The Nature of Architecture

Human history can be narrated from the perspective of how we inhabit the planet. It is complex to separate the natural from the artificial since human beings are part and product of the world and its nature. Still, we can define the artificial as a human modification for practical purposes. It is part of the human condition to build (transform) to inhabit, and the paradox is that we have to destroy to build. Therefore, our relationship with the environment we inhabit is, in a certain way, instrumental. Herein lies our main problem.

It is possible to identify the different approaches to the relationship between nature and architecture, finally understood as artifice and modification of the natural. Throughout history, architecture has permeated the collective values of each era, becoming a manuscript of the knowledge and intentions that wanted to be captured. Repeatedly, we have witnessed the desire to replicate the image of the natural in the artificial.

The capitals of the Corinthian order, or art nouveau or rococo motifs present direct representations of the natural world in buildings, as decoration or setting. The structural studies of Gaudí, Frei Otto or Heinz Isler are direct representations of physical logics found in the natural world. Suppose the intention is to replicate a spatial image figuratively. In that case, we see efforts to recreate situations based on natural contexts, such as a forest, in the repetitive configuration of vertical elements in Alvar Aalto's Villa Mairea or Junya Ishigami's KAIT, or the shadow of the palm trees in Jean Nouvel's Louvre in Abu Dhabi.

On the other hand, the contrast between the straight line—the product of human reason and opposed to natural logic—and organic spontaneity provides a distinctive break that consolidates the separation between the manifestation of human action and the natural. For example, seeing an aerial or satellite image is enough to identify human intervention. This phenomenon happens because we find a way to organize space and functions through geometry, thus transforming an organic and irregular territory into a grid classified in numbers and names.

The modern movement best represents the will to abstract, not only from the environment but also from the historical narrative. This contraposition of artifice was part of the era of the most significant urban growth in history. It resulted in the construction of environments stripped of the link with the natural, not necessarily because of a leitmotif but because of the lack of consideration or importance of reconciling what already exists, the natural world, with what is about to exist, which is the project.

The current crisis, predominantly environmental, urges us to rethink the ethics of our discipline and proves the commitment and responsibility architecture demands as a tool for transforming the environment in which we live. For example, without respect for natural preexistences, Álvaro Siza Vieira's Piscina das Marés in Leça da Palmeira would have been an imposition on the landscape. Without integrating the waterfall and the site's stones, Frank Lloyd Wright's Kaufmann house in Mill Run would have been an object abstracted from its context. A clear local example of the symbiosis between architecture and nature is José Cubilla's Ara Pytu house, where the building blends in with the surroundings and vegetation proliferates in all directions: inside, outside, above, and below.

In the Caja de Tierra and Casa Intermedia projects, we tried to capture this spirit of consideration of the site's existing conditions. The link with nature is not reduced only to showing respect for the existing vegetation but also includes the different bioclimatic factors, such as natural light, ventilation, and the use of local and natural materials, such as earth and wood, which, in turn, have a reduced carbon footprint, diminishing the impact of the construction.

But it is also possible to plan this integration between architecture and nature. Lina Bo Bardi's Glass House demonstrates that time can be an essential element of the project, understanding that: "A garden is not an object, but a process.” (Ian Hamilton Finlay) How different is the house in the photographic records of the 1950s from the present experience of immersing oneself in the lush Atlantic bush.

This process of creating a garden, or several gardens, became the design resource of the Centro de la Primera Infancia, which was implemented in an empty lot with no vegetation or shadows around it. This arrangement of small courtyards allowed the layout of the programs to forge a direct link with nature, which would become the focus of the space over the years.

Inevitably, this combination of the building and nature endows the architectural experience with the dimension of time. Time is marked by vegetation growth, falling leaves, humidity, wind and sounds, light and shadow, colors and smells. In countries with more precisely marked seasons, vegetation can become a seasonal clock.

Suppose we study vernacular constructions, or “architecture without architects,” as Bernard Rudofsky named his exhibition at MoMA in 1964. In that case, we will learn from the profound teachings offered by these living spaces directly linked to the environment, to constructive logic with local materials, to bioclimatic considerations, and to the most sensible responses with the least possible impact. This translates into a conscious, accessible, and pertinent answer to the problem of living. Today, more than ever, it is relevant to value ancestral knowledge, using the tools of the present to project a future where we can reconcile the balance between the actions of human beings and the planet we inhabit.

Main image: Casa Intermedia, Asuncion, Paraguay, 2021, Equipo de Arquitectura. Photo © Federico Cairoli