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Architecture is often defined by its physical form, materials, and structural elements, but light and shadow truly shape the experience of space. These elements influence perception, guide movement, and evoke emotional responses, transforming static structures into dynamic environments. Throughout history, architects have harnessed the interplay of light and shadow, using it as a fundamental design tool to create atmosphere and meaning.
Imagine a world thousands of years into the future, one where humanity has conquered planets from galaxies away, only to default to a neofeudalistic social order in a constant power struggle, all built upon an intricate tapestry of cultures and religions and set in a harsh yet vivid landscape that becomes a character in and of itself. This was the challenge faced by director Denis Villeneuve and production designer Patrice Vermette in creating the cinematic adaptation of Frank Herbert's 1965 novel. The two Dune movies, released in 2021 and 2024, were conceived as a whole and therefore share a coherent style and cinematic expression. Beyond aesthetics, the environment and architecture of Dune present a lived-in, believable world, one that anchors the action and characters, silently offering invaluable insights into the values and mythology of each civilization.
This article was originally published on Common Edge.
Auction houses, secondhand furniture stores, and realtors make small fortunes from a nomenclature that, despite the fuzziness surrounding its indeterminate span and whether everything made during its indefinite duration ought to be stamped with the same label, continues to demand attention. Years from now, serious collectors of architectural magazines may search for that single issue of the 21st century magazine Dwell, absent a major spread of a house designed in the midcentury modern (MCM) manner or a restoration of a building from that era. MCM is the very blood that pulses through the publication’s arteries, promulgating a view of a squeaky-clean and well-lighted lives lived almost invariably by (often childless) ectomorphic couples, blissfully happy under a flat roof with floor-to-ceiling windows affording fine views of distant landscapes best enjoyed behind insulated glass in an ambient temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. But what are we to make of this term, this period—some even call it a “movement”—so well-known globally it goes by initials?
Michael Rotondi’s buildings—museums, civic centers, education facilities, monasteries, restaurants, and residences—evoke kinetic mechanisms that fold, hinge, twist, and split open. They express the architect’s feelings, thinking, and mood at the time they had been designed, and, on some occasions, during their assembly and construction. Rotondi was born in 1949 in Los Angeles.
He established his RoTo Architects, a research-based firm in his native city, in 1991 after co-heading Morphosis for 16 years with Thom Mayne. Parallel to his practicing career, the architect has been teaching and lecturing at SCI-Arc, Southern California Institute of Architecture, which he co-founded in 1972, led its graduate program from 1978-1987, and was the school’s second director for a decade from 1987 to 1997.
In a world of extravagant textures, colors, and flavors, who would have thought that a substance that has no color, no smell, and no taste is precisely the most essential for human existence? Antagonistic in itself, water carries an ambiguity of values and meanings that confer a high degree of complexity sustained by the versatile and soluble profile that distinguishes it in a complex simplicity. In this sense, water, as a source of life, has become an object of devotion and study over time. This has fostered a continuous effort focused on understanding, transporting, and controlling this element.
Even as a child, the Venetian architect Carlo Scarpa was very aware of the fundamental element that would describe and underpin his work many years later: water. When he played and ran around the maze of streets and canals, Scarpa listened to everything around him, especially the richness of stimuli that his hometown offered him. A sensitive reader of places, he found his great text in Venice. This culture, subtle and almost academic, except for that devotion to scenography and the esoteric, is built over time; art, space, history, all compiled in his readings, trips to knowledge, and in his contact with artists and writers.
Scarpa would base his evolution as an architect on his extraordinary visual culture and his respect for tradition and the way of doing things in past eras; taking up the baton of that time and converting his reality into architectural space where all the pieces are independent units, dialoguing with each other or, as he liked to say, singing. He positions himself before what exists, whether it be an artistic piece or architectural space, from knowledge and sensitivity. He will apprehend the history and place in which it occurs and accentuate the existing beauty in things, showing the prominence of the new as a precious element.
Built on a cluster of 118 small islands in the shallow Venetian Lagoon, the city of Venice, Italy, has captivated the imagination of architects and tourists alike. The area has been inhabited since ancient times, becoming a major financial and maritime power during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, as proven through the rich architecture that characterizes the city to this day. With influences from the Byzantine, Gothic, and Renaissance styles, the city represents a palimpsest of architectural narratives, overlapping and influencing each other. In recent years, Venice has become a major attraction for architects drawn to the La Biennale di Venezia, the most important Architectural Exhibition featuring national pavilions, exhibitions, and events to explore new concepts and architectural innovations.
Beyond the Biennale, Venice itself is an open-air museum for architecture lovers. While the city is best known for its historical buildings, Modernist and contemporary interventions add a new layer of interest, with many contemporary architects working with the historical fabric, like OMA’s intervention and rehabilitation of Fondaco dei Tedeschi, or David Chipperfield’s renovation of Procuratie Vecchie, one of the buildings that define Piazza San Marco. In addition to what the city has to offer, the site of the Venice Biennale is also marked by interventions by famous architects such as Carlo Scarpa, Sverre Fehn, and Alvar Aalto, made permanent due to their outstanding qualities.
Natural light is one of the most critical elements in architecture. Although unbuilt and difficult to control, it plays a crucial part in defining how space is perceived in terms of scale, textures, materiality, and overall atmosphere. Natural light also impacts the emotions people feel in a space, whether lack of light makes us feel fear and anxiety or ample light makes us feel safe and ethereal. As much as light impacts architecture, architecture also impacts light. Through framing vistas, creating 3D massings that cast sculptural shadows, and carving voids from solids that create unique light projections, many architects have mastered design techniques that utilize light in a way that seamlessly integrates it within a building- and perhaps one of the best to do this was the Venetian architect, Carlo Scarpa.
Switzerland’s project for its national pavilion at the 18th International Architecture Exhibition–La Biennale di Venezia will be curated by Karin Sander and Philip Ursprung to explore territorial relationships within the Giardini of La Biennale. Titled “Neighbours,” their project is focused on the spatial and structural proximity between the Swiss Pavilion and its Venezuelan neighbor. By turning architecture itself into the exhibit, the project also highlights the bond between the architects of the two structures: the Swiss Bruno Giacometti (1907 - 2012) and the Italian Carlo Scarpa (1906 - 1978). The exhibition will be on display from May 20 to November 26, 2023.
As human beings we cannot live without stories, we need them to fill those gaps in our reality, to live in our imagination those thousands of lives that are different from ours and, in some cases, impossible.
Could we qualify as "good architecture" that which has a story, or several stories, to tell us? That which is a story in itself? Such a subjective question undoubtedly generates different answers, but one possible answer is "yes". And one example is the Brion Tomb project, one of Venetian architect Carlo Scarpa's major masterpieces.
At the heart of it, architecture is an inter-disciplinary profession. Ranging from structural engineers to quantity surveyors, a design project thrives from the collaboration of individuals from various fields of work. An often-overlooked connection is the link between the fields of architecture and archaeology, which in more ways than one have a lot in common. In a time of increased awareness on issues of sustainability and heritage, the expertise present in the field of archaeology plays a vital part in the preservation of architectural landmarks of historical significance. This expertise can also play a significant part in creating sensitive architectural interventions suitable for their context, contemporary in their design while responding to historical precedents.
One of the most enigmatic and underappreciated architects of the 20th century, Carlo Scarpa (June 2, 1906 – November 28, 1978) is best known for his instinctive approach to materials, combining time-honored crafts with modern manufacturing processes. In a 1996 documentary directed by Murray Grigor, Egle Trincanato, the President of the Fondazione Querini Stampalia for whom Scarpa renovated a Venetian palace in 1963, described how "above all, he was exceptionally skillful in knowing how to combine a base material with a precious one."
While cemeteries have long served as a place in which we can honor and remember our loved ones, they are also often places that showcase architecture, and landscape design. In the late 19th century, cemeteries evolved from overcrowded and unsanitary urban spaces into rural, park-like social centers. In cities that lacked public parks, cemeteries became popular destinations for picnics, holidays, and other family gatherings.
Some of the greatest architectural works throughout history have been the result of religion, driven by the need to construct spaces where humanity could be one step closer to a higher power. With more people choosing a secular lifestyle than ever before, are the effects that these buildings convey—timelessness, awe, silence and devotion, what Louis Kahn called the “immeasurable” and Le Corbusier called the “ineffable”—no longer relevant?
With the Vatican’s proposal for the 2018 Venice Biennale, described as “a sort of pilgrimage that is not only religious but also secular,” it is clear that the role of "religious" spaces is changing from the iconography of organized religion to ambiguous spaces that reflect the idea of "spirituality" as a whole.
So what does this mean? Is there still a key role for spirituality in architecture? Is it possible to create spaces for those of different faiths and those without faith at all? And what makes a space "spiritual" in the first place?
Visiting architectural masterpieces by the greats can often feel like a pilgrimage of sorts, especially when they are far away and hard to find. Not everyone takes the time to visit these buildings when traveling, which makes getting there all the more special. With weird opening hours, hard-to-reach locations and elusive tours we thought we’d show a selection from our archives of masterpieces (modernist to contemporary) and what it takes to make it through their doors. Don’t forget your camera!
Had the worst jury ever? Failed your exams? Worry not! Before you fall on your bed and cry yourself to sleep—after posting a cute, frantic-looking selfie on Instagram, of course (hashtag so dead)—take a look at this list of nine celebrated architects, all of whom share a common trait. You might think that a shiny architecture degree is a requirement to be a successful architect; why else would you put yourself through so many years of architecture school? Well, while the title of "architect" may be protected in many countries, that doesn't mean you can't design amazing architecture—as demonstrated by these nine architects, who threw convention to the wind and took the road less traveled to architectural fame.
Material Immaterial Studio has unveiled MIRAGE, a series of concrete furniture hardware inspired by the works of architect Carlo Scarpa.
The MIRAGE series is made up of concrete handles, knobs, and robe hooks, all of which aim to create character through light and shadow. Some of the pieces, with a zigzag pattern, are meant to reduce the heaviness of the concrete material, making it seem light and delicate, while other pieces are meant to express a sense of solidity.
