The entwined relationships between the physical and the computational continue to produce sensibilities where our understanding of the division between them is becoming blurred. The prolog to Rustic Figurations identifies a growing interest in disciplinary questions on the role of history and the history of digital tools and techniques of representation to support and understand the cultural context of architecture. The second part of the text tries to describe, define and situate rustic figuration as an aesthetic and material concept in architecture that has developed through the architectural design research of the practices servo and Brrum, in parallel with research into the history of rustication.

The notion of rustic figuration is imbued with architectural qualities that oscillate between the legibility of form and geometry and the disappearance of that legibility. Aspects of legibility are discussed in relation to related discourses in architectural history, as well as in the context of a few contemporary practices and projects that engage both computational and analogue techniques for design, communication and fabrication. The qualities of rustic figuration in the projects are neither bound by the unique properties of the building materials, nor by the computational information but happen in the translations between digital information and material manifestation or vice versa.

The concepts of succession and duration are used to identify different temporal aspects of architecture. Typically architecture that is based on duration seeks to persist unchanged within time whilst that based on succession engages with change, transience and rhythm. The organisation of succession and duration, according to different temporal structures, is used to inform a series of design studies. Structures relating to the weather, programmed and unconsidered use, clock time, mechanical time, circadian rhythms, entropy and space-time are examined in a discussion on the architectural chronotope which ‘artistically connects temporal and spatial relationships’.

There is little question that we live in an age of images, in a mediated environment in which the image is ever-present – with its effects nevertheless still growing [1]. This essay – as an introduction to the four papers that follow – examines aspects of the complex questions surrounding the image and those that accompany the shift from print to pixel.

The human body once provided the fundamental measurements by which to gauge human creations – but the metric system offers ‘mere number without concrete being’. A synthesis is needed.

Measure: mens (L – mind), mensurare = measuring/measure

Metre: metron (Gk), metrum (L – measuring rod), mètre (Fr) = metre

Irony: eironeia (Gk – simulated ignorance), eiron – dissembler and simulator of power = irony

No civilization has existed without measures, and each has described measures in a manner specific to its needs. To exist at all, measures must be practical and useful, and most have their origins in everyday experience. At some stage in the development of a civilized society measures will be refined, standardized and regulated and represented physically. To endure and be accepted by hundreds, thousands, even millions of people – across great civilizations and around the globe – measures must reflect and extend the authority of leaders. Measure is therefore a statement and record of the changing balance of power and independence. It is an expression of culture.

This issue of arq contains a selection of papers first presented at an event titled Further Reading Required held at the Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL, in 2011. Here, the conference organisers reflect on the distinctive strand of architectural research – comprising historical and theoretical readings of technical construction literature – which it sought to consolidate.

This paper investigates the interaction between reality and imagination in the architectural design process. It engages with four inter-related inquiries. First, the interplay between reality and imagination in the architectural design process in student design-build live projects. Second, the interplay of reality and imagination for different agents in the architectural design process. Third, how the work of John Hejduk (1929-2000) enables a reappraisal of conceptions of reality and imagination in architectural design. Fourth, we address a live project for The Story Museum in Oxford, UK – a physical architectural space concerned with imaginary spaces – that suggests how an understanding of reality and imagination might be deepened in the architectural design process.

The text reappraises the interplay of reality and imagination in architectural design as a cognitive process. There are two aims: to reassess empirical responses and received wisdom about what is real and what is imagined in architectural design; and to reassess the perception of differences between imagination and reality occurring across education and practice. ‘Thing Theory’ is proposed as a conceptual framework which allows us to improve our understanding of how architectural designs emerge, are transformed in the designer's mind, how architects communicate them to others and how they are understood and shared by others. Reference is also made to interviews with prominent architects. The term ‘thing’ was repeatedly used by these architects to describe moments in the design process when a break from reality had occurred. In these moments, subject and object seemed at their most intertwined. This moment is strong because it is so flexible in responding to change and managing complexity. It is also weak because it is a time when the designer tends to neglect vital everyday constraints such as occupation and ethics. However, this is a key moment because it allows possible future realities to emerge.

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.

At first glance, it might seem counterintuitive to insist upon Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc's (1814-79) critical interest in the human body as a metaphor for style in architecture. Not only did he oppose the anthropomorphic metaphors for style touted by Neo-Classical theorists at the École des Beaux-Arts, but he was most widely known in the nineteenth century for his preoccupation with the monumental and structural potential of modern materials such as iron. This reception of Viollet-le-Duc's thought persisted in the twentieth century with Sir John Summerson's estimation of Frank Lloyd Wright and Le Corbusier's debt to the constructive principles of his architectural organicism. Such accounts have made it possible to interpret construction and/or structure as the main ‘body’ of Viollet-le-Duc's architecture theory. However, this reading confuses the eclipse of Neo-Classical anthropomorphic metaphors for style - which translated the proportional relationships between the human body's constituent parts into a compositional system of design - with the complete eclipse of critical references to the human body in the French style debates of the nineteenth century. As we trace the role of the human body in Viollet-le-Duc's style theory, it becomes clear that the principles of human variation in biology and ethnography enabled him to account for the cultural variations of national peoples in his conception of style.

Your leader (arq 6/1, p3) correctly concluded that the latest round of the UK Government's Research Assessment Exercise (RAE) results are the best yet overall for those departments in universities that include the subject of architecture. But we are in danger of misinterpreting this complex set of results as a result of some other more emotive and unclear arguments. Let me take the process apart slightly in order to clarify.

The Glasgow School of Art has a long history of the cultivation of the art of drawing. Many types of drawing have been taught and practiced within the institution since its establishment in 1845. Mackintosh's Glasgow School of Art building, completed between 1897 and 1909, can be seen as one great outcome of that design-through-tradition. The building not only sheltered and thus enabled a further cultivation of the art of drawing, but became itself a model for the practices of that drawing tradition. There is a strong body of work, much of it by teachers and students of the Mackintosh School of Architecture, which has focussed on the building and explored through drawing the architectonic features and significance of the structure. This work has been useful as a teaching and critical aid but also as a contribution to the art and discipline of architecture. In the wake of the first 2014 fire, which destroyed part of the building, this body of work suddenly became of use as a design tool rather than simply an exploratory or critical tool, as the institution sought to reproduce exactly what had been lost. The most recent 2018 fire wreaked a destruction much more comprehensive across the whole building. Accordingly, we are forced to completely review the relationship of that drawing heritage to the building. That is to say, the building largely no longer exists, and the drawings take on a life of their own in a way not previously attached to them. The school may, however, be rebuilt, recreated ‘as was’ at some point in the future, potentially instigating yet another type of relationship between the existing drawing work and a new ‘Mackintosh’ building.

The aim of this study is to chart the manifestation of the Chapel at Ronchamp as a plastic organism and to identify its complex intrinsic visual qualities. To use Gordon Cullen's words, the work involves ‘charting the structure of the subjective world’. Although it has graphic and figurative aspects, the Chapel at Ronchamp achieves existential meaning primarily through plasticity, in other words the visual medium of form, space, polychromy (colour as a relative phenomenon) and texture, revealed in light. As in the case of all spatially rich unicellular works of architecture, the charting of the chapel has involved about ten three-day field studies over a three-year period, recording diurnal and seasonal variations and human activity; because this is uncharted territory it has first been necessary to ‘learn’ the building. The working method has involved recording observations, accompanied by photographic sketches at fifteen minute intervals; the observations have then been correlated with a heliodon model and indicative plans and sections, including sun-paths; the character of the light admitting apertures being of particular significance. Spatial and colour relationships have then been simulated in the studio.

Although hailed by Sigfried Giedion as the leader of the Third Generation of modern architects, Jørn Utzon has generally been interpreted as a Nordic regionalist, in succession to Asplund and Aalto. Drawing on both familiar and unpublished material, taken from a monograph to be published by Edition Bløndal later this year, the paper explores striking, but previously neglected or ignored parallels between the work of Utzon and Le Corbusier. A comprehensive assessment of Utzon's work is long overdue, and should situate him in the mainstream of international modern architecture.

This paper investigates the sublime as manifested in the architecture of Tadao Ando. The primary object of interpretation is his Azuma House (1976) in Osaka. However, according to Ando, the sublime equally characterises his religious work such as the Church of the Light (1989) near Osaka. One unique characteristic of Ando's architecture is the treatment of residential and religious buildings according to common spatial themes, challenging the conventional dichotomy between the profane and the sacred. The evocation of the sublime can be claimed as one such theme. Both buildings are particularisations of the theme of the sublime: in the case of the Azuma House into the context of the everyday and, in the case of the Church of the Light, into the context of the theological horizon of Christianity. This paper elucidates how the spatial setting of the Azuma residence conditions, in a distinguishing manner, the experience of the sublime. Given that, in the history of Western architecture, Etienne-Louis Boullée's architecture of immense emptiness (as manifested in the Metropolitan Basilica and Newton's Cenotaph) presents itself as one of the most distinctive articulations of the sublime, it is employed here as the dialogic partner for Ando's architecture of the sublime.

In Alvar Aalto's architecture wood had an important role, symbolically and as a material. Aalto brought out the biological characteristics of wood and its relationship with human beings and with nature in his architecture. Aalto was a master at combining Finnish vernacular building with the European tradition and metamorphosing into some other material as he went along. Concrete, glass, wood and brick were all equally worthy materials.

In Aalto's architecture, the role of wood is based above all on the ease with which it can be worked, its heat insulation properties and the fact that it is pleasant to the touch. Trees themselves as symbols of growth and sources of form of different kinds, and forests as spatial outlines, however, gave wood a mythical character. To Aalto, wood was adapted as an argument for human warmth and humanism when, to his mind, Modernism, the International Style, began to become too stereotyped and estranged from the idealism Aalto associated with it. With time, wood became for Aalto more and more a material that was used for cladding buildings and worked as a space divider, a material that was employed to soften acoustics and was used in details for places that people were going to touch.

It could be said that, on the one hand, wood acted as decoration in Aalto's buildings, but on the other, the variations of form in the wooden detailing show a synthesis of Aalto's architecture.