Articles by Camilla Ghisleni

Humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature, regardless of the physical or geographical conditions in which we find ourselves. As we become increasingly detached from the wilderness, we develop means and strategies to bring nature back into our daily lives, even if only for a few moments.

Urban blocks can be defined as the space within the street pattern of a city that is subdivided into land lots for the construction of buildings. This morphological element has been shaped according to the current views on urban design and its expectations over the centuries. It may consist of a single building structure or an area with several buildings that vary in size, detached structures surrounded by nature, or intricate labyrinths. Regardless of the composition, an urban block is the basic unit of a city’s urban fabric and plays an important role in mediating between the public and private spheres.

The idea of integration between art and architecture dates back to the very origin of the discipline, however, it took on a new meaning and social purpose during the Avant-Garde movement of the early twentieth century, becoming one of the most defining characteristics of Modernism. This close relationship is evident in the works of some of the greatest modern architects, such as Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, and Oscar Niemeyer, to name a few.

Imagine yourself welcoming your colleagues to a business meeting at your home. The table is set next to the infinity pool, under the shadow of a huge curved metal structure reminiscent of Zaha Hadid‘s most audacious designs except for the complete absence of pillars. Hovering in the air, the roof completes an idyllic setting for this mansion on a rocky hillside. The house was recently acquired as an NFT and is digitally accessed via encrypted code. That’s right, this is your virtual home. The physical one is a small 40m2 apartment in the center of one of the busiest and most polluted cities in the global south.

The slogan “Stay Home” has been guiding people throughout the past year, making us rediscover our home as a place of refuge, shelter, and protection. Within this new status quo, much has been discussed about the important role played by architecture and interior design in improving both the physical and mental wellbeing of its inhabitants.

We live in a tangled web of flows – of capital, information, technology, images, structures, in constant momentum dominating all aspects of our lives. The large-scale road infrastructures shown here are products of this powerful desire for movement, which for many years was also synonymous with development, as portrayed by the famous Goethean character Faust in his endless quest for a (false) sense of progress.

There was a time when people appreciated self-contained architecture, in which the building envelope would not function as a moderator between the climate outside and the interior environment but rather as an inert and independent barrier. Countless mechanical devices and electrical ventilation, heating, and cooling equipment. A real machine.

When you come to think of it, most of the food on your plate has a history behind it – a long journey that we are unable to describe. In her book Food Routes: Growing Bananas in Iceland and Other Tales from the Logistics of Eating (2019), Robyn Shotwell Metcalfe refers to the paradox of fish being caught in New England, exported to Japan, and then shipped back as sushi, revealing a large and complex network that nobody can see when they buy takeout Japanese food at the local grocery store.

Memento mori is an ancient Latin expression that means “remember that you are mortal.” The Roman people used it not to represent a fatalistic approach to death but rather as a way of valuing life.

When we talk about cities or their lesser variations – villages, towns, communities –, we are used to evoking stereotyped scenarios that relate to streets, cars, buildings, and we often end up forgetting that there are plenty of other surprisingly unique patterns.