The text presented here is not precisely as published by OUP, but modifications are minor. Illustrations are another matter. Where images used in the original book were not my copyright, I have in most cases been able to substitute links to coloured images on the web. The sources are listed under Image Acknowledgements.

When this text was submitted as part of a PhD thesis in 1996, the Notes were greatly extended. Most readers may prefer to ignore them. They have been collected at the end of each chapter, with internal links leading to them and back to the text. They are a mixture of: simple page references; additional examples or quotations to justify generalisations; and some afterthoughts.

Introduction.

The Shorter Oxford Dictionary defines 'Aesthetics' as "the science of the conditions of sensuous perception" or "the philosophy of taste, or of the perception of the beautiful". 'Aesthetics' is commonly taken to refer only to visual perception and many books on the appreciation of architecture concentrate on the rules of formal composition which architecture shares with painting and sculpture. In keeping with this bias, about half of the present section will review this aspect of aesthetics. Some authors mention the importance in architecture of senses other than sight; touch, smell and hearing; but it is difficult to provide examples in a book and discussion soon swings back to the visual.

It is generally recognized that aesthetics has an intellectual component. There is a pleasure in appreciating the flair with which a designer has resolved the conflicting requirements of a project; or the 'elegance' of a neat solution in mathematics; both exhibit ease and economy of effort where others have laboured and perhaps failed. Naturally it is only the initiated who are able to appreciate this aspect to the full. Critics may applaud the way in which an architect has satisfied functional requirements without compromising his architectural theme, has "solved the problem of the corner", or has included esoteric historical allusions in his Post-Modern house.

Fig. 12.1. Mies van der Rohe's solution to the problem of 'turning' the corner of a building. Siegel Building, IIT Campus, Chicago, 1947. [Photo: Charles Jencks.]

Many writers have recognized the importance of subconscious and instinctive reactions to buildings such as the arousal of childhood memories, associations with earlier experiences in adult life, claustrophobia, or fear of the strange and unknown. There is thus an element of 'amateur' psychology in many books on the appreciation of architecture.

Professional research psychologists have moved into the field in the past two decades and in a move which might appeal to the engineering mind, are attempting to analyze psychological reactions to buildings. The experimental methods of psychology such as 'self-reported-attitudes questionnaires' and Factor Analysis based on low correlation coefficients will fail to impress many engineers but Mikellides (1980) claims that significant results have already been obtained which contradict firmly held assumptions. The aim is presumably to enable architects to design buildings in such a way that predicted moods and emotional reactions will be aroused in the user and observer, but so far there has been little evidence of its application in this manner, and there are fears that the psychologists are becoming too interested in detailed research concerning isolated phenomena. It is probably fair to say that the field has considerable potential, especially as a means of providing new insights and concepts, but that a great deal more work is required before it could be used as a regular design tool. In the meantime the 'amateur psychology' of the architecture-appreciation texts is more likely to be met with in practice and a brief review is provided in the next section.

Much of the psychological analysis at both professional and amateur level has to do with the 'meaning' conveyed to the observer by certain characteristics of a building. Thus, at the crudest level, a neo-classical portico attached to a building will signify to most people 'public building' and will probably indicate 'town hall', though it could be 'museum', 'art gallery' or 'classical church'. At a deeper level, a pitched roof may mean 'shelter' or 'security'.

A truss or space-frame was once associated mainly with 'factory', which equals for some 'hard, boring repetitive work in a cold, noisy environment' and for others 'a working-class environment'. For this reason it was a long time before architects were able to introduce the structurally efficient space frame into shopping centres and hotels. It will probably not be long before they are associated in the public mind with 'glamour' and 'excitement'.

This has given rise to the idea that such characteristics may be treated as though they are the 'words' of a language and that, like words, they may have different shades of meaning depending on their context. Thus it may be possible to discover a 'grammar' that will allow the architect to communicate intentional 'messages' to the observer.

The difficulties are obvious. One characteristic will mean different things to different people depending on their geographical location, social background and previous experiences. Also, the meaning of certain elements, such as the space truss, may change quite quickly. Nevertheless, there has recently been a surge of interest in architectural circles in the theory of Signs. This was developed under two headings: 'Semiotic', contained in the writings of the American philosopher Pierce between 1860 and 1908; and 'Semiology', based on the lectures of the linguist Saussure [Note 1.] between 1906 and 1911. These two terms and the associated jargon now figure largely in much writing about 'meaning' and 'communication' in architecture.

Although it is often rewarding to delve into disciplines other than one's own in search of new insights and useful concepts, some writers seem to be wasting their time trying to force the facts of psychological associations in architecture to fit a theory originally intended for spoken languages. It is doubtful if architects will ever be able to 'speak' to the public in its own language and there is a suspicious lack of information as to just what they might want to, or be able to, communicate and how they would go about it.

Again there is a strong 'lay' tradition already in existence in art-criticism which deals with social and religious 'meaning' on a more ad-hoc basis. An example is Norberg Schultz's Meaning in Western Architecture (1980). Like most commentators on the Gothic period he sees the form of the cathedral as a reflection of mediaeval philosophy. He states that when the earlier "logical, open structure" of the cathedral developed into the late Gothic hall-church (described by Panofsky as a "barnlike shell enclosing an often wildly pictorial and always apparently boundless interior") the High Gothic rationalism had been "drowned by a new mysticism". [Note 2.]

To an engineer this may sound like pure speculation and most unlikely to be of relevance. He would tend to attribute the change in form of churches to advances in fabrication, construction techniques and the understanding of structural action. However there is documentary evidence in the writings of Abbot Suger who lived from 1081 to 1151 that the loftiness of Early and 'High' Gothic churches, and the desire to maximize the ratio of window to wall area which so tested the ingenuity of their designers were inspired by theological considerations. [Note 3.]

Social and religious symbolism is thus a factor of considerable importance in design and in the reaction of many people to the buildings around them.

Pseudo-psychological analyses of the experience of architecture.

An interest in psychological associations is the hallmark of the 'humanist' school and Scott's Architecture of Humanism (1924) has been one of the more influential works in this area. However, Scott emphasized the process whereby the observer 'identifies' with the building whereas Gauldie (1969) concentrates more on subconscious associations with childhood experiences. Both these processes appear plausible and certainly operate in many individuals, though there must be a great deal of variation from one person to another. The following survey combines the work of both authors, and considers in turn a number of factors which are thought to influence response significantly.

The size of a building has a considerable effect on the user and the observer. This is one reason for the widespread antagonism towards multi-storey office-blocks and apartments and associated feelings of alienation and insignificance. Town planners now have reacted by providing low-rise clusters or terraces with complex alcoves and secluded garden plots. Public architecture is often intended to impress by its size and grandeur and the buildings of the Fascist era are prime examples.

Another principle factor in the psychological impact of a building is the nature of the space which it defines. [Note 4.] Claustrophobia and feelings associated with spaciousness need no discussion. The space within a Gothic cathedral or a domed sports stadium evokes very different feelings from that in a low-ceiling open-plan office building. These experiences are evident to the stationary observer, but there are others to be gained by moving around a building; progressing from a constricted space to an open one; or moving in three dimensions along a spiral staircase, particularly where there are split levels or mezzanine floors. The architecture of the Organic school is noted for its 'freely-flowing' space.

Space need not be defined by solid walls and roofs. Partition may be suggested by a row of columns or even by the mental projection of vertical surfaces or of lines defined at floor level by steps or tiling patterns. One of the features of modern architecture, given our ability to make large openings in walls and glaze them with large panes of glass, is a lessening of the distinction between 'inside' space and 'outside' space.

Another commonly experienced psychological factor is the association of certain colours and materials with warmth or coldness. Brick and timber are generally held to be 'warm' while steel and other metals are considered 'cold'. The association with childhood experience is obvious, though the alleged warmth of brickwork probably has much to do with its colour and texture.

Many observers attribute human moods and movement to structures. In Scott's words "we transcribe architecture into terms of ourselves". (Scott 1924, p.213.) Scully (1974) calls this the "anthropocentric" approach. He quotes Sullivan's description of the Marshall Field Store (1887) shown in Figure 10.12

"Here is a man for you to look at. A man that walks on two legs instead of four, has active muscles … lives and breathes … in a world of barren pettiness, a male …" (Scully 1974, p.18.)

Fig. 12.2. Marshall Field Store, Chicago, 1887. "A man that walks on two legs"? (Archt: H. H. Richardson.) archINFORM.
N.B. In the printed version of the book this building was wrongly labelled "Warehouse". (Apologies to MOMA who did their best to prevent it.) There is a Marshall Field River Warehouse which is a very different structure. It can be found in the Historic American Buildings Survey hosted by the Library of Congress.

An aspect of appreciation which engineers may find difficult to understand is the practice of attributing motion to diagrams and even to solid, static structural form.

Isaac (1971, p.67) provides examples of figures which to him mean not only motion; flowing, jerky, falling, dynamic; but lead from this to emotional associations; soft, female, confused, uncertain, dangerous, flamboyant. He considers that by manipulating these responses the designer can induce tension, relaxation, fright or gaiety in the observer.

Fig. 12.3. Artists and architects perceive movement and emotive content in forms such as these. (After Isaac, 1971.)

Gauldie (1969, p.21) sees the facade of Gaudi's apartment building, the Casa Milà, as "swirling like the petticoats of a demoniac flamenco dancer". [But Mary Ann Sullivan, on her web page, says that the building was popularly referred to as "the quarry" and some critics have suggested it was inspired by ocean waves. (Note added Jan 2006.)]

Fig. 12.4. The facade of the Casa Milà, Barcelona, has been likened to the swirling dress of a dancer. (Archt: Antonio Gaudí, 1910.) Sullivan.

Scully, in describing Aalto's church (1958) at Vuoksenniska near Imatra describes how the plan

"seems to billow outward along radii that derive from the preachers voice … The building responds to the sound within it and wraps its planes flexibly around it, giving with it, while its tower suddenly shoots up to explode above the pines …" [Note 5.]

Fig. 12.5. The plan form of the Vuoksenniska Church, Imatra, Finland, is seen to "billow out" from the pulpit. (Archt: Alvar Aalto, 1959.)

The reason for this impression of motion seems to lie in the fact that the eye does not immediately take in the whole of a composition even when viewing it from a sufficient distance to do so. It naturally falls initially on some sort of 'visual centre of gravity' or some particularly prominent element and from there it moves out in various directions to absorb the outlines and detail. In this it is attracted in certain directions by the massing and line of the structure, giving a sense of movement. Thus in the Imatra church it might fix first on a point somewhere near the geometric centroid of the view in Fig. 12.15 and then travel to the base of the tower and up the parallel-sided shaft. At the top, the observer is surprised to find a sudden discontinuity: an apparent thickening, which on closer inspection is revealed as an opening-out into vanes: Scully's 'explosion'.

Fig. 12.6. In this elevation, the Vuoksenniska Church rises to the west and the tower appears to "shoot up and explode above the pines". Photo: El Poder de la Palabra. Select 'Arquitectura', 'De la A a la Z', 'Aalto, Alvar'.

Phillip Johnson displays a highly developed sense of movement in his strong objection to multi-storey buildings whose lower floor is not differentiated from the rest of the structure.

"Nowadays, a lot of buildings go right down into the ground. They just keep right on going; they don't stop." [Cook and Klotz 1973, p.15.]

He prefers to 'empty out' the facade as it nears the ground by spacing out the lower storey columns and perhaps adding a podium. The designer of the CBS building in New York, Eero Saarinen, obviously had a different point of view. He explained to the client "the triangular piers between the windows … start at the pavement and soar up to 491 feet"! (Saarinen 1968, p.16.)

Fig. 12.7. Most architects provide a base and top to a skyscraper (see Fig. 10.35, the AT&T building). Johnson sees the columns of Eero Saarinen's CBS Building, New York, as "crashing into the ground". Emporis.

It is especially hard for the engineer to understand these allusions to movement because violent motion is the last thing he wants or expects in his structures. His feeling for static resistance is much more real and in a multi-storey building he considers it eminently logical to continue all columns to ground level so as to resist the vertical forces efficiently.

The eminent Spanish engineer Torroja, in his Philosophy of Structures was particularly scathing of the architects' metaphors and wrote:

"we cannot help smiling superciliously when we meet such expressions as … 'ascending and descending forces'." (Torroja 1958a, p.269.)

He wondered whether the day would ever come when the engineer would be able to

"distinguish between the forces that hurriedly ascend the slender Gothic flying buttresses and those that calmly descend the heavy columns of the Parthenon." (Torroja 1958a, p.269.)

However, a few pages later Torroja was himself discussing the "unhurried restfulness" of concrete and the "nervous lightness" of steel. (Torroja 1958a, p.282.)

Such allusions to 'repose' in a structure which appears more than capable of supporting its own weight and 'nervousness' in a structure which appears to be frail are further indications of the readiness with which an observer tends to identify with a structure. (Banham 1960, p.143 and Collins 1965, p.216.)

Thus feelings of security and insecurity are amongst the principal emotional responses to structure. In Scott's words, if we observe a building which appears to be on the verge of collapse, it creates a sense of unease in us because "we have transcribed ourselves in terms of architecture". (Scott 1924, p.213.)

Of course, if the observer happens to be standing on or inside the structure there is a much simpler explanation for his reaction.

Two structures which evoke this response are the roof of Coventry Cathedral (U.K.) and the Gulf Life Tower in Jacksonville, Florida. In the cathedral roof those ribs which spring from a column on one side of the nave do not span directly to another column on the other side, but miss it by one interval. In the Gulf Life Tower the corner columns have been omitted, leaving the corners of the floors supported on 42 ft. (12.8m) cantilevers. Although an engineer knows that the strength of the structure has been calculated, and that in conventional buildings corner columns are normally understressed, their total omission and the great length of the cantilevers is somewhat unsettling.

Fig. 12.8. Feelings of insecurity may be induced by apparent irregularities in structure. The ribs of the ceiling in Coventry Cathedral, England do not run directly from one column top to another. (Archt: Sir Basil Spence, 1962.) [Photo: Howard Thomas (detail).]

Architects often take such factors into consideration in their aesthetic schemes. As Rudolph noted

"Mies knew perfectly well that his thin columns would not give the sense of security necessary in a tall building, so he introduced as a symbol for the column his famous H mullions, which allowed the curtain wall to be so continuous that it finally read as a monolith." (Cook and Klotz 1973, p.121.)

Such considerations raise the question of 'honesty' in structural form, but this is more of an intellectual perception.

It might be thought that the question of ornament belongs under the heading of 'visual appreciation'. However, the violent feelings aroused by debate on this matter, and the Post-Modernists' interest in 'messes', suggest that it has deep psychological significance.

Ornament was condemned by the pioneers of modern architecture, who associated it with the decadence of the architecture of the late nineteenth century. Adolf Loos even branded it as savage and depraved in a famous polemical treatise. (Loos 1908. Reproduced in Conrads 1970, pp.19-24.) However, the majority of the population continues to enjoy and employ it, and it eventually surfaced on the fringes of the modern architecture movement, as described earlier, in the guise of embellishments on the plain box for business or government (e.g., by Stone) and in movements such as Jazz and Pop. It has now been brought back into the respectable mainstream of architectural thought by the Post-Modernists.

Before the development of Post-Modernism, Hamlin (1952) suggested that it might be possible to find a truly 'Modern' form of ornamentation to satisfy the average person's obvious need for it. Gauldie considered that texture might replace ornament as an acceptable modern means of supplying this need. Most attempts to produce smooth, featureless 'machine-age' surfaces have ended in visual disaster due to staining and uneven weathering especially in concrete. It appears that Modernists must accept textured ornamentation at least, although the reflective all-glass skin offers another alternative. [For further discussion of ornament see Boyd 1965, pp. 174-8, Gauldie 1969, pp. 118-32, and Brolin 1985.]

Rules and concepts of visual aesthetics.

We have already seen how impressions may be generated by the way in which the eye scans an object. Because this behaviour is probably innate and therefore universal and predictable, it offers more scope than any other aspect of aesthetics for the formulation of rules which may ensure visual harmony, or at least avoid ugliness. Such rules naturally have a great appeal for the engineer and a surprising number of engineers have written on the subject.

These rules are discussed in detail by Gauldie, Isaacs and Hamlin and many others in a manner which engineers will find acceptable. Only a brief resume will be given here. A list of relevant texts is provided in the Notes. [Note 6.]

Hamlin lists the elements of good composition as Unity, Balance, Proportion, Scale and Rhythm, and these will each be considered in turn.

Unity is almost universally recognized as a basic requirement. The eye (or perhaps the brain!) naturally tries to simplify and resolve in finding the 'visual centre of gravity' of an object. It is disturbed when confronted by a scene in which it is difficult to do this. There might, for instance, be two equally valid 'centres of gravity' in a composition. This effect is known as 'duality' and it is generally considered to be a fault. A similar difficulty arises when the vertical and horizontal lines on a building formed by columns and windows or facia panels are given equal emphasis. Even though the Post-Modernists are now advocating duality as a means of relieving the boredom of unity, the concept itself is still useful even if only as something to rebel against.

Fig. 12.9. The equal stimuli (a 'duality') are shunned in orthodox aesthetics. (a) two similar buildings form a duality, but are united by the addition of a central form. (After Gauldie 1969.) (b) Architects conventionally emphasise either the horizontal or the vertical lines of a building. Equal emphasis on both is a form of duality.

'Balance' is a concept related to that of the 'visual centre of gravity'. In some way the eye expects a 'balance' about this centre as though it were a fulcrum and the various elements of the composition were 'weights' applied with various leverages. The concept of visual balance thus implies a concept of visual 'weight'. Gauldie argues that 'massing' is a more appropriate term in the twentieth century because interest has now shifted from the two-dimensional facade of a building to its entire three-dimensional sculptural form. (Gauldie 1969, p.51.) He discusses the ways in which the apparent 'weight' of an element may be manipulated by changing its texture, colouring and delineation or varying the play of light and shadow to hint at solidity or hollowness.

Fig. 12.10. (a) Visual 'balance' achieved by symmetry. Differing visual 'weight' of elements is used to achieve 'balance' in non-symmetrical compositions. (After Gauldie 1969.)

The question of Proportion has fascinated man for millennia, starting with the Golden Mean of the ancient Greeks and progressing through the architecture of the Romans and the cathedral builders to the Renaissance and, in our times, Corbusier's 'Modulor'. [Note 7.] In the words of Fry

"there is a region of architectural aesthetics and speculation, a very tanglewood of theory and mysticism to which all manner of men, from the loftiest minds to the simple-minded, are led by the light that streams from the Golden Number to seek short roads to architectural perfection." (Fry 1969, p.47.)

Fig. 12.11. Geometrical construction of the 'Golden Mean'. (After Le Corbusier.)

Corbusier's system was based on an extension of the geometrical construction for the 'golden section' which is (1 + √5) / 2 = 1.618. By fitting this construction around an idealization of a human body he identified a series of numbers which were related to the Fibonacci mathematical series:

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 …

In this series each term, after the first two, is the sum of the two preceding terms. [Note 8.] The basic dimensions chosen by Corbusier were 113 cm and 1.618 × 113 = 182.9 cm. Starting with these two numbers the series can be constructed both upwards and downwards:

… 10.2, 16.5, 26.7, 43.2, 69.8, 113.0, 182.9, 295.9, 478.8 …

Converting these to millimetres and rounding off gives the series:

… 100, 160, 260, 430, 700 …

Corbusier added another series of double these values and considered that all design should follow these proportions.

Prescriptions such as these were anathema to confirmed Modernists and hardly corresponded with Corbusier's position as a leader of the Modern Movement. Even those who admired him were probably relieved when the Modulor proved to have little impact on actual design. (See e.g. Fry 1969, pp.137-8.)

The term 'Scale' refers to something more than the mere size of a building. The impression which an observer gains of the size of a structure depends on a comparison of the entire form with some familiar object or element of known size. If the disparity between these is large, the process may begin with a stair, a balustrade, or a nearby tree and progress by a series of comparisons through larger elements such as windows, porticos or storeys, to an assessment of the size of the building as a whole.

It is, of course, possible to manipulate the observer's reaction by altering the range of normal sizes of elements and to disturb him with incongruities, to overpower him with uniformly massive elements, or to make a massive structure more homely by moderating its apparent size. (Compare the Hillingdon Civic Centre with Fascist architecture.) Further effects may be obtained by increasing the sizes of the steps in the progression from each element to the next larger one. This is known as 'acceleration' of scale.

Scale is one of the more acceptable concepts in Modern usage. [See e.g. Cook and Klotz 1973, pp. 66, 80, and 81.]

Rhythm is a term few engineers would associate with a static structure, but once more the effect comes from the movement of the eye of the observer. A regular spacing of window openings or columns produces a feeling of rhythm as the eye sweeps along it. This may be varied by gaps in the progression, such as doorways, or by an irregular spacing. Too regular a rhythm may produce boredom, and the architect is able to play with various effects to produce surprise or a sense of relief from restricting conformity. Since the placement of openings and columns is of great concern to the structural engineer such considerations could introduce extra difficulties in his work.

These brief comments must suffice to give some notion of the way in which an observer comprehends a visual composition and the way in which an architect may manipulate his response.

There is one matter of terminology which is worth mentioning since jargon is unfortunately omitted from most dictionaries of architecture. When the eye scans an object and forms an impression of some aspect it is said to 'read' it. The apparent height of a room is often decreased by inserting a number of timber beams spaced at, say, one metre intervals three metres above the floor. These will then be 'read' as a ceiling, distracting the observer's attention from the space above them. If the joints between masonry are deeply grooved (rusticated) the wall is said the 'read heavy' whereas if the surface is covered with stucco, concealing the joints, it is said to 'read light'.

Engineers' recommendations on aesthetics.

Engineers have made a surprisingly large contribution to the literature of aesthetics, though with the exception of Nervi's texts, most of it is restricted to papers about bridge design. Most of these works are subjective, often romantic, and always prescriptive. [Note 9.] Good examples are the paper and recent book by one of Germany's leading structural engineers, Fritz Leonhardt (1968, 1983). His paper commences with a brief introduction to art in which he states that "pieces of classical art move our soul when we see them, and we are touched if we are sensitive to beauty". (1968, p.14.) In the body of the paper he sets out his rules for aesthetic design.

The first of these demands "good order". With regard to structural systems this means one must choose either a beam, an arch, a suspension system or a frame, and never mix them. With regard to lines and edges there should not be a disordered mixture of directions. The second rule requires obedience to "the old laws of good proportions", though the use of contrast may sometimes lead to beauty. The third rule stipulates simplicity and pureness and the avoidance of ornament.

Subsequent rules reflect functionalist interpretations of beauty including fitness for purpose, expression of the nature of the material, and economy. In some ways these digress into a definition of good engineering design. Leonhardt then provides illustrations of good and bad examples with comments to demonstrate his points.

Zuk (1976) is one who has tried to place his recommendations on an objective basis. He pointed out that Mies van der Rohe wanted to create "an architecture that anybody can do" and entitled his paper "How almost anyone can design a good-looking bridge in one easy lesson". Zuk's rules are based on investigations of people's preferences when shown drawings of different bridge layouts and details. However, perhaps the most important lesson to be learned from Mies is that he failed! Hundreds of architects, in trying to emulate him, simply produced cheap and nasty imitations of his work.

The rules of the engineers: slenderness, lack of mass, continuity of line, simplicity of detail, similarity of materials, compatibility with environment (Wengenroth, 1971); remind one of an architect's comment that engineers, like plumbers, prefer to hide their work in

"neat four-square boxes, with no unsightly protuberances. The architect, on the other hand, is trained to perceive, and to express a different sort of order, a spatial and visual order that emerges from the practical and the necessary and encompasses economy of means as well as style." (Architectural Record, mid-Aug. 1974, p.127.)

(He was obviously a Modernist.) Perhaps this is why Corbusier wrote:

"shall we see engineers trying to turn themselves into men of aesthetic sensibility? That would be a real danger … An engineer should stay fixed, and remain a calculator, for his particular justification is to remain within the confines of pure reason." [Note 10.]

Corbusier regarded passion as an essential element in the creation of artistic form and this opinion is shared by Billington whose views will be discussed in Chapter 18. Certainly the rules of formal aesthetics have the same deadening effect as the dogmas of the Modern Movement and are equally bound to give rise to rebellions such as those of the Mannerists and Post-Modernists. Even Leonhardt, despite his concern for 'good order', recognizes that contrast and complexity may be as attractive as harmony and simplicity.

The rules that have been summarized in this sub-section should therefore be seen simply as an explanation of one source of delight to the eye and by no means the whole of aesthetics. At best they may ensure that structures designed in accordance with them will not be positively ugly.

[Contents.] [References.]
[Previous Chapter.] [Next Chapter.]

Notes.

Note 1. [2003] Saussure's name was misspelled in the hard copy of The Art in Structural Design. Background on Saussure can be found in the introduction to his lecture notes, reconstituted by his students and listed in References as Saussure (1906-1911). [Return.]

Note 2. Norberg-Schultz (1975), p.222 and Panofsky (1957), p.43. Earlier, (p.18) Norberg-Schultz writes of ancient Egyptian columns, which took the form of papyrus or lotus stalks, that "although they played a role as structural members, the columns were primarily fertility emblems, symbols of the land and of sacred plants which rose out of the fertilised soil to bring protection, permanence and sustenance to the land and its people." Most engineers would see them primarily as a means of holding the roof up, and their close spacing as being due to the poor tensile properties of the stone beams they supported.
Note added 2003. Being somewhat older now, I feel I was a bit hard on Panofsky. There is no doubt that the ancient Egyptians, or at least, their priests and scribes, were obsessed with symbolism. It was bold of me, knowing almost nothing about their beliefs, to write them off as I did. However, it would be nice to really know how the priests and master-builders who planned structures in this and let's say, the Gothic era, compromised between the priests' desire for symbolic effects, the masons's practical inventiveness, and the constraints of structural technique and economy. Alas, we have no written record to show which, if any, was the driving force. [Return.]

Note 3. Suger wrote of the significance of light and of a striving for things on high (translation by Panofsky 1946, pp.19-22). There are references to "soaring verticality" (foot of p.36) and to the erection of "high and noble towers" (p.45). [Return.]

Note 4. According to Collins (1965, p.285) the term 'space' was not used in an architectural treatise until the 18th Century. See also Giedion (1967), Part VI. [Return.]

Note 5. Scully (1974), p.37. Scully's photograph of the tower is much more evocative of the 'shooting up' effect than those used in other texts, raising interesting questions concerning the interpretation of architecture, especially through photographs. [Return.]

Note 6. Sources on appreciation of architecture, consulted at the time of writing: Gauldie (1969); Rasmussen (1959); Prak (1968); Caudill (1971); Raskin (1966); Ching (1979); Grillo (1975); Muschenheim (1964); Zevi (1978); Giedion (1958); Norberg-Schulz (1965); Bloomer and Moore (1977); Banham (1981); Moore and Allen (1976); Scott (1924); Asihara (1970); Leonhardt (1982); Arnheim (1977); Jencks (1981); Ponti (1960); Scruton (1979); Smith (1979); Watkin (1977); Mikellides (1980) [esp. Humphrey, Smith, Küller, Acking], Licklider (1965); Venturi (1966); Porter (1979); Norberg-Schulz (1980); AIA Journal, Oct. 1980, pp. 48, 49, 56-59, 119; Grimm (1975); Broadbent, Bunt and Jencks (1980) [parts]; Broadbent, Bunt and Llorens (1980) [parts]; Jencks and Baird (1969) [parts]; Grimm and Preiser (1976). [Return.]

Note 7. Sources included Wittkower (1962) (proportion in Renaissance times) and Le Corbusier (1968a, 1968b) (for Corbusier's Modulor). See also the bibliography of Cowan (1977), p.184. [Return.]

Note 8. See e.g. Cowan (1978), pp. 323-6 and Northrop,E. P. (1944) Riddles in mathematics, Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, pp. 53-60, especially p.57. [Return.]

Note 9. Examples acquired prior to basic completion of the text of TAISD in early 1984 were: Allan (1971, 1976), Berthelsen (1968), Billington (1973, 1977b, 1977c, 1980), Black (1976), Elliott (1968), Engel (1934), Evans and Houghton-Evans (1964), Grimm (1975), Grimm and Preiser (1976), Husband (1901), Institution of Civil Engineers (1945), Kavanaugh (1975), Law (1972), Leonhardt (1968, 1982), Lewis (1941), Mainstone (1962), Ministry of Transport (UK) (1964), Nervi (1965a), Potyondy (1967), Silver and Bell (1976), Steinborn (1970), Steinman (1938), Wengenroth (1971), and Zuk (1974, 1975, 1976). Additional sources located by the time the thesis was submitted were: IABSE (1980), Isler (1986), Kreuzer (1983), Leonhardt (1982), Medwadowski (1985), Menn (1985), Murray (1981), O'Connor et al (1980), Palanco (1985), and Schlaich (1986). All the above tend to adopt a similar viewpoint on aesthetics. An interestingly different view is put by Kemp (1986). [Return.]

Note 10. Banham (1960), p.252. From the context, it appears that the extract comes from Cahiers d'Art (Paris) 1926, No.5. [Return.]

Image Acknowledgements. Linked images, Chapter 12.

Grateful thanks to the following institutions which have made it possible to provide links to full colour photographs and descriptions of buildings for this chapter.
American Memory, Library of Congress. Link.
archINFORM. Link.
Digital Imaging Project. Mary Ann Sullivan, Bluffton College. Link.
El Poder de la Palabra. Link.
Emporis Buildings. Link.

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