In the past two decades numerous large-scale informal markets have emerged on the fringes of European cities in the wake of global geopolitical transformations. Relying on individualised long-distance connections and adapting to diverse local situations, they produce a proliferating array of unregulated urban architectures while providing habitats for millions of undocumented existences. One such case is the infamous Arizona Market not far from the north Bosnian town of Brko, a place that has been transformed from a border guard post into a major hub for people trafficking and prostitution and now into a multi-ethnic centre of ubiquitous consumption. Another one, Izmailovo Market in the north-east of Moscow, the largest informal trading centre in the region with links to all parts of the Russian Federation and beyond, has grown into a Babylonian site of 15 specialised trading areas that rivals the Moscow Kremlin both in terms of size and visitor attractiveness. And when the 22nd World Congress of Architecture was held in Istanbul under the motto ‘Grand Bazaar of Architectures’, a bazaar of a very different kind traded outside the tourist centres: a vast network of provisional, informal street markets that establish themselves right alongside the building sites of official urban regeneration, beneath terraces of motorways and next to newly constructed tram lines. Before exploring the dynamics of these spaces in more detail, let us address briefly the socio-economic conditions underlying the rise of informal markets.

This paper looks at the evolution of the structure of construction contract documentation over time, from ancient Greece through to the near future, in terms of the degree to which the contract documentation is integrated. Documentation might comprise anything from a single ‘integrated’ text to a range of ‘dis-integrated’ documents, fashioned by different players in the procurement process and not offering an easily appreciable integrated whole. The paper ends with the hope that new digital methods of information production will lead to better integrated and more easily readable ‘wholes’ in the new forms offered by building information modelling (BIM), which in turn will facilitate collaborative working.

The paper shows that contract documentation has evolved through four stages of integration: Integrated: up to the end of the medieval period construction contract documentation was essentially fully integrated – everything that was required was stated in the one written document, which typically covered contract conditions, building layouts, assembly descriptions, quantities of components and requirements for quality.

The Further Reading Required event – subtitled Building Specifications, Contracts and Technical Literature – was focused on the role and status of the non-pictorial documents that establish the relations and responsibilities of those involved in building, and that describe the materials and processes to be used in construction. A one-day symposium, held on 17 February at the Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL, organised by Tilo Amhoff, Nick Beech and Katie Lloyd Thomas, it sought to examine the various regulatory documents and processes in relation to which architecture is historically constituted; to interpret how they distribute competencies and negotiate the various agencies and interests involved in building; and to explore the particular kinds of productivity that they make available or alternatively foreclose.

The desire to learn about buildings, cities and cultural artefacts by journeying to experience them in situ pervades architectural history. It can be seen in the rise of the grand tour in the eighteenth century, subsequent formalised academic study tours, the ascendancy of cultural museums in the nineteenth century, and the institutionalisation of heritage sites and attractions in the twentieth century. More informally, such journeys are pursued in personal and less prescriptive ways through habitual urban strolling and site-seeing.

This paper investigates architectural students’ ‘year-out’ learning experiences in architectural offices after completing RIBA Part I study within a UK university. By interviewing and analysing their reflections on the experience, the study examines how individual architecture students perceive and value their learning experience in architectural offices and how students understand and integrate what they have learned through two distinct elements of their training: in university and in offices.

The architectural offices that students worked with vary in terms of workforce size and projects undertaken. The students’ training experience is not unified. The processes of engaging with concrete situations in real projects may permit students to follow opportunities that most inspire them and to develop their differing expertise, but their development in offices can also be restricted by the vicissitudes of market economics.

This study has demonstrated that architectural students’ learning and development in architectural offices continued through ‘learning by doing’ and used drawings as primary design and communicative media. Working in offices gave weight to both explicit and tacit knowledge and used subjective judgments. A further understanding was also achieved about what architects are and what they do in practice. The realities of their architectural practice experience discouraged some Part I students from progressing into the next stage of architectural education, Part II, but for others it demonstrated that a career in architecture was ‘achievable’.

This study argues that creative design, practical and technical abilities are not separate skill-sets that are developed in the university and in architectural offices respectively. They are linked and united in the learning process required to become a professional architect. The study also suggests that education in the university should do more to prepare students for their training in practice.

This article re-examines the swimming pool as a potent building type embodying the salient characteristics of Modernity. Not only did the building of modern public swimming pools celebrate new materials, engineered solutions and technologies but they also reflected rapidly changing attitudes to the body, leisure and fitness in line with Modernist aspirations. Public pools thus created new communal places where relationships between social, natural and built environments could be explored and embraced.

In understanding these social and design aspirations to create the Modern ‘good life’, a set of English and Australian waterside open-air swimming pools and lidos of the 1930s – Scarborough (1915–1934), Tinside (1935), the Eastern Beach Reserve Geelong (1939) and the North Sydney pool (1936) – are described and compared in their past and present state. These seaside pools offered places for people to seek refuge within a setting which remains at once natural but also controlled and shaped, while also promoting the psychological and physiological benefits of open-air activities.

In re-appraising the fate of the public swimming pool today, the article concludes by highlighting two successful contemporary examples, the Badeschiff in Berlin (2009) and the Copenhagen Harbour Bath (2003). We argue that these new pools have grown out of precedents found in the early twentieth century but have reinvigorated the type by offering new interpretations of designing with nature, and providing facilities more relevant to current leisure and environmental trends. Their success lends support to the need for careful documentation and conservation of earlier surviving exemplars.

This paper is not a comprehensive survey of the architectural career of Arata Isozaki, one of the most distinguished practicing architects in the world today and the 2019 winner of the Pritzker Prize, but a specific look at his formative years of the 1960s when he began to build his own design methodology. It delineates Isozaki’s encounter with the avant-garde art movement of the 1960s, collectively called “Anti-Art, ” against the backdrop of the “anti-spirit” of Japanese society. Although Isozaki’s artistic side has been overstated at times, previous studies rarely addressed how his intensive interactions with art circles played a role in shaping his design methodology. I would like to examine the convergence of creative individuals and cross-disciplinary connections to understand Isozaki’s architectural thinking.

This study examines how Isozaki’s collaborations with his artist contemporaries enabled him to formulate the notion of the “invisible city, ” a radically new design concept characterised by the expansion of the nature of architecture from producing isolated built-forms to all-encompassing natural and manmade environments. However, after drawing on communications and information theory, which prevailed in 60s architectural circles, Isozaki’s destructive and anarchistic connotation of “invisible city” was channeled into a systematic cybernetic model and eventually transformed into a constructive planning method. I will discuss the realisation of a cybernetic environment at the Festival Plaza of Expo’ 70 and trace the legacy of “invisible city” in his later postmodern work.

When asked ‘what is your most exciting/important job’ my answer would always be ‘the next one’. The struggle necessary to finish any serious building project is so overwhelming that once the certificate of completion is signed, the last thing one wants to do is reflect on or pontificate about it. I was 34 when given Southfield [2] to design and am now more than twice that age. I was flattered when Fiona McLachlan told me she wanted to do research on my practice and initially to study Southfield and I was later a little scared when the Editor asked me to write an introduction to this study. But I have found it fascinating to read Fiona's paper and to ponder those heady days in the mid 1960s when Southfield dominated my life. It seems to me the most useful contribution I can make is to relate how I came to be doing this job and where the ideas came from which I can now appreciate were and are very important.

Erik Gunnar Asplund’s Stockholm Public Library is considered an important building in the history of twentieth-century architecture, yet relatively few archival plans have been saved from the library’s extended design process from 1919–25 and its subsequent construction until opening in 1928. This work presents the first systematic review of the available, digitised archival plans from Sweden’s National Centre for Architecture and Design (ArkDes), and explains Asplund’s gradual design and development of the project. Subsequent alterations in the library are briefly summarised, followed by the results from an extensive 3D laser scanning process throughout and around the building as it undergoes a significant period of renovation and maintenance. The results from 3D laser scanning create the first comprehensive and detailed record of the building for supporting future research, teaching, and renovation work. This study emphasises the mutual benefits of combining historical and technological approaches, and conducting academic research in parallel with contemporary renovation projects of historical architecture.

The ‘Compact City’ model of sustainable development relies almost exclusively on transport energy analysis to justify the raising of low residential densities by the insertion of higher density dwellings within them. Higher densities mean more people per hectare, which makes public transport more economically viable, which cuts down on car use, which saves transport energy. Suburbs are very popular, however - over 80% of the populations of the UK and the US would prefer to live in them - and they can't all be bulldozed or ‘densified’. Turning the Compact City model on its head frees us to ask what environmental advantages low densities might have. Most suburbs have abundant open land, and land can perform: grow food and fuel, collect and recycle water, modify harsh microclimates, save and generate energy. The ‘performative’ potential of the suburban landscape can transform it into a grown infrastructure contributing to the reduction of the overall environmental impact of a city region, justifying its relatively low densities.

Zürich architects Annette Gigon and Mike Guyer display an enjoyment of the realities – both physical and intellectual – of architectural production and, to this extent, can be seen as part of a prevailing pattern in northern Switzerland. This paper comments on their work and shows it also to be creatively critical, subverting a number of modern orthodoxies and supplanting them with an affective internal logic.

For the modern architect, the programme for the church was fraught with the dangers of excessive individualism of style or, alternatively, a merely superficial updating of tradition. To escape from both, the architect was, by the early 1960s, being exhorted to study the church's functions. Aware of the difficulties of placing ancient rituals in the same category as the sociology of education or the productivity of offices, architects and like-minded clergy saw the church as a building not only to house certain actions and communications, but also capable of lending these a relevant meaning. The church architect had to discard his preconceptions about the building type, and begin with a new analysis of ritual, and had also, therefore, to find out what the ritual meant by questioning the client and developing a brief. In this research the architect would therefore act as a ritual anthropologist; like the anthropologist, he would encounter some significant methodological problems.

The Japanese architects Kengo Kuma and Toyo Ito work with the formation of mental processes, which include spatial perceptions, but also haptic experiences. In this regard, they both connect to the Japanese architectural tradition. Therefore, it is interesting to compare their work, especially since visually the architecture of these two architects differs. However, through staged, unexpected and changeable experiences of materiality and spatial organisation – interacting in dynamic flow with the surroundings – similar mental processes are evoked when conceiving and perceiving their architecture that are an integral part of the ongoing processes to transform their architecture into ‘abstractions’. The point of departure for being involved in these similar, processual stage-settings is the creation of uncompleted experiences of wonder; a void, which is recognised from the traditional Japanese expressions for beauty – shibui and yugen – and described by Soetsu Yanagi as a hidden, subjective beauty. This in turn leads to a new subjectivity in connection with traditional Japanese conceptions of space, where space is a subjective perception and a changeable process in the mind of the beholder, and not an outside object. The references to the architectural tradition include the villa and the garden of Katsura and the architect Kazuo Shinohara, who opposed and criticised Western Modernism with the basis in his own Japanese tradition.

Scholarly analysis of the writings on architecture of philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) has largely focused on passages in Twilight of the Idols where he claims that ‘Architecture is a kind of eloquence of power in forms – now persuading, even flattering, now only commanding.’1 Yet, considering Nietzsche’s theory of the will-to-power – that an innate drive towards power, might, and self-overcoming is the dominant force of existence – architecture gets interpreted in this passage as he would likely have interpreted sculpture. Any recognition of the social, political, physical, and psychological accommodations of architecture are absent. However, in a passage in Joyful Wisdom entitled ‘Architecture for the Perceptive’, Nietzsche wrote of architecture as a carefully crafted space to inhabit. This discussion of architecture as a lived space has received considerably less attention.