In this paper the authors propose a conceptual model and a bio-computational design method to articulate the world's Urbansphere, suggesting new terms for its co-evolution with the Biosphere.

The proposed model responds to principles of biological self-organisation, and operates by embedding a numerical/computational engine, a living Physarum polycephalum, onto a spatial/morphogenetic substratum, a Satellite driven informational territory. This integration is embodied in the Physarum Machine, a bio-digital design apparatus conceived by the authors and further developed within the Urban Morphogenesis Lab at the UCL in London.

The use of specifically designed apparatus of material computation to demonstrate and solve problems of urban morphogenesis is not new and the authors refer to the work of German Architect Frei Otto and his theory for the occupation and connection of territories.

This research leads to a notion of bio-city of the future where manmade infrastructures and non-human biological systems will constitute parts of a single biotechnological whole. To this respect it can be read as a manifesto for the extension of biotechnology to the scale of the Biosphere (biosphere geo-engineering) by expanding the scope and material articulation of global informational and energetic infrastructures (the internet of things and the internet of energy).

In the tradition of design based research, the paper also suggests an application of the proposed model to a specific case study demonstrating its efficacy in the re-conceptualization of the post-industrial and ecologically depleted landscapes of eastern Arizona. In conclusion the experiment describes the potential of augmenting materiality through sensors and microprocessors so that it would become possible to harvest the computational power latent in micro-organisms like the slime mould.

The dream outlined here is for an era where descriptive computation will be superseded by our capability to simulate and compute through the world that surrounds us.

Decorum refers to the suitability of a building's design and was a commonplace principle of architectural theory from the Renaissance to the beginnings of modernism. It was relevant to ornament, shaping the way a building articulated its status within civic and social order. This essay examines decorum as part of the history of ideas, with phases of growth, codification, and decline. Its fading was not unresisted, being part of a critical debate that emerged in the wake of the Industrial Revolution – namely, the role architecture might play in creating a cohesive environment for the modern world.

In the early twentieth century, Modernists problematised ornament in their refashioning of architecture for the industrial age. Today, architects are formulating different responses to image and its (re)production in the information age. In both discourses of ornament and image, surfaces are often the perpetrators: visual boundaries that facilitate false appearances, imprisoning humanity in a shadowy cave of illusion. The negativity and shallowness associated with superficiality is also closely related to the separation of images from the real, where the former is seen to be a deficient representation of the latter. Such views follow a familiar metaphysical model characterised by the opposition between inside and outside and the opaque boundary that acts as a barrier. This model determines the traditional philosophical approach, which follows a distinct hierarchical order and a perpendicular movement of thought that seeks to penetrate appearances to get to the essence of things.

With the exciting period of construction following German reunification now over, German post-war reconstruction has finally come to an end. For a brief period, reunification enlivened the building market with great visions, but now the demand for architecture and employment in the construction industry has sunk dramatically.

It is a commonplace to describe twentieth-century Modernist architecture as utopian, but doing so arguably has less to do with putative social agendas than with explaining the failure of such work to deliver on extravagant promises. By interrogating utopian declarations for twentieth-century architecture and visionary urban representations, the aim of this article is to sharpen the loose pairing of Modernist architecture and Utopia. Consideration is also given to how undue emphasis on representation supports post-rationalisations of failure as the inevitable teleology of Utopia, which serves only to empty architecture of its ethical function. To conclude, some preliminary thoughts on the prospects of a more convincingly utopian modern architecture are advanced.

One might be forgiven for thinking that the concept of ‘vernacular’ architecture is straightforward. First, it suggests a contemporary approach to building that uses local materials and crafts, as well as the indigenous architecture of tribal peoples, such as piledwellings over tropical waters, mud houses in the desert, or animal-hide teepees on the savannah. These buildings can be distinguished easily from other types of buildings that use industrialised construction techniques and materials, such as concrete, sheet glass, plastics and steel. Second, it might suggest an alternative and more wholesome set of values towards life, the environment and aesthetics, than that represented by the out-of-town retail park or the inner-city office tower. Why bother with the word ‘vernacular’, though, let alone ‘indigenous’ or the more problematic ‘primitive’, when ‘traditional’ works well enough? Nothing could be simpler.

Our paper addresses how building design elucidates the connection between two definitions of politics: ‘Big Politics’ and micropolitics. We will seek to examine how these two versions of politics are imbricated; how, in other words, codified ideologies and political institutions circulate within the everyday practices by which new actors and sites of contestation enter the social collective. The conceptual space for this argument has already been mapped out by various authors, including Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Bruno Latour and Michel Foucault. These authors have variously proposed how powerful totalities always travel along small, fragile conduits. Or, as Deleuze and Guattari put it, ‘the boss's office is as much at the end of the hall as on top of the tower’.

The public abattoir emerged as an institution across the industrialized world in the mid-nineteenth century to centralize and control animal killing and meat processing, activities that had traditionally taken place in private slaughterhouses. The modern idea of the abattoir, however, is more than a place where animals are killed for human consumption. Designed to optimize a disassembling process that efficiently took apart the livestock into small pieces, the modern abattoir is one of the earliest building types where the production line was incorporated into the spatial layout. Modern abattoirs also separated livestock from people, and production from consumption, into special places removed from public view.

This paper is concerned with the production of a public abattoir in 1930s colonial Shanghai. The Shanghai Municipal Abattoir, completed in 1933, was deliberately designed as a ‘machine for killing’, which applied production-line principles to the efficient slaughter of animals. The result of this functionalism was an extraordinary series of multi-storey concrete structures, dictated by the bloody business of slaughtering animals and processing their carcasses, set behind an art deco façade. In this paper we seek to tell the story of the production of a building that has previously been little researched, with most of the archival material in Shanghai Municipal Archives (SMA) and the limited published material available only in Mandarin.

Framing the question of a research and innovation (R&I) strategy for the UK construction industry requires careful consideration of several key issues: pluralism, vision and recognition of the significance of product (place and its constituent components) as well as process. Much of the groundwork for specific research topics has been undertaken and identified elsewhere (Macmillan, 2002), so this paper does not reinvent the wheel or list all the relevant research issues. Any discussion informing an R&I strategy should provide continuity and not jettison previous work in order to provide continuity. Too much structural change in past funding mechanisms has led to uncertainty for researchers and has adversely affected medium- and long-term projects.

Interactive rendering combines the geometrical precision of classical computer graphics with the representational freedom of a paint program. It is more sympathetic to the ways in which designers use images, and overcomes many of the frustrations experienced in rendering from CAD models. The scene is generated in a standard viewing application, but saved as a specially enhanced raster image. The extra information allows the interactive renderer to apply brushed-on rendering effects which are sensitive to the perspective of the image. Effects can be applied locally or overall, and may be overlaid, blended and erased to create complex combinations. A huge range of treatments is obtainable, both photorealistic and not.

The definition of research quality is directly linked to public funding access in countries like the United Kingdom, Australia and the Netherlands. Architecture, as a design discipline, faces the problem that it has limited access to these resources. It experiences a so-called evaluation gap. Its research performance does not easily fit the conventional moulds commonly used to assess quality. Assessments are increasingly based on the analysis of indexed journals, while indexes (such as the ISI) have, so far, mostly neglected the arts and humanities to which architecture may be assumed to belong. Schools of architecture have to face this matter head-on if they want to survive in times of austerity, and they need to do so sooner rather than later. They have to decide whether they want to continue to push for the acceptance of discipline-specific performance indicators or whether they would rather adapt to the standards and dissemination practices that characterise more established fields of scientific research. The direction they choose will inevitably shape future research in architecture.

The architects of the Modern Movement in the late 1920s found new sources of form through the pursuit of technical and functional issues in design. They sought shaping agents in functional organization, in the admission of light, in efficiency of structure and construction, and many other physical issues of this kind. At the same time, they felt the need to escape from traditional rules of architectural composition involving Classical orders of columns, symmetry and axes. They were ready to discover a new and surprising identity for buildings precisely to defy the historicist conventions that until then dominated architecture as a cultural tradition. Acoustics is an area in which many interesting claims were made, and some famous Modernist designs were supposedly formed, or at very least inspired, by acoustic forces. These historical instances beg the question whether acoustics is really a legitimate and helpful formal determinant of buildings. Perhaps instead, the acoustic arguments put forward by architects to justify their formal choices were just convenient alibis. This is a far more complex issue than at first it seems.

This paper – like those following it in this issue of arq – focuses on the shifting notion of ‘flow’ and the significance of that notion for the practice, critique and theorisation of architecture.

Peppered with galleries, ateliers, and upscale designer boutiques, Tokyo’s Shibuya ward is often described as a commercial haven for Japan’s urban fashionistas and style-conscious visitors. Within it, a narrow park sits atop a 1960s parking structure that was once a refuge for nearly one hundred homeless city residents until most were forcibly removed in 2010 by city officials. Dozens of blue tarp tents, umbrellas, weathered shoes, and cherished belongings were discarded, and the people who had lived there were fenced out indefinitely. Although this striking contrast of urban socioeconomic disparity is one that characterises many cities across the globe, the juxtapositions in Shibuya have been made increasingly visible by strong cohorts of unrelenting activists who have ignited decades of discourse and scholarly debate about individual rights to cities, as well as the role and agency of architects in the designing of public spaces. This article combines participant observations of art activists, semi-structured and oral history interviews of homeless residents in Tokyo, as well as historical analysis, to examine these tensions as they have played out at Miyashita Park in Shibuya, including how perpetual redesigns of the park by architects and urban planners tasked with ‘re-activating’ the park in the 1960s, 2000s, and again in the late 2010s, have been vehemently opposed. More specifically, the article examines how a vocal group of art activists organised in opposition to the park’s most recent redesign efforts sponsored by Nike and the idea that such a public-private partnership could produce an inclusive public space. Instead, the activists worked to problematise the appropriateness of terms such as ‘public’ altogether. Through art installations, writing, impromptu concerts, sporting events, and protests that engaged with the politics of their own bodies, the activists turned to alternative genealogies and definitions of ‘public’ as a way to connect more particularly to Japanese urban form and to resist hegemonic and imported concepts of ‘public’ as reproduced and reinforced by architects often without challenge. By drawing on alternative terms, such as akichi, meaning ‘open land’, the activists argue for a different sense of spatial inclusivity than the supposedly universal democratic ideals associated with designs for public spaces in Tokyo.

The emergence of computer-mediated social networking amplifies concepts of shared and diffused agency. It seems that much is accomplished not so much by individuals standing out against the crowd, but by crowds of people forming, re-forming, interacting and sharing through highly responsive electronic media. So-called ‘smart mobs’ are apparently capable of generating meaningful outcomes by collective action through mobile phones, social networks such as Facebook, and shared open-source enterprises as in open software development. Contemporary theorising in the fields of human-computer interaction and digital media promotes concepts of ubiquitous, egalitarian, democratic, grass-roots, collective agency above concepts of hierarchical, heroic and individual creation, a shift thought by some to challenge accepted ways of designing and occupying space.

‘Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road. Healthy, free, the world before me, the long brown path before leading wherever I choose.’

(Walt Whitman)

Permitted Development (PD) is the set of laws that determine what can be built in the UK without needing planning permission. These laws, which have existed since 1947, typically cover smallscale developments that have a minor impact on their surroundings. In 2008 the laws covering household developments were radically revised in an effort to free up planning departments to focus on larger applications. But the rewritten laws, while inherently more ‘liberal’ than their predecessors, are also confusing, impractical, and obscured by legalese.

Since 2009, we have produced a series of projects with a number of collaborators that explore PD. These projects all involve engaging with the laws in order to make public their potential for development. We see this work as a form of spatial practice.

This article presents an edited selection of spreads from our 2009 book-pamphlet SUB-PLAN: A Guide to Permitted Development, which was produced with the graphic design studio Europa and a group of students at the Architectural Association Summer School.

‘Agency’ is a beguiling word. It has the immediacy of a call-to-arms and the remoteness and anonymity of a bureaucratic function. Agency, as action in the world, underpins revolutionary social change, and the representation of someone else's interests – usually at a distance – in a governmental or business context. It is implicated in both the agitprop of the Reclaim the Streets network, or Brazil's Homeless Workers Movement, and in state bureaucracies such as the UK Border Agency, or commercial franchises such as the Western Union. The term encapsulates two quite distinctive forms of action: one individuated, collective and immediate; and the other systemic, anonymised and bureaucratic. It is no accident, then, that in academic literature ‘agency’ is often paired with ‘structure’, and in the binarised form, structure/agency, is used to refer to the tension between the creative actions of individuals and the social, political and economic structures that supposedly constrain them. The fact that architects are expected to exercise agency in both of these senses – as creative actors and as representatives of their clients' interests – gives the theme further significance.

The Casbah concept was developed by a group of younger European architects in the late 1950s. It flourished over a period of no more than ten years but its influence continues to this day.