (4) the need to design within the bound-
aries of mass production without relinquishing the ‘opportunity for individual expression’ tastefully
and affordably. Crystal House too took advantage of innovative prefabrication elements, and would
be erected in just three days. Nonetheless, its aesthetics seemed a bit too radical for the average buyer.
As Keck said “probably the most important function of the Crystal House was to determine how a great number of
the people attending the exposition would react to ideas that entirely upset conventional ideas of a house”. While the
house did succeed on that level, it was not a commercial success and was never replicated. Keck
would have to sell it for scrap in order to pay the bills. As to the House of Tomorrow it would be sold
along with six other houses to a Chicago real-estate developer281.
2.6.8 AROUND WWII
It is understandable that design innovation was not a major concern when housing was urgently
required, as it occurred in the post Great Depression and around the WWII. To improve the state of
scarcity, government agencies stepped in, contributing with legislation and initiatives such as inform-
ing the public about mass-produced housing or sponsoring low-cost housing demonstrations. De-
spite the efforts, between 1935 and 1940, prefabricated homes accounted for just less than one per-
cent of the total national production in that period.
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World War II would bring postwar conditions for advancements mainly marked by business im-
provements, rather than by technique. Events such as the Veteran Emergency Housing Act (VEHA),
that gave a mandate to produce 850 000 houses in less than two years, would contribute in the rise
of prefabrication housing companies over the course of a decade282. The late 1950s, early 1960s,
period known as baby boom, would provoke extended demand in later years, namely in early 1980’s283.
2.6.9 PREFAB BUSINESS TODAY
The types of homes people in the United States live in have changed over the 60-year period from
1940 to 2000. However, percentage of single-family detached homes has endured steady during that
period, in around 60%. Since the time of the latest census, in 2000, single-family detached homes,
together with the mobile-homes, presented a consistent tendency of 80% and above in house own-
ership, contrasting with the tendency of flats in apartment buildings of around 10%284.
Weather in wood or steel, stick framing is today still, as in the early balloon-frame and the catalogue
kit-of-parts, the most common type of housing prefabrication in the US. The underlying principles
remain the same: it requires less knowledge and less skilled labor; it is a comparatively forgiving and
easy-to-correct system, even after construction. Classical timber-frame construction that, with its
huge, unpractical logs, had given its place to stick framing, is currently of commonly observable use in
high-budgeted constructions. In this case, the social body sustaining the system is motivated primarily
by aesthetics and social valuation, rather than by economic or technical efficiency.
2.6.10 NOTABLE ARCHITECTURAL INCURSIONS ON PREFAB
Around this period, the aesthetical debate surrounding prefabrication finds new proposals from
the architectural side. Several remarkable architects stood out for their groundbreaking contributions.
Among these stand Buckminster Fuller with Dymaxion, Richard Neutra with Lovell House, Albert Frey
with Aluminaire, Frank Lloyd Wright with Usonian, or Walter Gropius and Konrad Wachsman with
General Panel Houses. Although not always successful business-wise, their innovative designs would
influence generations up to the present. The latent, unfolding conflict between the conservative spirit
embodied in the ‘aesthetically safe’ business choices, avid to widen clientele, and the architectural
proposals, avid of ‘risky’ experimentation, reaches a peak in this period. Such is a result of a progres-
sive American spirit, expressed in the visionary minds of Buckminster Fuller or Frank Lloyd Wright,
but such is also the result of the exile of brilliant European minds that had had a firsthand contact
with the Modernist way, bringing these new ideas to the US.
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2.6.10.1 Buckminster Fuller
Buckminster Fuller starts investigating housing in the 1920’s, as he became aware of “the chaos in
the building industry”285. His focus was in designing appealing and practical houses. Fuller believed that
a good house could be produced as systematically as a good car, and that a factory made house had
the potential to change the way people lived across the globe. Fuller implies that homebuilding was
no longer to be the work of architects or builders, but of machines and an ever-industrializing global
economy. In 1927, Fuller introduced an early concept for his “building machine”, the Dymaxion House
at Chicago’s Marshall Fields department store. The systematization of the construction was the main
objective behind this project, but it also anticipates the efficiency concerns by decades, by adopting
mechanical systems that vastly reduced the use of resources, making it environmentally wise. The
house hosted a hexagonal plan and was held together by a tension suspension from a central mast.
Such structural configuration had a twofold purpose. On the one hand, it radically minimized in-situ
preparations, while it enabled ease of assembly, disassembly, transport and reassembly. On the other
hand, the principle, which made use of lightweight materials, enables a spatial maximization, while
minimizing surface area, and hence contributing to minimize material use, making it resource effi-
cient. Both materials and construction system were designed to take tension forces. The house
weighted a mere 2720Kg, which eased its transport and deployment. Spatially, in the hexagonal plan
evolving around the mast there was a living/dinning room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a library
and a roof sundeck. Fuller mastered all technical aspects. However he would be unable to harvest the
public taste. The Dymaxion never went into production, which is a subject of continuing debate. The
inflexibility of the system to adapt to households of varying sizes, programs, economical means is
often cited, as is the disregard for site specificity and any contextual architectural idiom, not to men-
tion a general fear of modernist forms for houses. Fuller, however, would not be deflated, and after
World War II he would continue to develop other Dymaxion technological concepts, including a fully
equipped modular bathroom and even a three-wheeled car286.
In 1944-46, Fuller introduces the Wichita House, a house with a lightweight, round, standardized
aluminum structure, an update of the Dymaxion House. Only two were eventually built. With the
booming economy of postwar America, Fuller saw renewed potential to revisit the Dymaxion. The
shape of the house was refined from hexagonal to hemispherical with a monocoque dome and a
ventilator at its cap. Rather than being suspended, the Wichita House sat just a few inches off the
ground. The central mast was simplified, retaining only its function as a utility core. Dymaxion's pa-
tented bathroom was also added to the layout. The critical reaction to the prototype was significantly
more positive. The gentle curves created a more satisfying interior flow and the palette of finishings
on the inside were better constructed and more refined. The Wichita was intended to be a ‘dwelling
machine’, and Fuller pursued this notion in lectures and writings, suggesting that industrial design
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and architecture had never been more compatible. In the end, the Beech Company decided not to pro-
duce the Wichita House, convinced that, despite its reception and improvements, the public was still
not prepared to inhabit a machinelike object. Like the Dymaxion, the Wichita House would enter the
annals of replicable utopian homes that would never see the light of day.
2.6.10.2 Richard Neutra
The Austrian émigré Richard Neutra would experiment with prefabrication around this period.
With the enthusiastic approval of his clients, he would even use two of Fuller’s Dymaxion bathrooms
(only a total of nine were actually built) in his Windshield House, in 1938. However, it was with the
Lovell House (1927-29), designed for Lovell family in the hills of Los Angeles, that Neutra would
primarily gain recognition. It is also through it that Los Angeles architecture first became widely
known in Europe. The house is an early example of the International Style in the US, with its clean,
clear-cut surfaces, its wide windows opening up to the views. It is claimed to be the first house in the
US using the kind of steel structure that is typically found in skyscrapers. The structure was prefabri-
cated in sections and transported by truck to site. The lightweight structural elements of floors and
ceilings were also welded in factory. The prefab processes involved resulted that the structural skele-
ton was erected in forty hours. Additionally, the construction had some rather interesting particular-
ities, such as the use of tension cables, either to tie the structure to the rocky cliff, or the cantilevering
balconies suspended from the roof frame, or the use of gunite, a kind of sprayed-on concrete in the
external walls. Neutra’s architectural philosophy emphasized man’s relationship to nature, in an aes-
thetics that merged the prefabricated and industrial building like materials with a natural ambience.
His fellow Austrian Rudolph Schindler would also share a common philosophy, although not focus-
ing so much in prefabrication methods. In any case, both their works would render great influence
in what came to be the California modernism.
2.6.10.3 Albert Frey
The Swiss born Albert Frey would too be an influential figure in the brought about of a discourse
which merged together industry and nature in a new aesthetics. The desert houses House Frey I and
House Frey II, as well as in his influential In search of a living architecture book (1939) were some his most
remarkable expressions such synthesis. However, what primarily brought him visible in the architec-
tural scene was his more radical Aluminaire house (1931), designed and first built years earlier. The
experimental house, was conceived together with A. Lawrence Kocher, with whom Frey shared ideas
on the prefab construction methods and on the modernist aesthetical influences, and would bring
international recognition to both architects. Aluminaire was first built in 1931, at the Grand Central
Palace in New York, for the 45th annual Allied Arts and Building Products Exhibition of the Architectural
League. The house was built with the latest materials and technology in the industry, prefab to spec-
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ified dimensions. These were supplied by great companies such as the Pittsburgh Plate Glass and Alu-
minum Company of America, the Aluminium Company of America, the Westinghouse, or the McClintic-Marshall
Corporation (Bethlehem Steel). In exchange for publicity, these companies donated the materials and
offered their services. It became the first house entirely built of steel and aluminium and glass in the
US. The materials gave it an unseen metallic, clear-cut, modern style, which would not everyone
attending the exhibition enthusiastically assimilated, nicknamed in expressions such as ‘home canned’
or ‘house rack’. Externally, it was coated by panels of corrugated aluminum and reinforced insulation
board; the window and door frames were in steel. Spatially, the ground floor had a garage and a
technical compartment, besides the entrance and access to staircase. In the first floor there was a
double height living room, a dining room, kitchen, master bedroom, bathroom and stairs. The upper
floor had a library, a bathroom and a partially covered terrace. Closing the exhibition, the house was
purchased by architect Wallace K. Harrison and moved to Harrison’s property on Long Island for
use as a weekend retreat. The house was dismantled in just six hours and all the pieces numbered to
facilitate the new assembly. From this date the house knew several locations throughout the years.
2.6.10.4 Frank Lloyd Wright
By this period, Frank Lloyd Wright also was designing his Usonian houses. Besides the constructive
systematization, typical of Wright’s buildings, a few variant proposals of the Usonian envisioned pre-
fabrication and even precut to self-construction methods. These were developed over a modular grid
system, which allowed design flexibility, since each design was unique, while unifying the different
building instances. Anyhow, repeated elements and standard details contributed to control costs.
2.6.10.5 Marcel Breuer
In 1943, Marcel Breuer designs the prototype for the Plas-2-Point House. The house’s plywood
substructure was to be given a thin coat of liquid plastic, a novel take on sealants that would render
the entire structure more durable and easier to clean. The structure touched the ground in two points
only, anchored to foundation blocks that eliminated the need for an expensive grading or a full foun-
dation work. This greatly decreased the amount of time necessary to assemble the house. A massive
spinal girder connected the two points from which radiated a tapered truss system - inspired by the
trussing of an airplane wing. Vertical posts supported a second spinal girder for the ceiling Modular
plywood panels could be configured in variations to form the roofing, flooring, and interior wall
divisions. As with the Yankee Portables, the Plas-2-Point was pitched as postwar housing to officials in
Washington, D.C., but the project would never get off the ground, feeding Breuer's increasing frus-
tration with the inability of architects to break into the prefabricated housing market in the United
States. In Breuer's eyes, the future of the prefabricated house would unfortunately rest within the
hand of “commercial fabricators who don't bother with architecture”287.
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2.6.11 CASE-STUDY HOUSE PROGRAM MEDIA LEGACY
Aside some negative connotations, prefab has in many architectural circles become synonymous
with a somewhat modernist looking, commonly portrayed by detached dwellings set in glamorous,
idyllic, landscapes. In brief, what is depicted are houses representing an idealized living inspired and
inspiring all sorts of popular items, a place where the objects of consumption, from art to furniture,
fuse with the house itself: architecture as a design product piece to show and to consume.
A classic example is the famous Case Study House Program (1945–1966)288, which would produce,
in these terms, paradigmatic houses as the one designed and dwelled by the Eames couple. It all
started in 1944, when John Entenza, editor of Arts & Architecture magazine, publishes What is House?
in the July issue, introducing the Case Study House Program and presenting views for modern prefabri-
cated housing. Between 1945 and 1949, Charles and Ray Eames design Case Study House #8, initially
with Eero Saarinen, in Pacific Palisades, California. The house used industrially-produced component
parts, and was part of the Case Study House program.
Overall, the program oversaw the design of 36 prototype homes, and sought to make available
plans for modern residences that could be built easily and cheaply during the postwar building boom.
It generated designs that would greatly influence the modern home and particularly architecture
during the program’s existence, and so remaining to some extent today, given, for instance, the great
amount of publications dedicated to it that are still being made these days.
This example would be a great contribution in setting a sort of new pop culture founded archi-
tecture, currently manifested in a multitude of press and web based publishing’s dedicated to it. These
are increasingly fused to the point of no-distinction, where virtual representations are at times hard
to decipher from real proposals. There is however another additional effect, that is, as consequence
of our times and technological development, buildings are, or can now be more industrialized than
ever. It is thus with little surprise that sometimes the phenomenon of the Case Studies is followed.
In 2000, Dwell Magazine289 emerged as a pop culture modern chic magazine for architects, designers,
and consumers. Senior Editor at the time, Allison Arieff, and Bryan Burkhart wrote a case-study
book, Prefab, which featured a history of prefab dwellings by architects and others from the industrial
revolution forward. One of the greatest contributions of Dwell was a competition held in 2004, calling
for a 2 000ft2 (~186m2) dwelling under $200 000. Although with different contours than the Case
Study House Program, it a gave visibility to a new approach to prefab housing.
More recently, two exhibitions marked the pace of a renewed architectural interest in prefab
houses: Some Assembly Required: Contemporary Prefabricated Houses, curated by Andrew Blauvelt and also
supported by the Dwell magazine, held in the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis in 2006-2007290,
and Home Delivery: Fabricating the Modern Dwelling, curated by Barry Bergdoll and Peter Christensen,
held in the MoMA in New York City in 2008291. The MoMA show was arguably one of the most
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thorough collections of history, theory, and practical thought on prefabrication and housing ever to
be presented in one setting, taking modern prefab to a higher level of art and a wider audience of
designers and design consumers. The premise on both exhibits was that the current resurgence of
interest in prefab is owed to recent developments in digital technology. The idea is that industrializa-
tion with customization could potentially make the prefabricated dwelling commonplace, offering
both variability and predictability.
However, while these exhibitions, especially the latter, brought a fresh insight, bringing prefab to
a large audience, they nevertheless made quite visible the fact that design culture seems often too
attached to stylistic discussions on prefabrication in architecture, which is often portrayed in the
magazines, blogs, and coffee table books. Discussions on this field are only seldom made more mean-
ingful on what are the opportunities and challenges, namely on issues housing affordability and sus-
tainability.
2.6.12 MANUFACTURED HOMES FROM AMERICA
The mobile homes are part of the heritage of a culture of impermanence in the USA, sharing a
long tradition in the housing panorama in this country. The rise and development of the industry in
America shows a shift from recreational use to permanent housing, but also portrays aesthetical and
technological national trends. The need for rapidly constructed houses in the post-WWII would cre-
ate perfect conditions for the appearance of an US exclusive type of house—the manufactured home,
which comes in the lineage of the mobile home. Built on a chassis and transportable anywhere, these
houses have the great advantage of following a less demanding code than the rest of housing and
construction in general. Many companies that began as recreational mobile trailer manufacturers
shifted into producing permanent mobile housing. Despite tending to be disregarded by society and
architects, in the year 2000 they accounted for some meaningful 7.6% of the total households in the
US, which is an incredible figure for a type of house that only began to exist in considerable numbers
in the late 1940s292.
Their basic technology seems somewhat primitive, but it is a highly developed product, with a
large ballast of innovation. Sharing much of the innovative spirit of the automotive industry, the
companies building mobile homes can have changes in their products every year in their various
home brands, with technical improvements, enhanced insulation methods, improved house appli-
ances and so forth. However, despite a different color or finishing material here and there, improve-
ments in the appearance of each home model are rare. In the case of the Palm Harbor, a mobile
home company employing 450 people in its factory, there is a product development team and floor
layout creators, although none with architects involved293.
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In its inceptions, the continuous development of the manufactured homes has begun following
the come into being of a mature automotive market—and corresponding roadways—and the need
for affordable shelters, either for tourism/vacationing, or eventually even as a (im)permanent afford-
able house to live in. By the 1920’s, vacationing families stocked their automobiles, and hit the road
around the country in their vehicles and trailers, as part of an auto-camping trend. Using their vehi-
cles, enthusiasts escaped from a civilized America, aspiring a return to nature and embracing a no-
madic spirit of exploration, if only for their vacations. Some formed specific tourist associations,
where to qualify they had to live in a tent, converted car, a trailer or a temporary hut. In an early stage,
it was mostly a do-it-yourself business of car conversions—ranging from simple car adaptations to
the most sophisticated trailers, with doors, windows, cooking spaces, beds, and so forth. Eventually,
from the late 1920s and throughout the 1930s, a whole industry developed around it, with business-
men and automotive companies entering the market using mass production methods. It is when the
trailer coach adopted its iconic streamlined image, as depicted in the classic and shiny aluminium-
-made Airstream. With the Great Depression, these symbols of freedom and joy became one of the
few home options for the poor and unemployed.
The trailer gained respectability during wartime, arising as temporary housing for the military and
migrant workers of the military supplying factories. It was no longer about a nomadic way of life, but
affordable (and patriotic) housing in its own right. However, the government regarded them as tem-
poraries. In 1943, the National Housing Agency set minimum standards for war workers housing, and
trailer homes did not comply. As a result, after WWII, surviving manufacturers attempted to link
their products back to their travelling roots, stressed by a sleek, streamlined automotive design. How-
ever, people had got used to live in their affordable trailers, and a streamlined look was not congruent
with the domestic. However, the main practical issue had to do with the 8ft (2.4m) width restriction
by road authorities throughout the country. These posed layout problems, since there was no room
for a corridor, thus rooms had to be accessed in succession. Extensions were possible, but normally
they were expensive, hard to use and often struggling with weathertight problems. The first 10ft (3m)
wide trailer appeared in 1954, manufactured by Elmer Frey’s Marshfield Homes. The ‘ten-wide’
marked a historical shift between the house and the vehicle. These could hit the road, but only with
a special permission, and certainly not too often and/or for tourism. It was also built on a chassis,
but now that was only for transporting it to the site, which was in many cases the only site these
houses would ever meet294.
The acceptance by other manufacturers to the new concept would not occur overnight, but it
would definitely change the game, although approval from authorities would not come immediately.
To the ten-wide, succeeded the twelve-wide in 1959, and the fourteen-wide in 1969. Meanwhile, the
mobile homes began to look more and more house-like, and less vehicle-like. There were already
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millions built, when the double-wide—meaning two mobile homes juxtaposed, each built on its own
chassis—was introduced, enabling an enlargement of the house areas. The growth made it apparently
indistinguishable from modular prefab homes, although in fact differing by the existence of a chassis.
Legally this was an important distinction, since as long as remaining with a chassis meant the ‘mobiles’
were exempt from local building regulations, and subjected only to federal regulations, namely the
regulation that became known as the HUD code (Housing and Urban Development code), introduced in
1976. As consequence of these developments, the industry would be split into two. On the one hand,
the streamlined, vehicle-like, touristic ‘mobile homes’, on the other the chassis built ‘manufactured
homes’, which in most cases only travel from factory to site, and remain there their entire lifespan.
In the latter, the tin-foil materiality was gradually replaced by house-like materials, with prevalence of
timber-frame technologies. Anyhow, a social prejudice would persist among these houses, since ‘trailer’
was connoted with poor people. Signaling it, throughout the years the Trailer Coach Manufacturers Associ-
ation changed its name first, in 1953, to Mobile Home Manufacturers Association and again, in 1975, to Man-
ufactured Home Institute, removing all reference to mobility. Notwithstanding, these houses seem to please
their inhabitants, and the lack of other options is not the only reason to opt for these295.
Following the tradition of camping trailers, part of the market ecosystem of these houses is the
mobile home parks, which begun to emerge in the 1950s. While some mobile home parks are designed
to satisfy the essential needs of an affordable market, others are that take it to a more exclusive level,
providing additional services, as golf courses and swimming pools, lining up with a tendency of gated
communities for wealthier people that have a particular occurrence in places such as Florida. Trailer
parks, either the cheaper or the more exclusive, constitute a substantial part of the manufactured homes
market. Nevertheless, still about sixty percent is located in suburban sprawls that extend for miles. For
the affordable market, in many cases the manufactured home has become the best alternative to an
apartment in the city, and many can be found in this immense network of asphalt. In what can be seen
as a subverted—or natural—evolution of Wright’s agrarian vision, these suburbs have houses that range
from the most humble homes to luxury mansions, many of which are mobile and manufactured homes.
The manufactured homes industry has somewhat evolved to an incongruous state. If houses are
desirably to be treated ordinarily in terms of planning, conversely they desirably ought to keep a
reputation of speed and affordability that takes a competitive advantage on their special legal status.
The HUD code demands to keep up with a non-removable chassis, but many manufacturers also
built sited modular homes, whose construction process is in all ways similar, but with the chassis
removed after deployment. These houses dodge the zoning constraints, but fall outside the HUD
code and thus are ought to comply with local building regulations296.
As Davies writes: “the manufactured house (…) is a complex commercial, industrial and cultural system. The
individual houses may seem illogical in their design and easy to improve, but they are only the fruit of the tree. To
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understand them, you have to look at the whole organism with its interdependent networks of suppliers, manufacturers,
transport companies, dealerships and park owners, and at the commercial and regulatory environment that nourishes
it. You have to notice the way that manufacturers benefit from the extended credit offered by suppliers of materials and
components while taking cash-on-delivery from the house dealers; the way that the size of a manufacturing plant is
governed not by the demands of mass production or the economies of scale but by the population of a catchment area
limited by the distance a house can reasonably be towed in one day (anything up to 800 kilometers); the way that the
specialized transport sector of the industry has evolved techniques to avoid ‘empty back hauls’; the way that dealers
generate a critical mass of potential customers by clustering their show-sites together in roadside ‘trailer shows’; and the
way that park owners are able to take advantage of the flexible, provisional nature of their investment, easy to finance
and easy to convert to conventional development should the occasion arise”297.
The manufactured homes have been recognized as an increasingly relevant component of the un-
subsidized affordable house sector. Their affordability puts homeownership within the reach of many
and is perhaps the greatest contributor for their relative popularity, alongside their availability and flex-
ibility298. These houses can be shipped virtually to any place in the contiguous US territory, including
places where it would be hard or expensive to find builders or construction materials supply. Moreover,
given their relatively smaller areas, they typically require less space over ordinarily built homes. Besides,
since they are literally built on a chassis, they do not require foundations, and this allows to site them
nearly anywhere permitted by building codes. On the other side, owners face issues of land tenure, own-
ership and financing, or more vulnerability to hazards. In fact, land tenure is a characteristic that primarily
distinguishes these houses. The earliest mobile homes were designed for mobility and thus land costs were
not included in the purchase, although costs of temporarily sitting them in parks or campgrounds could
occur. Yet, mobile home have become more grounded over time—according to the US census, in 2005
about 60 percent of mobile home owners stated their homes had never moved299.
2.6.13 PATENT YOUR BUILDING
Embodying a competitive American spirit, outstandingly rendered in a run for patent and proprie-
tary rights, in 1882, N. G. Rood secures the first US patent related to architectural prefabrication, a
design for a Portable Summer House300. This is one of the first known examples of a patent call for an
entire house building in the US. For ages, the intellectual property of architects and other actors in the
building construction industry has relied on copyright laws and the like. These laws are known for their
protection of original artistic or literary works, and architectural works, from drawings, plans or models
to the very buildings can be recognized as works subjectable to copyright protection301. As it is known,
the theme has generally witnessed a growing awareness, particularly since the arousal of a digital era,
with plentiful forums of discussion. Anyhow, it is here important to note that the patent protection302
is another way that has been used for property protection in the building industry. Although relatively
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uncommon/unknown in the architectural field, the fact is that not only partial details, but also entire
buildings have been patented, and this has found a particular fertile ground in the US.
Indeed, we have all heard of patenting building technologies, systems, details or products. How-
ever, perhaps few of us have heard about patenting architecture. The issue became more evident
since Apple relatively recent trend of patent registration of some of its stores, or in the least some
architectural components of these stores. However, there is a rich history of previous examples be-
hind it. Indeed, there are plentiful examples of architectural drawings and building designs that can
be found in patents from the 1920s, 30s, 40s or 50s.
The subject raises some perplexities, primarily because it is difficult to assess to what extent we can
patent architecture, and which naturally crosses the issue of architecture as a product. We can patent
structural systems, materials, details, but it is harder to imagine how to patent conceptual strategies or
the look of buildings. We can observe architecture as a language in itself, but it is hard to imagine
copyright infringement when it is about architectural design, because it is in the least difficult to assess
with precision what makes all the parts of a building a copyrighted entity. In one way or another Frank
Lloyd Wright’s, Mies van der Rohe’s or Le Corbusier’s works have been copied, their methods and
approaches adopted/adapted. We can only wonder what would have had occurred if they had patented
their designs. We certainly have to question if that would have made any sense at all, or in the least, we
have to question where the threshold between an original idea and a barrier against progress is.
In the case of Apple, there is an issue of branding, which traverses their products and packaging,
where in the latter can be included the interior and exterior design of their stores. It is about portray-
ing an image that is ought to be consistent with their products, evoking notions such as clean, sleak,
user-friendly or streamlined. Observing the selection and conjugation of materials of an Apple Store,
it is like looking to an architectural version of one of their products. The model has become familiar
to the point that even without any logo or other kind of reference to the brand, that many would
recognize their architecture.
For ages, architecture has been patent-free, that is, open to be built upon, improved, innovated,
and so forth. So what does it mean for architecture when the U.S. Government granted Apple its
first architectural patent on November 15th, 2011 for the design of a store in the Upper West Side
in New York City? The design features an all glass facade and glass canopy, opening the entire
interior space to the street and to the sky. It is bounded by stone walls on either side. The compo-
nents of this design are not necessarily original and the patent, which can be viewed here, only gives
a cursory view of the design, alluding to the materials and assembly that is to be used. It has also been
announced, that Apple plans to build similar models of this design in other locations.
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2.7 Prefabrication of houses in Japan
2.7.1 TRADITIONAL SYSTEMS FROM JAPAN
Traditional Japanese architecture has developed its own particular modes and vocabulary in time.
These have assimilated many influences from abroad, most notoriously from Chinese architecture,
yet tempered with resolute indigenous developments303. Although with recognizable and often ex-
treme differences in size, plan, decoration, age, and historical development, and considering a great
variety of climates charactering the Japanese archipelago, there is a consistent core universally bound-
ing its architecture. The choice of materials is perhaps the most fundamental point, transversally
linking both sacred and secular, magnificent and humble buildings. There is generally a preference
for natural materials, especially of wood304.
Although with different degrees of workmanship and expertise, typically most traditional struc-
tures are made of wood, with plaster and clay for permanent walls, paper for screens, and straw for
mats, wood shingles, or tile for roofs. A main difference from Western, as well as some Chinese
architecture, is the scarce use of stone, with exception of castle foundations, temple podia and the
like. The same is also mostly verified with the structural systems, based on post and beam wood
construction, with thin, non-bearing walls, movable or fixed, disposed in-between columns. Excep-
tions are only found in the thick wood walls, covered or not with plaster, found in castles and store-
houses. In debt to the structural wood systems, the buildings, with few exceptions, tend to present
rectilinear over curved forms.
A great roof is supported by the structural skeleton, which is usually the most prominent aspect
seen from the exterior, occupying the larger part of the visual field, with the slightly curved eaves
extend beyond the walls. In the case of temples and shrines, to support such weight, a complex
bracket system, the tokyō, is used. In domestic structures, simpler solutions are adopted. Aside the
effect, the typical deep eave overhang produces a distinguishing dimness to interiors, contributing to
the building’s atmosphere where a diffused, mellow light darkens towards the ceiling, a dimness that
has been famously described by the novelist Junichiro Tanizaki in his In Praise of Shadows.
The internal spatial fluidity is yet another characteristic of the Japanese architecture that contrib-
utes to a characteristic feel of space. Probably deriving from the typical post and beam structural
approach, the spatial fluidity of the buildings can be observed in the freedom to either partition space
with fixed walls, or with freestanding or removable shoji screens. In the core of the houses, there is
the most important room, the moya, from which the lesser significant spaces derive, in a characteristic
inside-out fluidity. Although permanent walls are frequently used, the distinction between door and
wall is quite flexible, since they are coded to open to the outside elements, swinging up, sliding open,
or even removed, aiding to such fluidity. The overhang protected space of the verandas hence also
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functions as a transitional space, working both as a part of the building as of a part of the outside
world, establishing a tuned dialogue with the surrounding environment. The fluidity of spaces is also
indelibly related with a proportional measurements system developed throughout the centuries. Each
structural element is related by formula to the others through a modular dimensioning system, which
assures harmony within a building and between different buildings. Finally, even in the most orna-
mented buildings, as in the case of Nikkō Tōshō-gū, decoration typically has an embellishment purpose,
rather than disguising any unintended elements of the construction, therefore contributing to main-
tain an overall integrity of the designs.
Many of the traditional examples seem almost like ephemeral structures, and notwithstanding
there is somewhat a sense of frugal beauty. Supported in lean posts, with module regulated, tatami
mat plans, signal of both order and spatial flexibility, rooms connected by removable shutters and
shoji screens, indoor-outdoor permeability, conveying a feeling of interior protection which is deli-
cately balanced with the control of landscaping and view, drawing an almost imperceptible boundary
between building and world. The internal sphere is linked through unnoticeable steps to the external,
in a continuous flow where there is ought to be no more than the required. Everything is designed
to be just exact, no more, no less. Such feeling transported by the Japanese vernacular practice was
an important influence to modern architecture, being appraised by great architectural figures such as
Mies van der Rohe, Walter Gropius or Frank Lloyd Wright. To a certain extent, more than offering
a way to be mimicked and developed upon, the Japanese way offered a path of conceptual validity
for the modernist proposals.
However, the Japanese tradition has not only been made of the sort of upper-class detached
buildings that the former description configures, and which became so well known in the West. Be-
sides the upper-class detached residences, with their tranquil permeability and serene gardens, there
are also narrow fronted city row houses in traditional construction. The machiya, as they are known,
may combine both commercial spaces and living spaces and usually face a backyard. Constructively,
the systems are identical and similarly age-old encoded to resist earthquakes. Besides both types,
typically stands a kura, a stronger storehouse made to resist hurricanes, earthquakes or fires. Surpris-
ingly, many of these traditional buildings, including the kura, would nevertheless reveal poor perfor-
mance facing the devastating 1995 earthquake305.
These structures are part of the Japanese cultural and architectural essence, yet in a more recent
period of history, the incorporation of its methods has become somewhat abandoned, and slowly has
witnessed its use replaced by wood or steel frame structures resembling the American two-by-four
construction. Aside natural catastrophes and the like, other probable reasons for such outcome has
been simplification of the typically intricate joinery in order to speed up construction and ease mass-
production methods.
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2.7.2 A CONTEMPORARY PREFAB PANORAMA
Japanese prefabrication finds strong roots in the country’s history and culture. People have learned
to think of houses as constructed of post-and-beam frames with infill walls and these frames have
always been prefabricated306. The rich tradition in wood construction is highlighted by the majority
of public preference on these type of houses307. Wooden structures make up about two-thirds of all
the housing stock when classified by structure, but the proportion of non-wooden structures such as
reinforced concrete houses and steel-frame houses, is still increasing308. Unlike some other areas in
the world, prefabrication is generally seen as a good quality-cost combo alternative rather than the
cheap norm.
The big house manufacturing companies make a large expense not only in creating state-of-the-
art manufacturing conditions, but also in promoting and marketing their houses in all sorts of ways.
Some of the major ones exhibit houses as if it was an outdoor car display. The exhibited houses are
made from diverse materials: precast concrete, structural steel, light-gauge steel, and so on. The com-
panies even organize guided tours for the general public or prospective buyers for a close observation
of their prototypes, as well as the facilities where these are produced and tested. Such is the case for
seismic adequacy, which is of a major importance in Japan, greatly influencing the designs, where the
public is invited to witness to their tests. Overall, these selling methods seem to work for the Japanese
prospective homeowner309. For these companies, sales are as an important activity as producing, re-
flected in the investment they make in both. Anyhow, in one way or another, the final customer is
going to pay for all this fuss. On the one hand, customers benefit from production optimization to
get better cost-benefit for their houses. On the other hand, unlike small companies which do not
have the financial support of the bigger ones to deliver big, expensive, advertisement strategies, the
final house bill ends up getting distorted by such, with negative implications for the client.
Housing shortage after WWII was overcome in Japan through intensive housing construction
work. A strong observable characteristic of this effort was tradition holding forces with innovation.
Industry in general witnessed the appearance of innovative production philosophies, starred by the
Toyota Production System310. An outstanding example of achievements is given by Sekisui Company (the
biggest home builder in Japan), that while firmly rooting to traditional house tradition, devised indus-
trial ways to combine standard parts while enabling variety adjusted to the client’s requirements. This
was made while keeping up to economies of scope, necessary to properly run a business, and becom-
ing a pioneer in what latter, since the 1990’s, would be called ‘mass-customization’311.
Japan’s chemical company Sekisui Chemical has, since the 1960’s and in addition to its core busi-
ness, endeavored in building production. Sekisui House and Sekisui Heim are two separate subsidiary
companies with a combined average annual production of some 68 000 housing units. This output is
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inconceivable in Europe through the usual project-oriented approach. In 2004, Sekisui Chemical gen-
erated $7 713 000 000 net sales, of which the residential building sector (Sekisui Heim) accounted for
50.4%. The return on equity was 6.8 percent in the reporting year 2004 with an annual production
capacity of 16 100 buildings (12 270 single-family homes, and 3 840 multi-story buildings in
construc-tion). From 2003 onwards they have developed a zero-cost approach to create a house
with zero utility expense, which currently is around 50 percent of their sales. The approach is
based on the following four principles: air density, highly-insulated design reducing heating and
cooling costs; building integrated, web-based, photovoltaic systems generating electricity during
the day and with surplus to be fed into the grid; highly efficient water heating; extensive use of
night power in all the electrical systems of the building units allowing a positive net flow balance.
The zero-cost concept has turned out to be one of the most important selling points in the Japanese
market. As other com-panies have done (e.g. Toyota Homes), they produce spatial cells in the
factories, which can be used also for the multi-story housing in a steel frame structure.
Passing the critical postwar period, the available houses in Japan would exceed from the house-
holds from 1968 onwards. In 2003, it reached about 1.14 times as many as the total households. The
percentage of owner-occupied housing began to increase in 1998, reaching 61.2% in 2003. In the
beginning of this century, the percentage of detached houses was decreasing, but still was 56.5% in
2003. Despite effects of the global financial crisis, there is however an observable tendency for the
number of collective housing units to continue to increase. The average floor area for newly-built
housing units consistently increased for owner occupied housing and housing for sale. For housing
for rent and company-supplied employee housing, on the other hand, it fell greatly in the 1980s when
land prices rose, and subsequently increased in the 1990s due to the fall in land prices. In general,
housing size is still increasing312.
According to Groák313 the Japanese approach has the following main aspects: the market struc-
ture and attention given to providing customer choice; the nature of housing as a product; the dom-
inance of new-build and absence of a developed market in second-hand houses; a distinct framework
for innovation formed by government and industry, including regulations, and public and private
investment in research and development focusing on production methods and customer require-
ments; the concept of industrialization as a means to customer choice, to maintenance of built quality,
and to flexibility of site operations, rather than simply a means to reduce unit costs; a strong com-
mitment to developing electronic data models of building processes and buildings as products in use,
which could lead to the integration of digital data and its access by a wide range of participants; a
willingness to exchange ideas to help develop the sector as a whole.
Producers are relatively few but extremely big, as the top five ‘giant’ firms make most of the
country’s prefab housing, from where Sekisui House (over 60 000 units/year), Daiwa House Industry
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(around 35 000 units/year) and Misawa Home (about 30 000 units/year) stand out314. Huge manufac-
turers from other fields of industry, such as Panasonic and Toyota, have implemented state-of-the art
housing production methods and are actively in the market315. The manufacturers, or their subcon-
tractors, also make many of the functional components of houses such as kitchens, bathrooms, fur-
niture or windows. Strikingly, in many cases, much work is still done in-situ: interior and exterior
finishing, or plumbing and electrical work (exception for unitized bathrooms and kitchens).
In most cases two stories is the maximum allowed height for wooden buildings in Japan. Other
buildings, such as steel and concrete ones, may have more stories, but they normally stick to tradition,
mostly keeping up to two. Via lifespan estimates, building materials control the taxable value of a
house: wooden houses are considered to have a lifespan of twenty years, and concrete ones thirty
years. This relatively low lifespan of houses when compared to other countries (e.g. 60+ in the UK)
has ensured a regularly recurring housing demand316. However, the Japanese government wishes to
raise the average lifespan of new housing and there is currently discussion about zero energy housing,
100 year life housing, and the increased use of recycled materials. These factors, together with the low
profit margins, are leading many house builders to seek new business strategies317.
Japan has a big house building business and there is a great level of standardization. Generally,
working with a big house builder means clients are stuck with the limited options they provide. To
better optimize production and achieve greater economies of scale, big house companies tend to use
a limited number of component suppliers, for instance in sanitary ware, glazing or doors, with which
they have pre-existent supply contracts with the builders (the final assemblers). Customizing these is
possible and mostly has to do with the type of contract and coordination that is established with the
builder. Alternative suppliers, even in the case of local craftsmanship, can handle quality and price-
competitive solutions. In Japan quality and attention to detail is invariably excellent from major build-
ers to smaller independent builders and subcontractors, and the great market competition assures
good care of price control. However, if a careful handling of these issues is not established first hand
with the contractor risks are, obviously, of an increase in the final ticket price.
2.7.3 THE CASE OF TOYOTA HOMES
From the earliest inceptions of prefab housing, to recent prefab designs, a fundamental idea be-
hind prefab manufacturing has been to use the auto industry as a model for the mass-production of
houses. As other Japanese companies, such as Seikisui House or Misawa Home, the auto-industry giant
Toyota seems to be pushing this idea to its ultimate level, by developing efforts in attempting to bring
together the better of two worlds, design and industry.
The constructive philosophy, as it is possible to understand from the documentation made pub-
licly available by the company, is based on a structure & infill approach. They claim that their approach
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to such constructive philosophy is able to combine a flexible infill with a long-lasting skeleton struc-
ture, used to create spacious, long-lasting, flexible houses. Blending the development of housing-
related equipment with high-level automobile technology is the motto, which requires a strong tech-
nical and financial support by Toyota Housing Corporation and the Related Products Development Commit-
tee318.
Unlike companies such as Seikisu (the biggest house producing company in Japan), at this time,
Toyota Homes seems to have no plans to manufacture for foreign markets, sticking to the internal
market. Although prefabricating housing since the mid 1970s, Toyota made a concerted effort, an-
nouncing on January 1, 2004, that it established a new branch to begin full-scale production of fac-
tory-built homes, gathering some of its disperse companies in this field in one big group, the Toyota
Housing Corporation. The company started in 1975, selecting as home dealers twenty-four auto dealers
in the Kanto, Tokai, and Kinki regions, and beginning production at Toyota Motor Sotoyama Plant and
Kanto Auto Works Yokosuka Plant. In 1976 they would sell 12 houses. Number of houses sold would
first pass the thousand in 1987, with 1 383, the two-thousand in 1991, with 2 258, and the three-
thousand in 1999, with 3 158. When Toyota Housing Corporation was established in 2004, they have sold
4 313 homes, increasing to the 3 936 on the year before. Since then, figures have grown, with a peak
of 5 024 in 2006. Economy’s downturn in the end of the decade, took figures to a lower point of
3 750 in 2009. In any case, they have been growing up since, with 4 137 in 2011. Although with
remarkable number of houses, the overall figures seem to have a neglectable value, the homes com-
pany seems to have been created as a way of diversifying Toyota’s businesses, while testing and make
their expertise evolve in new fields.
The company has transitioned its process into the home market by utilizing their world-renowned
technique of lean manufacturing. Toyota’s innovation of the lean manufacturing process began shortly
after the Second World War. Many of Japan’s industrialists were impressed by America’s speed in
which they could build aircraft and vehicles utilizing the Fordist mass production model of automa-
tion, assembly line, and economies of scale. Taichii Ohno and Shigeo Shingo of Toyota incorporated
the Ford production process with a variety of customized techniques unique to Japanese culture319.
In starting anew with these processes, they could evaluate the shortcomings of the Ford model with
a new critical eye, and develop their own process, which became known as the Toyota Production System
(TPS).
This system has been highly praised and received awards around the globe for its focus on people
through mass customization and utilization of economies of scope. Several industries, other than the
automotive sector, have been using this production model as a basis in which to ground their own
practice. TPS and lean manufacturing have become synonymous with efficient business practices as
found in Lean Thinking320. Toyota Home saw the housing industry as no exception to the principles of
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lean thinking. Toyota has taken 5 of its 14 principles used in auto manufacturing and applied them to
the prefabricated housing market.
These include: Just-In-Time, where each portion of the process arrives just as it is needed to com-
plete the final product; Jidoka, where automation is conceived as having a close human element, im-
portant in prefabrication housing market in order to bring down production cost and improve overall
quality; Heijunka, meaning the inventory is kept low and in constant supply, accomplished by manu-
facturing directly to customer order; Standard Work, meaning not all of the elements that are compiled
to make the Toyota Home modules and finally the completed structure are customized; and Kaizen,
which has to do with the human element in manufacturing, where employees are asked to find solu-
tions as a non-hierarchical multi-field team, focusing on a series of small tested solutions rather than
a macro level fix-all solution, on the quest to produce a quality product efficiently321.
In Toyota Homes, a great deal of the factory production is automated. As in the auto-industry, the
different parts which are brought together in the assembly line can come from different sources,
either in an adjoining plant, or remotely produced, provided either by themselves of by sub-contrac-
tors. In the case of Toyota the steel skeleton is produced in their own factory plants and with a largely
automated system, including the cold-forming for some of the required steel parts, to cutting, weld-
ing, and drilling to latter bolt, screw or pass cables or pipes through where necessary. The two-di-
mensional frames and remaining structural steel elements are then taken to the automated paint shop,
where the frames and remaining elements acquire their solid protective coatings. These finished steel
components resemble pretty much a finished car or truck chassis frames. The whole process, where
robots do a great deal of the work, is sought of to be quality-control monitoring friendly. As with the
steel skeleton, other components, such as panels and boards for walls, floors or ceilings, windows or
kitchen furniture, are previously set fit to seamlessly enter the assembly line.
In the assembly line, the two-dimensional steel frames are the base on where the remaining com-
ponents will be layered on. Two main types of frames diverge in two different assembly paths, the
ones which are to become floor/ceilings, and those that are to be external walls. The floors begin by
receiving their insulation layers, covering most of the steels profiles. Some wood elements, or other
hard and high thermal inertia rigid elements, are punctually placed to later receive the floor boards
which will be screwed to it. There is always a constructive gap between the steel and the boards which
are laid to make the floor. This gap is always filled with such a wood or wood-like sort of material to
later screw and/or glue the boards. After the raw base is completed, it is fully hand-wired, receiving
all the necessary electrical and/or other types of cables. Two of these raw and wired floor plates will
go through an automated system which will weld together, placing a slim steel column in each corner
in what will thereafter become a tridimensional module.
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The wall frames begin by receiving the building’s external cladding (or its support to be finished
in-situ), which is properly screwed and goes through an industrial paint coating which minimizes
potential water infiltrations through the building façade via the joints and screwed points. After this
stage, the external wall panels are finally joined with the already tridimensional modules consisting of
two floor plates and four corner columns. Layered (wood + insulation) boards are then assembled
through the interior of the external walls. As in the floors, in the external walls there are also gaps left
between the wall’s steel frame and these boards, separating both materials.
Toyota claims that their steel-framed prefabs leave the assembly factory 85% complete. The factory
expedites self-supported, box-like modules, with a bigger or smaller degree of furnishing, depending
on the requirements. In half a day, the modules get stacked into place with a crane, leaving it almost
done. Some of the finishings, such as floor pavement, are left to be made onsite in order to avoid
unwanted elements such as joints visibilities. The company offers various sizes and designs, with an
average family home comprising 12 factory modules.
2.7.4 THE CASE OF ONJUKU BEACH HOUSE BY BAKOKO ARCHITECTS
Bakoko’s Onjuku Beach House (2012) is a remarkable example of use of automated processes in
construction, combining quality and precision with ease and speed of construction. It is located next
to the beach, in Onjuku, Japan, half an hour distance from Tokyo. It is a vacation house for a couple
with intention of becoming a permanent house in future retirement times. Concordantly, the house
program is quite straightforward. The plan is developed in two levels, plus a typical Japanese access
to the roof top, with common living room and kitchen in the ground floor, to which adds a bedroom
and toilets, and a multi-purpose open-space with two different areas in the upper floor. The house
is mostly centered on its living room, which connects all the spaces in the house: it filters the
private zones, connects visually and physically with the upper floor, and relates generously with an
external wooden deck. The geometry of the house is characterized by its trapezoidal shape both in
plan and section, and two volumetric insertions, next to the entrance and wooden deck with a built-
in seat and planter, and on the toilets. The trapezoidal shape gives the house its formal character,
but too is a mode for tridimensionally bonding the spaces together.
According to the architects, “The home’s concealed entrance is served by a Japanese genkan, a porch separat-
ing the home proper from a built-in shed for stashing surfboards and bicycles. This tunnel-like outer porch connects the
gated rear entryway and the wooden deck which incorporates a built-in seat and planter. Timber shutters slide across
the entire southern eave, securely locking-down the home to protect it from the seasonal typhoons. From the road, the
home maintains an intentionally low profile. Its austere stained tongue and groove cladding is sourced from native
Japanese cedar. Returning from the beach, a private outdoor shower leads directly into the tiled bathroom. An intimate
garden provides a tranquil backdrop to the sunken bathtub. The home's dark exterior skin contrasts with its light and
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airy interior. The double-height living space is occupied by a spruce-clad box that supports a loft space above and contains
the master bedroom, WC, and bathroom below. Careful detailing has incorporated the staircase and doors that close
flush to conceal these private rooms. Sitting at the built-in desk upstairs, one can gaze out the sea for inspiration. The
shallow pitched roof is accessible via a ladder extending into a large pivoting skylight. Since the home is intended for
casual entertaining, the loft spaces and a timber-lined lower study double as occasional guest rooms. The home is predi-
cated on passive design principles. Generous south-oriented glazing is shaded by the eaves in summer. Cross ventilation
captures cool sea breezes. Slotted perforations milled into the wooden balustrade promote air circulation and cleanly
conceal mechanical air conditioning units. In winter, the wood-burning stove provides renewable heat energy”.
The simple program, the geometry, or its materials and attention to detail are, however, just the
visible scenario, as the house conceals a peculiar construction process, based on an industrially cut
wooden structural mesh. For the manufacturing process, the precut timber supplier translated the
architectural drawings into a set of schematics, placing symbols on each post-beam junction accord-
ing to each respective type of joint. The plant of the precut timber supplier was located in a former
Hitachi factory, where five workers, along with machinery, produce the structure for 800 to 1 000
houses per year, although with a capacity for up to 4 000. The machinery is completely automated,
taking squared timber and processing it to a stack of pre-carved and numbered timber posts and
beams. The info for each job is inputted through specialized CAM software and the workers’ task
can be summed up in feeding the machines with the correct lumber elements, verifying the correct
section, length or kind of wood is inserted for the programmed carvings. In a first stage, each element
is trimmed to exact length by a big radial saw. Then, the element is moved by a conveyor belt to a
large wheel-like armature with five different centrifugally arranged drill attachments. This spinning
wheel allows the machine to mill the protruding part of the joint onto both ends of each element.
Another part of the machine mills the sockets in the exact required locations of the timber. Addi-
tionally, each element is marked with a unique identification in order to ease assembly when it arrives
in-situ, assuring the quality control throughout the construction process. Finally, the wood is stacked
and prepared for delivery.
The house structure took only one day to erect, and there was only two skilled carpenters working
on the job. Everybody, from the electrician, to the interior decorator helped on erecting the structural
frame. The pre-numbered members were hoisted by crane and fitted together with the help of a large
wooden mallet. For the participants it is a joyous process which resembles the assembly of a large
wooden puzzle. As the carved joints are fit, they are reinforced with steel bolts, providing additional
stability safety. Only very few elements of the wooden trust could not be precut by the machinery
and had to be cut by the carpenters.
Despite recession and shrinking population, Japan continues to build many homes. The workforce
of skilled carpenters is also getting old. In these circumstances, the use of automation seems to be an
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obvious future way. With it, the Japanese builders, renowned for their skill and obsessive attention
to detail, can efficiently achieve millimeter accuracy quickly while delivering at highly competitive
speeds. Time and cost of cutting and assembly in-situ can be greatly reduced, while respectfully car-
rying the ancient, traditional and meticulous, great art of joinery.
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3 LOGISTIC NOTES—CONTAINERS & PALLETS
In some circumstances, the design options may be influenced by the net dimensions of intermodal
containers, the most economic mode for overseas shipping. The net dimensions of shipping contain-
ers are limited, and off-size cargo is incomparably more expensive. Containers follow strict principles
of economy, both in their handling, as in their very construction. In their simplest version, the chassis
is usually a steel frame bolted together and the walls are made of corrugated steel board. There are
many variations, from refrigerated containers, to ventilated or isolated, to detachable sides or tops,
even to flat (collapsible) containers to avoid having to transport empty space, to tank or gas contain-
ers, or the high-cube version (slightly higher), and so forth. Containers are poised to be intermodal,
easy to set up by crane or forklift truck, and easy to transported by truck, train or ship. The consistent
adoption of the ISO container sizes means transport is very flexible, making use of existing equip-
ment already designed to handle international standard ISO containers all over the world. In any case,
size norms such as ISO are not universally adopted, and thus care must be taken in this respect.
The size of an ocean freight is generally referred to as its nominal length in feet. The most com-
monly used international container sizes are 20’ and 40’ modules. Most European companies’ con-
tainers are also aligned to this international system. Nonetheless, the ISO standards recognize several
lengths of ISO shipping container dimensions, such as the 10’, 20’, 40’, 45’, or 48’. There are also the
intermodal air freight containers, called unit load device, which are coded as LD#, and whose com-
patibility between different airplanes varies, e.g. the LD1 is less common since it is designed specifi-
cally for the 747, yet LD3s are more commonly used in its place because of ubiquity. Dimensions
and characteristics of both ocean and air freights are broadly available online, and their dimensions
may vary slightly from manufacturer to manufacturer. Ultimately, a previous contact with the
transport service provider may prove the most effective way to avoid incompatibilities. On Table 1
are shown some reference figures of some of the most common ocean container dimensions.
20′ 40′ 40′highcube 45′highcube
Ext Dim (m) l 6.096 12.192 12.192 13.716
w 2.438 2.438 2.438 2.438
h 2.591 2.591 2.896 2.896
Int Dim (m) l 5.71 12.032 12 13.556
w 2.352 2.352 2.311 2.352
h 2.385 2.385 2.65 2.698
Int Vol (m³) 33.1 67.5 75.3 86.1
Max Gross Weight (kg) 30 400 30 400 30 848 30 400
Empty Weight (kg) 2 200 3 800 3 900 4 800
Net Load (kg) 28 200 26 600 26 580 25 600
Door Aperture (m) w 2.343 2.343 2.28 2.343
h 2.28 2.28 2.56 2.585
Table 1. Common container dimensions.
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Concomitantly with the use of containers may be the use of pallets. Again, there is no single
standard in pallets sizes. Instead, there are several purposed pallets with diverse dimensions, since a
single standard would have to satisfy multiple requirements that are not easy to satisfy altogether:
fitting in standard containers, passing doorways, or bringing down labor costs. For instance,
companies already using large pallets often see no reason to pay the higher handling cost of using
smaller pallets that can fit through doors. The most broadly used pallet in the world is
the Euro-pallet (800x1200x144mm), also known as EUR-1-pallet or the equivalent ISO1, initially
developed for Eu-ropean railways, with the great advantage of fitting in many doors given its
800mm wide. There are also several derivatives of these, with its own set of ISO standards
equivalents, such as the half the EUR-6-pallet (or ISO0, with 800x600mm), or the EUR-2-pallet
(or ISO2) and EUR-3-pallet (both with 1200x1000mm, but with length in different directions),
closer to the most common American pallet type (40x48 in, i.e. 1016x1219mm). However, the
EUR types have the problem of the fitting in standard containers, being far from optimized.
Apropos, with wide acceptance, it has been developed intermodal containers about 5cm wider,
known as pallet-wide containers, featuring a 2440mm internal width to easily fit two 1200mm
pallets side by side. Again, as in containers, information is widely available online, and offers
between suppliers may vary, and thus dimensions must be properly crosschecked, between the
available containers, pallets and so forth.
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4 MASS-CUSTOMIZATION NOTES
4.1 Overview of mass-customization concepts from a business perspective
As the Toyota example demonstrated, MC is not ‘simply’ a process of improvement and ordering.
For that matter, several studies on MC, developed from a business perspective, have pointed out
likely causes of failures, and recommended practices. One of these studies was conducted by B. Jo-
seph Pine II, Victor, and Boynton. In an article published in 1993, the authors have remarked that,
to successfully implement MC in a business, four characteristics would have to be taken into account
from the very beginning of its implementation: instantaneous, costless, seamless, and frictionless322. In a
subsequent study, published in 1997, B. Joseph Pine II and Gilmore stated four types of approaches
to the MC concept: collaborative customizers, adaptive customizers, cosmetic customizers, and transparent custom-
izers323. Another study by Zipkin, published in 2001, warned for the limits of a MC process, stating
three aspects to take into account, in an integrated manner, by any company considering such a strat-
egy, otherwise with the risk of MC failure: elicitation, process flexibility, and logistics324.
Not every process to create variability implies the development of a straightforward MC. Because
of it, companies and its investors should insist in the development of a business plan, including spec-
ificities in process technologies, market, research and real and potential competitors. Companies
should investigate potential to increase variability. That includes MC, posing the following questions:
to which products a bigger choice might bring added value to the customer; what are in there the key
processes; how flexible these are, and how can they can become even more; how can these be rede-
signed to be more modular or configurable; and which new opportunities do IT’s bring to achieve
variety325.
Despite numerous successful examples, MC has been harder to implement than what was initially
thought, as utterly illustrated by the Toyota example. Nevertheless, MC is not an exotic approach,
with limited applicability. Instead is a strategic mechanism that is possibly applicable to most busi-
nesses, as long as it is properly understood and implemented326. Hence, there is no such thing as a
better way to implement a MC, it is a process, more than a goal, for which, according to Salvador et
al., three fundamental capabilities must be taken into account: solution space development, robust process
design, and choice navigation327. These are unavoidably linked with digital tools, from the management
of the production chain, to user choice, and so forth.
Applications of the MC concept to several industries have become increasingly common, but in
some cases not without some major bumps in the way. Examples of companies such as Amazon or
eBay are widely known. In hardware sales, Dell pioneered a MC system with its direct customer
approach in product choice and configuration. With more or less success, applications are frequent
in textiles, as is the case of custom-made Levi Strauss jeans, or in the shoe industry, as it is the case
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of the Nike sport shoes, which can be designed by the client in the company’s website. In the auto
industry, the Smart car was precursor with its online configurator, and is currently just one more
example of the plenty in this type of approach. In fact, in more or less subtle ways, most global
companies, selling global brands, have been implementing processes and strategies of MC.
MC can also be a useful concept to have in mind in the production of common buildings such as
houses or even schools, although not losing sight that is typically more of a business related concept,
than an architecturally effective methodology. Nevertheless, some lessons can be taken from it, and
with a discrete perspective of the construction elements, and a process view of the design task, its
application can be regarded as in the scope of an arguable evolution of the architectural scope to the
sphere of the product. LT production methodologies and the IT’s serving the design and production,
have questioned the old imperatives of MP. With such a perspective, typical architectural tools, such
as dimensions and proportions do not necessarily need to be regarded as standardized in order for
production to be efficient, although with their own limits.
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4.2 Some methodological approaches to MC from an architectural perspective
The case studies hereon presented, display two proposals of MC methodologies, Noguchi’s328
and van der Thillart’s329, that have attempted to bind the seemingly exclusive language of business
with the architectural production, particularly in house production.
Noguchi makes a simplified approach to the theme, from a methodological perspective on the
diverse components that can be involved in a housing MC scheme. He considers housing MC as a
function of both services (S) (those coming from the architect, contractor, marketing, and so on, in-
volving interaction with the client) and products (P) (e.g. components or materials). The conceptual
expression is given by MC={S, P}, where the S and P are conceptual expressions that can be synthe-
tized by S={l, p, t} and P={v, e, i, o}. In this case, in S factors are location (l), personel (p) and tools (t),
and in P factors are volume components (v) (those that determine the structure as well as the number and
size of each compartment), exterior components (e) and interior components (i) (those that coordinate both
the functional and decorative aspects that customize housing). These three (v, e and i) are considered
the main elements of the P subsystem. The other, optional components (o), may be heating/cooling
systems, security systems, domotics’, door handlers and other hardware, kitchen appliances, among
others. The referred elements may include sub-categories, as roofing, walls, windows, verandas, as
well as kitchens, bathrooms, storage or finishing.
The MC methodology developed by van der Thillart, first published in 2004, also concerning the
residential sector, refers multiple factors to take in account, such as questions related to project, mor-
phological variability, industrial performance, quality control, IT’s, marketing, and intervenient roles,
among others. The suggested MC model stands on the key-idea that a design concept can create a
virtual kit-of-parts330. These virtual kits are extensible beyond individual projects and can be used in
different locations. Moreover, these virtual kits comprehend all the possible systems that, together,
after the client selection procedures, make a series of different buildings. The systems in this virtual
package have a ranking of levels. Each selection in a certain level adds a system to the system selected
on the previous level. A virtual kit turns into a MC model via a systems organization of the building
in decision levels, having as reference a specific marketing concept, supported by drawing, visualiza-
tion and accounting IT’s. Theoretically, from a virtual kit, we can easily generate thousands of final
variants. However, creating variants is not an end in itself, since production should satisfy strict eco-
nomic conditions. The most profitable of these happens when the number of different components is
kept to a minimum and the resulting number of products variants is maximized, for which con-
nections between components (i.e. the relation element) should be as standardized as possible.
Such variation is optimized through what the author calls the disentanglement processes of the different
systems in the kit. The issue that disentanglement processes try to handle is related with decisions
that may look simple to the consumer may create a very high number of system states for the designer
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or the contractor to handle, and concomitantly a high number of different connections and of op-
portunities for it to fail. These can be achieved by in introducing morphological transferability tech-
niques331, since an early design stage through geometrical strategies, and concomitantly with attempt-
ing to attain a broad compatibility in constructive connections, so to deepen the OPP, ideally enabling
a free connection of the variable components of any branch in a customer decision tree332.
Finally, this author illustrates how these points can be managed, devising for that purpose a no-
menclature of systems and sub-systems to apply in a housing MC process, where he hierarchically
locates: support (a), envelope (roof and façade) (b), services (c), infill (d) and finishings (e). To exemplify, a
subdivision of the infill system may be developed the following way: Sys (d) infill, Sys (d1) internal
partitions, Sys (d2) internal doors, Sys (d3) kitchens, Sys (d4) toilets, and so forth. By attributing a
proper nomenclature, the control levels become clearer, and so potentially does the clients’ decision
tree, thus increasing the potential of applicability for digital-aided, customer-centered choice pro-
cesses.
Both these works generally reveal a certain closeness with the theoretical tendencies on MC in
economics, and with the theoretical tendencies developed in the housing field, namely, for instance,
the concept of Open Building and the IFD (Industrial, Flexible and Demountable). In these, there is the
underlying idea of identifying different levels of decision observable in a building with different lifecy-
cles, adding to the last also the ability of deconstruction in the lifecycle end, in line with the growing
concerns on the factors of environmental sustainability in construction. Moreover, both these ap-
proaches denote a concern mostly on the construction aspects of the architectural production, on
how to handle a certain pre-designed set of components in order to obtain variability in outputs, and
so on. In both also, it is notorious an assumption of discreteness and modularity, where processes
follow particular hierarchies. This hierarchization comes from a need of structuring and accounting
the processes and sub-processes happening in the development of a MC in housing, and which inflict
in the logistic performance of the building construction processes. Because both come from an ar-
chitectural background, it is evident a focus on the overall design/construction process and its rela-
tionship with the client. However, as earlier observed, for any MC process to be successfully imple-
mented, many other aspects have to be taken into account. Anyhow, from a strict architectural point
of view, these provide already plentiful clues that can be incorporated in any process where variability
and efficient construction processes can be involved.
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IV Epistemological Notes
[A Global Epilogue]
COMPLEMENTARY TEXTS
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1 THE PHENOMENON OF GLOBALIZATION
Certainly, in various ways, the debate on globalization is not unanimous. Regardless how it is
defined, the term unmistakably indicates that it has to do with important processes which are bound-
ing the globe differently333. All in all, it is unequivocal that globalization has a fundamental role in our
lives, affecting the formulation of concrete manifestations of spatial and temporal conceptions of our
time.
Globalization has been described as being risen from factors such as deterritorialization, growth
of social interconnectedness, and speed or velocity of social activity334. Its linkage with the evolution
and transformations imposed by economy is conspicuous335. Indeed, global economy was politically
built by deregulation and liberalization mechanisms, decided and operationalized by governments
throughout the world336. Once in place, it does not mean these mechanisms cannot be undone, but
certainly not so easily, as the periods of economic and financial crisis suggest.
Historically, globalization is a process that can be traced back to millennia337. It involves basic
spatial and temporal338 contours introduced by multiple technical artifacts developed throughout hu-
man history, while trading networks, and hence social and cultural ones, were increasingly developed.
From the XV and XVI centuries onwards, a series of events related with the Renaissance period, to
which the voyages of discovery relate to339, are the cradle for the Enlightenment ages and the Posi-
tivist spirit. These manifestations took place as western society secularized340 and are responsible for
a tremendous progress flagged by science and technology. Altogether these would define mankind’s
evolutionary path, with transversal implications in the centuries to come, contributing to the setting
of an industrial machine-driven era, and are major constituents of the Modernity to which, consider-
ing its multiple manifestations, we all indelibly relate to341.
Among other technical breakthroughs, the XXth century would bring the ship container, setting a
global commodity carrying standard, making “the world smaller and the world economy bigger”342, and from
its last decades onwards, the Internet, GPS, and so forth. These contributed to make the process of
globalization an inescapable fact343. As Alvin Toffler344 foresaw in the early 1960’s, after the agricul-
tural and the industrial revolutions, the information revolution, child of the space age, gave birth to
the current post-industrial society, definitely bringing globalization to our vocabulary, setting the pace
for its current status.
Globalization is often grasped empirically, and it is common to see it addressed as if it was a mere
economical phenomenon, though it is broader than that345. If it is unquestionable that, in one hand,
it is associated with growth in transnational companies, trade, technology, or international networks
and communication, on the other hand it bounces back exploitation and immiseration of continents,
peoples and global poverty346. Just as local economies are influenced, and in many instances dominated
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by giant corporations, national governments cannot make policy and run their countries in isolation
from the rest of the world347.
If the early myth of globalization meant top-down control, as in the early cartographic idealiza-
tions for land ownership of European colonial settlers, such myth is irrevocably put in check348. The
difficult equation of Limits to Growth, first presented in the 1970’s and updated around thirty years
later349, involving available resources, available food, industrial output, population and pollution indicators,
should at a minimum be regarded as a wake-up call to the scarcity of means there is at our disposal,
remembering that globalization is not unlimited and does have a cost; and, as theorized by Marxism,
the capitalist system, the great driving force of globalization, is ultimately unstable, because it cannot
endlessly sustain profits.
It adds what can be called the media effect, as the enormous transformations undertaken make
visible a globalized world that exists much in function of what the ubiquitous social media broadcast.
And, as structuralism indicates, the invisibilities are nonetheless latent, even if not perceivable. There
is a world, the global—of consume, financial, or of show (natural disasters or movie stars)—that is
under the media scrutiny, and a rest of the world—of daily struggle, endemic misery, or alternative
social movements – that is mostly outside the media focus350.
Indeed, many of globalization aspects can be portrayed as representation, where the real gives
place to a new kind of real. Such is what occurs with cartographic representations, which are more
visibly driven from a physical reality, but also what occurs in a simulacra—as in the example of ‘vir-
tual-reality’—or when enhancing the real, producing a matrioska type of simulacra, within the simu-
lacra of real—as in the example of the augmented-reality. For instance, in economic-financial circles this
is every so often represented via the so-called business as usual, a representation system, where, in the
resemblance between real and its representation, it does not matter if things are true or false, real or
simulacra, as long as they keep on going as they always did. As Herod writes, “central to this representation
is the portrayal of globalization as a process whereby other spatial scales are eviscerated – globalization, in other words,
is the delocalization and/or denationalization of economic and political life”351.
An analogy can be driven to the constructed human shared reality, where these fundamental bio-
logical mechanisms are unavoidably mirrored, finding their most visible appearance in media repre-
sentations. As it occurs neurologically352, a number of reasons may contribute for global representa-
tions to lack accuracy, and ultimately fail. But in the very nature of the idea of representation is
embedded the notion of a permanent update in order to adjust to the ever-changing reality(ies), the
same way as speech slowly alters language. Globalization as a representation has outstandingly failed
in certain historical moments. Famous examples in relatively recent history are the media-enacted
political representation of an atomic danger to justify the start of the second Iraq war, or the case of
the late 2000’s financial crisis353. Alternative models for a certain representation are possible because
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it is always likely that something may have changed, or that something may have been missed: the
error is always human.
With the conception of a probable infinite space introduced in the Renascence the globe could
seemingly be grasped as a finite totality. According to David Harvey, the invention of perspective
introduced individualism, providing “an effective material foundation for the Cartesian principles of rationality
that became integrated into the Enlightenment project. Objectivity in spatial representation became a valued attribute
because accuracy of navigation, the determination of property rights in land, political boundaries, rights of passage and
transportation, and the like, became economically as well as politically imperative”354. Globalization, as cartog-
raphy, has the dual power of inducing an imaginary seduction and work as a rational construction. It
reveals a desire for fulfillment, a dream of universality. Yet, as noted by Christian Jacob, “the map
entered the era of suspicion. It lost its innocence. We cannot imagine it today without an anthropological dimension,
attentive to the specificity of cultural contexts, and theoretically, reflecting on the nature of the object as its intellectual
and imaginary powers”355.
But current global representation systems are far beyond the commonly acknowledge, rationalist
based, cartographic systems, and not exactly always attentive to the specificity of cultural contexts.
Universalism of architectural forms too, if ever seriously proposed, can no longer be conceived other
than in a sort of delusional proposal.
This system of death via simulation processes is a crude, but concise expression of globalization,
highlighting its insatiable tautological nature. Death as, for instance, death of the subject and of indi-
viduality, of the existentialist nietzschean superman, by means of engineered (online and instantly)
simulation of exclusivity, as in to reassure (simulate) the return to its own individuality. Death as
death of local and regional specificities, as to become part of the global branding cogwheel that pre-
sents (represents) itself in a ubiquitous mass (multi)media. Death, like as death of resources, as to
give place to the simulation of a global blending, ever simulating, and ever representing: Caesar’s wife
must be above suspicion’.
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2 THREE CASES OF GLOBAL COLLABORATIVE WORK
Globalization has certainly been serving as a kind of buzzword, attracting significant attention in
many fields, in different contexts, by different people, for different purposes. But architecture has
always been somewhat transnational or global, and its history seems to prove this point. Architecture
has always been the result of collaborations between different actors, with the architect gathering,
combining, organizing. In projects above a certain financial or visibility threshold, it is common to
notice collaborative practices occurring at an international level. For instance, the Sydney Opera House
(1959-73) begun as an international design competition which would be won by a Danish, Jørn Utzon,
with creative references spanning from Japanese or Chinese cultures, to African, Magrebian, Euro-
pean, or North-American and Mesoamerican; the structures were calculated by a London firm, Ove
Arup & Partners, whose founder was Anglo-Danish; the over one-million ceramic tiles cladding the
building were manufactured by the Swedish company Höganäs AB, which co-developed them with
Utzon, and from Sweden shipping them to the building site in Australia.
Another iconic example of international cooperation is the UN Headquarters building in New York
City (1947-50). The complex is too regarded as a functional and symbolic signal of an affirmation of
modernist architecture as a dominant design language of the postwar period. It was designed by an
international architectural team, led by the USA architect Wallace K. Harrison. Coming from all over
the world, the main architectural players, in which great figures such as Le Corbusier or Oscar Nie-
meyer were included, disagreed with one another and collaborated in turns for the design process356.
According to the myth, Wallace Harrison was the ‘bad’ corporate architect who stole Le Corbusier’s
design and made it mediocre reality. In its turn, Oscar Niemeyer affirms that the sketch with the final
solution was his, under the master’s, Le Corbusier, acceptance. Yet the myth has its reversal, as it was
a building that perhaps American would not have thought and European would not have built; a
collaboration not only between architects but between different cultures—of design, construction,
political or ideological—cross-fertilized in a hybrid, authentic archetype of a global modern, Interna-
tional Style.
Cross-fertilization between different kinds of expertise, as it visibly occurred in the Sidney Opera
House is a common fact in architectural practice, as it is the case of the typical relationship of architect
and engineer. Spatial and technical designs are often closely related, but nevertheless require different
skills. There are also other types of fundamental expertise, such as the commercial, which require
additional sets of skills. With different degrees according with the scope and type of project, all these
factors concur for the success of any design. But collaborations surrounding the architectural practice
often are embedded in the very creative process, on collaborative aspects of it. Such was the case of
a particular collaboration between the artist Olafur Eliasson and the architect David Adjaye. A world
renowned artist, Eliasson357 devised an artist’s studio that consisting of a team of about 45 people,
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from craftsmen and specialized technicians, to architects, artists, archivists and art historians, cooks
and administrators. They work to experiment, develop, produce, and install artworks, projects, and
exhibitions, as well as archiving, communicating, and contextualizing Eliasson’s work. Additionally,
they contract structural engineers and other specialists, and collaborate with curators, cultural practi-
tioners, and scientists. The artist’s works spans all over the world and includes collaborations with
architectural offices, such as with David Adjaye’s studio in the Your Black Horizon exhibition building
for the Venice Biennale 2005: Icelandic artist with practice based in Berlin meets in Venice with
Tanzanian born architect with practice based in London. Examples such as of the Sidney Opera House,
of the UN headquarters, or of Olafur Eliasson and David Adjaye, are just an illustration of the innu-
merous possibilities of finding examples relating the architectural profession in some sort of global
aura. The collaborative nature of the architectural profession is not simply an indicator of its open-
ness, of its seeming predisposition to be positively contaminated. Such is also a notion which under-
mines any delusional attempt to set it as a referential discipline, or set it with a methodological foun-
dation, as it has not one discernable body or structure, yet many shades which render ineffective any
attempt of universalization.
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3 THE BO-KLOK, OR ARCHITECTURE AS BRANDED PRODUCT
According to the IKEA company, the idea for better housing at lower costs was born in 1996.
Apartment construction had more-or-less come to a halt—the demand for newly built apartments
was very high, but no-one dared take the initiative to build specifically for the large number of people
looking for apartments at reasonable prices. The decisive step would take place in a housing fair in
Sweden. Two of the driving spirits behind the concept met—IKEA and Skanska CEO’s—and started
to discuss why all new built apartments were only for rich people: ordinary people should have the
same right to live in new built dwellings adapted to the needs of modern family. As a concept this
was not a novelty. But the firm determination of the proponents, added to a solid financial support,
where key drivers to put the idea into practice.
A dialogue between IKEA and Skanska would soon reveal that both parties were interested in
making a move on the empty market. Ingvar Kamprad, the founder of IKEA, had long been looking
for a partner in the building industry to help build new homes for the many people. Skanska and its
chairman Melker Schörling, was keen to join forces with IKEA to further strenghten its
aim of becoming the first construction company in Sweden to create a broad product on the
basis of an entirely new approach.
In 1997 the first four residential areas were completed in Helsingborg, Stockholm, Örebro and
Sundsvall. They were all a success, as people were queuing at the IKEA stores to be able to buy an
apartment. That was when marketing teams came up with a system of allocating the demands in order
for people to choose the apartments through their plans, enabling a more transparent buying process.
Up until 2012 almost 4 000 apartments at over 100 locations in 5 different countries had been built.
According to the company, the customer surveys normally reveal that the people living in BoKlok
dwellings think their apartments and the area they are living in are great, and that their monthly living
cost is low and affordable to them.
As with the philosophy used in IKEA’s products, the BoKlok products are straightforward and
designed to attract many people. They include cost efficient and ‘smart’ solutions. Constructively, all
products have a wooden construction. The designs, together with state-of-the-art productions meth-
ods, have been devised in order to guarantee an overall small environmental footprint. In terms of
layout, the open space solution of the kitchen and living room offer the customer flexibility to adapt
the home to their specific needs. The light and airy rooms can be used for different functions at the
same time. The kitchen and some other interior features of the dwellings are IKEA’s products. One
of the design principles used in BoKlok homes is that there should always be natural light when en-
tering a home or a room, meaning that given the sort of modules used in construction, that each
apartment has at least three window directions. The constructive concept is based on large volumes,
standardized prefabricated solutions, and a conscious customer focus from start to finish. The entire
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process—from the search for land, through detailed plans to the point where the customers move
in—is carefully prepared and documented, ultimately meaning short time-spans from decision to
completed projects.
The large volumes and efficient building methods give financial strength to involve a team of
different competences in the product development phase, ensuring the creation of homes the cus-
tomers want, featuring modern functionality and sustainable materials. The focus is always on the
customers: who they are, how much they can afford to spend on their homes without economizing
elsewhere, and how they want to live. All in all, it is a process departing from a solid constructive
(physical) sphere, which allows a certain degree of user option in the plan layout (spatial) sphere and,
regardless the univocal furniture supplier, a certain degree of freedom in the decorative (ornamental)
sphere, and where, overall, the implementation of mass-customization schemes is transversal.
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4 HOUSING, A GLOBAL ISSUE
Housing is one of the most basic programs with which Architecture deals with and is probably
the most vastly documented: creating a shelter for man to dwell, Architecture’s primordial act. The
UN millennium report stated that “the greatest challenge we face today is to ensure that globalization becomes a
positive force for all the world's people, instead of leaving billions of them behind in squalor. Inclusive globalization
must be built on the great enabling force of the market, but market forces alone will not achieve it. It requires a broader
effort to create a shared future, based upon our common humanity in all its diversity”358.
This inclusion is far from reached, in fact, recent reports, more than a decade after, point out to
alarming figures threatening the progress of human development and its inextricable linkage with the
environment. Nearly 90 percent of the world population lacks access to modern cooking fuels (C),
80 percent lack adequate sanitation (S) and 35 percent lack clean water (W). Of these, 80 percent
experience two or more deprivations and 29 percent face all three, the worse-case is in sub-saharan
Africa (C 98.3, S 86.7, W 65.2 percent), followed by South Asia (C 94.1, S 86.4, W 19.4 percent), East
Asia and the Pacific (C 75.1, S 62.6, W 30.5 percent), Latin America and the Caribbean (C 54.3, S
41.5, W 24.1 percent) and Europe and Central Asia (C 26.8, S 19.5, W 22.6 percent)359.
This is not a new issue. Indeed, as stated in the Article 25.1 of the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights, “everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and his family,
including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of
unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his con-
trol”360. More than 60 years have passed and nevertheless issues concerning housing and housing
rights in the context of globalization are far from consensual and we seem a long way from the noble
principles stated in the Declaration361. Concomitant to the issue of housing rights is the often unclear
agenda of political leaders around the globe. According to the authors of a report prepared for the
World Urban Forum III in Vancouver, “Improving conditions and addressing the global housing crisis should be
a high priority for national governments and international donors, but, for reasons that are not clear, it is not. In
many countries around the world, opportunities to achieve economic, social, and civic development goals through housing-
related initiatives are being missed”362.
A UN report on housing (2005) stated that “more than 100 million people in the world’s poorest countries
are projected to be living below the basic subsistence level of a dollar a day by 2015, caught in the poverty trap that is
associated with economic globalization’s dark side. An in-depth study on the world’s 49 least developed countries rejects
claims that globalization is beneficial for the poor, arguing that the international trade and economic system is part of
the problem, not the solution. Accordingly, the current form of globalization is tightening rather than loosening the
international poverty trap. As markets become more entwined, the world economy is becoming increasingly polarized
and the least developed countries, particularly their poorest people, are being left behind. It is important to note that this
also applies to high-income industrialized countries, where a growing number of households are living below the poverty
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line due to increasing unemployment, and in many cases a simultaneous decrease of social welfare and social security as
a result of reduced public investments”363.
By the year 2030, an additional 3 billion people, about 40 percent of the current world population,
will need access to housing. This translates into a demand for 96 150 new affordable units every
day and 4 000 every hour364. It adds that one out of every three city dwellers—nearly a billion
people—lives in a slum and that number is expected to double in the next 25 years (slum
indicators include: lack of water, lack of sanitation, overcrowding, non-durable structures and
insecure tenure)365. Finally, it is projected that in the next fifty years, two-thirds (approximately 6
billion out of 9 according with several sources) of humanity will be living in towns and cities.
In the light of these smashing numbers on housing globally, it seems inevitable that people, work-
ing within the planning and building of the territory at its different scales, should increasingly focus
their work with what is happening in cities. This means a concern both in the urban processes of
growth, as of strengthening the bonds of the existent ones. But some signal references indicate that
this is far from being an absolute idea, and can certainly have different interpretations.
One of these references lays is an idea expressed in the UN-Habitat report of 2006, where the
current major challenge is to minimize burgeoning poverty in cities, improve the urban poor's access
to basic facilities such as shelter, clean water and sanitation and achieve environment-friendly, sus-
tainable urban growth and development, i.e. cities are and will be crowded and the living conditions
are poor in many cases366.
A second reference arises from the implications of the core-periphery model of the economist Paul
Krugman367, which relates economies of scale and transport costs, establishing that these are a major
determinant of asymmetries between countries or regions. In turn, these may explain the growth of
cities, and particularly the flashing growth of megacities. Nevertheless, possibilities are left open
within the theory for different decentralized forces within the periphery to invert the imbalance be-
tween cities and the remaining territory, bringing to a more balanced development. If in the one hand,
the path towards centralization in major urban centers seems unavoidable, on the other hand the only
way for these to be sustainable implies the opposite.
A third references comes from an idea expressed in October 2011, when Rem Koolhaas, a known
architectural voice of the theory of congestion, probably unexpectedly for many defended a return
to the countryside as a way to the future development. He affirmed that “rural areas are changing more
rapidly than cities”, adding “millions have moved to cities from the countryside. They have left behind a weird territory
for genetic experimentation, intermittent immigration [and] vast property transactions. It’s truly amazing when you
look closely”368. Capital and its great capacity to intervene in different territorial scales and contexts,
using all sorts of strategies, has been transforming what tends to polarize between the global metrop-
olis—taking advantage of capital flow—and the immense marginalized territories left behind.
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A true, deep concern on sustainability aspects is and will be a determinant feature in the
development of the inhabited space. It also seems clear that there is plenty of work to be done
towards it, and that opportunities for it should regard the entire territory and not just a portion of
it. Despite the somewhat idealistic character of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Broadacre City, such seemed
to envision precisely that sort of sustainable future. Nonetheless, alternatives to the growing
urban centers must be searched, wherever they come from. Contemporary society has produced a
proliferation of codes of signification of the city: codes that are fixed in the matter of things,
(testimony of past behaviors or lifestyles still active) and mobile and plural code, which follow the
erratic life of multiple populations temporarily inhabit the various parts of the territory. To recognize
the codes, and code space projected onto the space itself, is their relationship that decides the
allocation of a condition of ‘place’ to a living space. The classic dichotomy city countryside no longer
makes sense. In an age where we google the map of any planetary location instantly, even the notion
of wild nature is gone. Instead, we have to speak in humanized territory, subjected to control,
chartered. If there is an urban heritage that needs to be preserved and fed, there is also the entire
territory which is subjected to the same needs.
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157
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