1. Describe poverty as the principle behind a new architectural policy
2. Detail how modern architecture has attempted to solve the problem of poverty
3. Give reasons as to why it failed
4. Show how “critical architecture” only made the situation worse
5. Contrast this with a portrait of poverty today
6. Bring Ledoux’s other architectural policies up to date and outline approaches to an architecture which takes account of the precarious conditions
1. In 1804, Claude-Nicolas Ledoux published a theoretical treatise entitled L’Architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art, des mœurs et de la legislation. The author was one of the most successful architects of the Ancien Régime, a friend of Madame Dubarry (who was executed in 1793 under the revolutionary government) and was particularly well-known as the architect responsible for the toll gates in the much-despised city tax wall (built in 1785-1790) which enclosed Paris and provoked grumbles of dissent (“le mur murant Paris rend Paris murmurant”). Although he was later known as the “architect of the revolution”, the revolution brought him nothing but unhappiness during his lifetime. In 1793 he was arrested and charged. Whilst in prison, he resolved to publish the drawings for his structures and projects in a kind of architectural encyclopaedia. After he was unexpectedly released in January 1795, he had enough time to realise at least part of this ambitious project.
In his book, Ledoux dealt with the entire spectrum of construction – from the simple houses of the poor to the public Temple of Virtues and the princely hunting lodge. The Royal Saltworks at Arc-et-Senans, which were constructed between 1773 and 1778, constituted the most significant project. In published form, the volume was extended to include the rural town for which Ledoux also conceived several public buildings and private residential homes to accommodate those from all social classes. A vital element in this process was the economic theory posited by the physiocrats, who believed that nature was the unique source of all surplus. Based on this theory, Ledoux developed an obsessive interest in housing the most productive section of the population, which was simultaneously the poorest. His projects, including the houses of a cooper, a woodman and a charcoal burner (plates 88, 102, 109) are famous. As a whole, the plates of all his projects, both those which were built and those which were not, come together to form an architectural utopia which does not, however, form a distant ideal final destination, but rather the very next stop, which could be created on the basis of the current situation as already constructed.
In order to better understand Ledoux’s theories, plate no. 33 is particularly helpful. This is the only plate that is not directly related to an architectural project. It shows a man who has found shelter beneath the only tree on a deserted island. Naked, and with bare hands, he looks up to the heavens, where the assembled gods take no notice of him at all. Ledoux entitled the scene “The poor man’s sanctuary” (“L’abri du pauvre”). In the commentary to the illustration, he refers to the universe as the “poor man’s house” (“la maison du pauvre”), which has already been richly fitted out by nature.1 Compared with this, he argues, the rich man possesses nothing of equivalent value. Ledoux argues that we have a false impression of poverty if we believe that the poor have nothing. Ultimately, the poor man only lacks the surplus which he obtains from nature for others through his work. Consequently, the task of the architect – whom Ledoux understood to be the successor to the Creator-God – is to intervene in the distribution of assets, regulating this, and thereby allowing the poor to partake of the realised surplus.
Unlike in the legends concerning the origins of architecture, as related by Vitruvius, Alberti, Laugier or Semper, Ledoux’s version is not concerned with devising a generally-accepted canon of architectural forms. The origin of architecture does not become the start of a continuous process of perfecting nature. The further one goes in this direction, the more one restricts architecture – in Ledoux’s theory – to the specific requirements of the rich and powerful (125). Instead, he regards nature in its entirety as the true source of architecture. From nature, the architect should develop the “diversity of his themes”, as if from a large, open book (86). The diversity of natural resources generates a formal diversity in architecture, the development of which Ledoux believes is a vitally important, public matter.
In his tract, Ledoux repeatedly returns to the problem of poverty. For example, he stresses that the poor have the same rights to architecture as the rich. Architecture, he writes, does not stop being architecture when it comes to the houses of the poor. Even if the classical orders are not appropriate (198), the houses of the poor must still be constructed with art (210), particularly as art costs nothing when it is linked with human worth instead of with material values (105). As a result, the contrasts between the structures will ultimately be increased and it will be possible to avoid tedious uniformity (178).
In this manner, the “poor man’s house” put Ledoux in a new position as an architect. He ceased to be nature’s copyist as understood in the classical theory of architecture. Instead, he took an active role in the development of new economic and social forces which are necessary to process natural resources (34). A new aesthetic theory arises from the problem of poverty – one which is more performative than representative, more aimed at developing possibilities for action than depicting actual meanings.
2. “War on poverty” was also the slogan of the architectural avant-garde in the 20th century. However, the rediscovery of Ledoux came too late to be of any significance to this. Moreover, the outward appearance of poverty had changed. The poor of the 20th century are no longer those rural poor who are “merely” short of abundance. The urban grandchildren of the rural poor are predominantly short of money to buy food and to pay the rent for a shabby flat in a tenement. Consequently, Sigfried Giedion, the general secretary of the International Congress of Modern Architecture (Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne, CIAM), referred to “housing for those below the poverty line” [“Die Wohnung für das Existenzminimum”] as the most important issue facing architecture at the start of the 20th century.2 He also succeeded in making the issue the topic of the much-discussed second meeting of the CIAM, held in Frankfurt in 1929.
At the second congress, it was possible to observe how the struggle against poverty split avant-garde architects into two camps. One side regarded architecture as nothing more than a continuation of politics by other means. For that camp, architecture became important precisely at the point that all political methods had failed. If the modernisation of architecture were to succeed, ran the theory, then the problems of poverty would also resolve themselves automatically. This type of wishful thinking was typical of Le Corbusier who, in his manifesto Toward an Architecture3, published in 1922, had already offered the world the choice of “architecture or revolution”, adding, as it were, the subtle hint: “The revolution can be avoided”.
However, others were convinced that they would do better to avoid architecture. For Hans Schmidt, an architect renowned for his radical political views, architecture represented nothing more than a problem of form which was not necessary for survival. Das Bauen ist nicht Architektur [Building is not architecture] was the characteristic title of one of his texts, in which he placed the architect’s social responsibility above formal design. Distancing himself significantly from the position of Le Corbusier and his followers, he called for “the clear recognition of our tasks” to be regarded as more important “than the realisation of a new aesthetic perception”.4
Although the 4th CIAM, which took place in 1933 on board the SS Patris 2 on the crossing from Marseilles to Athens, did not fully resolve the differences between the two camps, it did lead to a joint doctrine, which Le Corbusier published anonymously ten years later, under the title La Charte d’Athènes (Athens Charter).5 Its theme is “the functional city” and its principal objective the development of a rational, technically-oriented method to deal with the “alarming symptoms”6, which could be ascertained in urban bodies throughout the world, more effectively. Correspondingly, the Charter contains a long list of faults found in the construction of cities, with appropriate suggestions on how to resolve these, including the proposal to create separate functional zones for living, working, recreation and transportation.
In the second half of the 20th century, the Charter became the most important guide for architects in the struggle against poverty. The reconstruction of the cities destroyed in the war, on the one hand, and the development of new housing estates at the edge of rapidly expanding cities, on the other hand, offered an opportunity for a new start that was unique in the history of architecture. It was assumed that the problem of poverty lay in the past and, at the latest, would be eradicated once and for all by full implementation of the suggestions contained in the Charter – and particularly by the creation of separate areas for the functions within a city. However, it later became apparent that, with this approach, modern architects created even more problems, rather than solving the original issue.
3. Bruno Taut had already criticised the outcomes of the 2nd CIAM in Frankfurt in this regard, because the minimal ground plans excluded the possibility of sub-letting individual rooms to “night lodgers”, as was usual in tenements. However, the true extent to which Modern Architecture was unsuitable for getting to grips with the problems of poverty only become apparent after the Second World War, once Modern Architecture had become the dominant style of construction. Jane Jacobs, in Tod und Leben großer amerikanischer Städte7 and Alexander Mitscherlich, in Die Unwirtlichkeit unserer Städte. Anstiftung zum Unfrieden8 were the first to rebuke architects for their blind obedience to the Charter of Athens. As Jacobs and Mitscherlich pointed out, the architects’ axioms must inevitably have led to social segregation and to expulsion of the poorest. Accordingly, the large social new builds were viewed as architectural offensives which were predominantly targeted at the poor themselves and not at poverty.
The demolition of the Pruitt-Igoe social housing complex in St. Louis, which commenced at 3 p.m. on 16 March 1972, was equivalent to a public declaration of bankruptcy with regard to Modern Architecture.9 Simultaneously, it proclaimed the start of the post-modern period.10 An award-winning example of social housing had been revealed as a true breeding ground for crime. The demolition uncovered an open secret about Modern Architecture: at heart, Modern Architecture was not compatible with the needs of the poor, and indeed generally ran counter to their social structures and informal economies.
Today, the spectre of Pruitt-Igoe continues to haunt us. Whatever the individual reasons for its appearance in each case, poverty is always among them.11 It has become usual to refer to the worsening social conflicts in the bidonvilles as “war”. The squalid concrete flats there have only escaped the fate of Pruitt-Igoe because the preferred response to the problems is now to deploy police measures instead of architectural ones. However, when confronted with their unsettling powerlessness in this way, architects increasingly turned to the more successful part of their trade: form.
4. The admission of powerlessness offered the architectural avant-garde a way to withdraw from social-political conflicts. In the “boudoir” – that is in the intimate atmosphere whereby architecture was considered as pure form – social-political commitment was cast off.12 If anything at all could be done for the poor from this position, then it was by countering the unseemly impositions of investors with the conditions inherent in the form. “Critical architecture” in this sense was expressed in signs rather than in actions, in formal differences rather than in specific alternatives.13 The “boudoir” proved to be an extremely efficient laboratory for the production of formal differences. Throughout the final two decades of the 20th century, it enabled architects to reach the limits of their imagination and push beyond them. Impressive models of structures in the form of melting glacial crevasses or matrix-structures made from artificial stone constituted the key attractions at all exhibitions of architecture. The greater the spectacle of the form, the more hermetic the theories which were intended to impart it with critical significance.
However, outside the “boudoir” there was no sign of the critical performance of the spectacular projects. On the contrary: “formal difference” became a trade mark of global companies. What is meant to be “critical” about shapes that possess proven stimulating “side effects” such as the “Bilbao effect” or “Viagra urbanism”? As the desire for formal difference has increased to insatiable proportions throughout the world, it has become increasingly impossible to refute the fact that “critical architecture” has, in this respect, taken on the role of an important supplier of forms. Criticism was, de facto, nothing other than mimicry of architecture for the purposes of self-preservation, aligned with the neo-liberal conditions of the new world order. Ultimately, the “critical project” became completely affirmative, without anyone having expressed reservations regarding this transformation. (Even criticism of the “critical architecture” missed the point, as it targeted only the critical window dressing, but not the affirmative role itself.)14 A coalition of the willing was formed from the informal connections between boudoir architects. The most critical boudoir architects, such as Coop Himmelb(l)au, Peter Eisenman, Frank Gehry, Zaha Hadid, Daniel Libeskind and Bernard Tschumi now number among the most extravagant architects of spectacle.
On the one hand, the architecture of spectacle symbolises the cultural, economic and technical superiority of the developed world. (“Build something that will make us proud”, US President G.W. Bush told the designers of the new World Trade Centre in New York.) On the other hand, it represents the struggle to which this world has introduced a large part of its own population. The construction of spectacular skyscrapers, shopping centres, gated communities, Disneylands, temples of culture and sports stadia is generally entrusted to private companies who are disconnected from the local context and only take what they need from the community. There is no restriction on public control and private greed. Everything can be had, but nothing is for everyone. All disruptive elements are excluded. Entrance is only granted to a compliant public with the means of payment, the rest must remain outside. Despite this, these sanctuaries for the privileged give rise to significant costs in terms of infrastructure, security and maintenance, which must be met from the public purse. Consequently, funds which could have been used for medical care, education and housing the poor are not available.
Furthermore, investments in spectacular buildings repeatedly serve as strong arguments for the renovation of existing slums. Promises are made that the situation of the poor will be improved, but what is actually on offer is mostly only “an unhealthy cocktail of underestimated costs, overestimated revenues, undervalued environmental impacts and overvalued economic development effects”.15 The history of the expulsions caused by architecture has not yet been written. Mike Davis’ list containing “some well-known displacements from slums” which were caused by urban improvement confirms the suspicion that many an architectural wonder conceals a dark, less well-known story.16 The fact that many of these spectacular buildings are constructed in locations with a higher than average proportion of poor and unemployed people gives us cause to fear the worst. It could very well emerge that spectacular structures belong on the list of crimes against humanity.17
In spite of all their formal difference and extravagance, the aspect that the spectacular structures have in common is exclusion of the precarious conditions in society. Poverty, war and migration only appear on the sidelines of the spectacle – if at all. Leading architects regard these things merely as inconvenient hindrances to the development of their autopoietic powers of imagination. If spectacular architecture therefore deserves a further distinction, then perhaps “merciless” would suit it best.
5. The outward appearance of poverty had changed once again. The poor of the 21st century do not lack “merely” the surplus and the necessary financial foundations. Above and beyond this, they lack hope. In the context of technical-industrial progress, jobs are being systematically destroyed. Perversely, however, it is precisely those cities whose economic growth is slowing at the highest rate which are growing the most. This means that poverty reproduces itself and does not even offer those affected the illusion that they will ever be able to escape the vicious circle of “no jobs - no choice - no space”.18
It is not only the usual risk groups which are affected. Rather, a growing majority of the population now lives in poverty. As detailed in the report of the United Nations Habitat Commission, the number of slum dwellers exceeded the unbelievable figure of 1 billion in 2006.19 Not every slum dweller is necessarily poor, but many poor people are likely to live outside slums. (In Switzerland there are one million inhabitants living below the poverty line, but no slums.) The gulf between rich and poor is growing dramatically in both the first and the third world (where is in fact the second world?) If things continue as at present, there will soon be no cities left, just gigantic slums with resorts for the rich inside them. There is a justified fear that urban poverty could develop into a catastrophe on a similar scale to global warming – possibly even due to the same causes.20
However, we misjudge the population of the poor if we stigmatise them as a superfluous, lethargic mass that cannot be integrated into society. Indeed, the poor still constitute the flywheel of today’s society, although they benefit the least from the wheel’s rotation. Their knowledge is infinitely more creative, diverse and productive than all the knowledge that is hoarded in academic institutions and treated as private property by global corporations. The informal economy is like a gigantic open source offer that feeds, not least, the formal economy.
In itself, the mere fact of survival in the lowest level of society represents a work of art that cannot be explained by academic observers. Referring to Lagos, the capital of Nigeria, which has 15 million inhabitants – 7 million of them in slums by official reckoning –, the Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas said: “The impression that the city leaves is of an extremely poor living space, which is, however, very rich in intelligence and creativity and which – through a mixture of optimism and improvisation – can embrace complex situations in an unbelievably productive manner.“21 Without glorifying the informal struggle for survival, it can be noted that the chronic lack of everything has brought forth a diversity of forms of existence which enable the poor to survive. At least in this respect, the world of the poor is at an advantage. Poverty forces people to adapt more quickly to a new situation and the change generates less stress for the poor than for us.22
Even in the developed world, there was once a time when the precarious conditions of a society were not principally viewed only as dangers. For example, on the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York, there is a bronze plaque with a sonnet by Emma Lazarus, reading:
“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” 23
The country conjured up in this line is not in sight today. Moreover, there is an overwhelming lack of architectural approaches which face up to the needs of the subjugated masses of today and recognise the slums as better laboratories for a future architecture than the boudoirs.24 Nonetheless, it must be understood that there are many architects who are committed to the building problems encountered by the poor; there is a long tradition of informal construction which is responsible for the majority of the structures in the world; there are many schemes for aid and self-help; a number of architects have even made names for themselves in this area, including Atelier Bow-Wow, Shigeru Ban, Yona Friedman, Rem Koolhaas, Lacaton & Vassal, Cameron Sinclair, Alvaro Siza and Lebbeus Woods. Their solutions are generally based on the solutions of the poor themselves, as the poor know best how they can find some air to “breathe free”. However, these schemes are but a drop in the ocean as long as we continue to distinguish architecture for the poor from architecture for the rich. Poverty has assumed dimensions which render it a universal problem. It is a public matter which unites us all and to which architecture, as a coherent form of thought and action, must adapt – similarly to the way Ledoux changed the face of architecture in the 18th century.
6. It would now be wrong to wish to resort to the scientific formulae of the Modern: modernisation would only lead to a Pruitt-Igoe-à-gogo. Meanwhile, it would be equally incorrect to point the finger and remind the architects of spectacle of their duties: moral appeals would do nothing for the under-privileged and only increase enjoyment of the merciless nature of the spectacle. Instead, we must call into question the whole aesthetic of architecture of spectacle, together with the theories that have built up around it. Of course, we cannot hold architecture responsible for intentions that someone pursues in connection with it. However, if architecture only takes notice of the interests of the few and neglects the needs of a large section of the population – soon to be the majority – then we are indeed justified in questioning the logic, “the calibre and the quality”25 of this architecture. Then architecture has become the victim of its own aesthetic. Under these circumstances, architecture is no longer something on a higher plane – namely a type of spiritualisation of building. Architecture is then diametrically opposed to what it could really achieve – constructing the world on a somewhat more humane basis. From an aesthetic point of view, the architectural spectacles in Dubai, Guadalajara, Kuala Lumpur, St. Petersburg and so on are worse than the ugliest prefabricated buildings on the bleakest edges of cities. They constitute one of the greatest debacles in the history of architecture. They can only be described in terms of an internally-focused colonisation process which deploys architecture as one of its most efficient weapons systems.
What we therefore need is a need type of aesthetic thought – one which does not attempt to drown out the noise of the precarious conditions with the tumult surrounding its own spectacular form. If we intend to do something to stop the state of war in the cities worsening and to combat increasing poverty, then perhaps our actions should be based on the principles of Ledoux. Just as he took the precarious conditions of the time as a starting point in his work, the architects of today should be encouraged to develop their aesthetic resources and tactics to combat the precarious conditions of our era.
What can be done?
1. Build stages – just as Ledoux constructed stages for a public that is still waiting in the wings. In his projects for the poor, he rejected all the principles of representative architecture and instead staged a theatre of production. Many have chosen to see indications of a proto-fascist mobilisation of the masses in this aestheticisation of the political. However, in point of fact it is something completely different, something which is vital, particularly in connection with the exclusion of the majority of the population. Architecture must become involved in politics, not in order to support political programmes, but rather in order to incorporate its own potential into the discussion regarding being seen and having a voice in public. Here it is a matter of mobilising the masses from the dark corners and bringing them into the public spotlight. As Jacques Rancière writes in The Politics of Aesthetics: “The real must be fictionalized in order to be thought”.26 Architecture in this sense is a means to challenge the ruling social order in the name of the excluded majority. Instead of obstructing the public space with spectacular architecture in the usual manner, projects must be developed which give the masses space to breathe freely. The aesthetic regime of architecture of spectacle must be countered with another aesthetic regime which is able to infiltrate the division of space which has been usual up until now.
2. Use the notion of less – just as Ledoux drew inspiration of the work of woodsmen, foresters and charcoal burners in order to find a new form of architectural expression. The architecture which embraces the notion of less is a “minor architecture” following the concept put forward by Deleuze and Guattari, who referred to “minor literature”.27 This architecture is not minor because of its size, but rather because it renounces the representative major functions of architecture in the service of the ruling political order and global companies. A minor architecture speaks the high-level languages of architecture – whether of the classical order or high-tech– only poorly, rather like foreign languages. Instead of being the highest linguistic “expression of a society’s self-image”,28 it forges the tools for another consciousness and another sensibility. It is more on the side of conventional building and, like this, is performative rather than representative. It aims to satisfy needs instead of highlighting the extent to which they have been satisfied. The performance of minor architecture relates to the representation of major architecture much as a shadowy order relates to the ruling order. Understood in this way, minor architecture challenges the sanctioned order. It is like a dance where the partners are socially committed thought and sanctioned knowledge. Fine-tuning is good for public servants and artisans, yet for architects it is vital to develop the potential of a society, to “make it dance” – here and now.
3. Think in a utopian manner – just as, for Ledoux, utopia was not some kind of final destination, but rather the next stop on our way, which can be reached directly after this one. The Chaux project does not bring some timeless paradise where every social problem is solved to the debate. His pragmatic approach to utopian thought is linked to Fredric Jameson’s description of a “model railway of the mind”.29 The American cultural theorist wrote that we should think of “garages, Mecano, Lego, tinkering with and piecing together all types of things”. Through this process, the hard crust of existing thought is broken. You are tempted to change something here, try something different there, it is not clear from the outset precisely whether it will be successful, you try, it fails, you try it again. A utopian and a pragmatic spirit can be seen in the manner that existing reality is mined to produce something new. Both sit concealed at the edges of a banal reality and can only faintly be ascertained through the haze of the everyday. However, precisely because of their informal character, they are closer to people’s hopes of another, better world than is any architectural spectacle, no matter how great, with which all opportunities will ultimately be obstructed for the benefit of one single possibility – which is often subsequently revealed to be the worst imaginable.|
TRADUÇÃO (DO ALEMÃO) DE TRADUCTA
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Original text published, in german, in figurationen; Gener Literatur Kultur. Nr.1, Vol.8, 2007
1 See Claude-Nicolas Ledoux. L’Architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art, des mœurs et de la legislation. Nördlingen : Uhl, 1981, p. 104-106. (or. 1804).
Here in after, references to this volume are inserted into the text with page numbers.
2 Sigfried Giedion. Befreites Wohnen. Dorothee Huber, ed. Frankfurt am Main : Syndikat, 1985, p. 11. (Original published: 1929).
3 Le Corbusier. Ausblick auf eine Architektur. Braunschweig : Vieweg & Sohn, 1982. (Bauwelt-Fundamente; 2). Tít. orig. Vers une architecture (Original published: 1922).
4 Hans Schmidt. Das Bauen ist nicht Architektur. Werk. Nº 14 (1927), p. 139-142.
5 [Le Corbusier]. La charte d‘Athènes. [Paris] : Plon, 1943.
6 José Luis Sert. Can Our Cities Survive? Cambridge, Massachusets : Harvard University Press, 1942, p. 4.
7 Jane Jacobs. Tod und Leben grosser amerikanischer Städte. Berlin : Ullstein, 1965. (Bauwelt Fundamente; 4). (Original published: 1961).
8 Alexander Mitscherlich. Die Unwirtlichkeit unserer Städte, Anstiftung zum Unfrieden.Frankfurt am Main : Suhrkamp-Verlag, 1965. (Edition Suhrkamp; 123).
9 Colin Rowe; Fred Koetter. Collage City. Basel : Birk-häsuer, 1984, p.12. Tít. orig. Collage City. (Original published: 1978).
10 Charles Jencks. The language of post-modern architecture. New York : Rizzoli, 1987, p.9 (Original published: 1977).
11 Loïc Wacquant. The return of the repressed. Monu. (Jun. 2006), p. 6-18.
12 Manfredo Tafuri. L’Architecture dans le boudoir: the language of criticism and the criticism of language. Oppositions. Nº 3 (1974), p. 37-62.
13 K. Michael Hays. Critical Architecture. Between Culture and Form. Perspecta. Nº 21 (1984), p. 14-30.
14 Robert Somol; Sarah Whiting. Notes around the Doppler Effect and other moods of Modernism. Perspecta.
Nº 33 (2002), p. 72-77.
15 United Nations Human Settlements Programme, UN-Habitat. The state of the world’s cities, 2004/2005: globalisation and urban culture. London : Earthscan, 2005, p. 5.
16 Mike Davis. Planet of slums. London : Verso, 2006,
p. 102-106.
17 Eyal Weizman. The evil architects do. In: Rem Koolhaas/ /AMOMA. Content. Koln : Taschen, 2004, p. 60-63.
18 Naomi Klein. No logo: no space, no choice, no jobs. London : Flamingo, 2001.
19 Op. cit. United Nations Human Settlements Programme, UN-Habitat, p. 16 (Cap.: The millenium development goals and urban sustainability).
20 Mike Davis. Op. cit., p. 2.
21 Rem Koolhaas. Lagos Wide & Close. 2002. Disponível em http://www.frif.com/new2003/lag.html
(Documentary video, Direction: Bregtie van der Haak).
22 Yona Friedman. Arguments for a poor world. In: Dreams and conflicts: the dictatorship of the viewer. Francesco Bonami e Maria Luisa Frisa, ed. Veneza : La Biennale di Venezia, 2003, p. 255.
23 Emma Lazarus. The New Colossus. In: John Hollander, ed. Selected Poems. New York : Library of America, 2005. (American poets project, 16), p. 57 (Original published: 1887). [“Guardai terras antigas, a vossa pompa histórica!”, grita ela/Com lábios silenciosos. “Dai-me os vossos fatigados, os vossos pobres,/As vossas massas encurraladas, ansiosas por respirar liberdade,/A miserável ralé das vossas costas apinhadas./Mandai-me os sem-abrigo, os arremessados pelas tempestades,/Pois eu ergo o meu farol junto ao portal dourado.”]
24 Yona Friedman. L’architecture de survie: une philosophie de la pauverté. Paris : L’Eclat, 2003, p. 182-183.
25 Kurt W. Forster. Architecture: its shadows and its reflections. Metamorph/Focus. 9. International Architecture Exhibition. Veneza : Fondazione La Biennale, 2004, p. 13.
26 Jacques Rancière. The politics of aesthetics: the distribution of the sensible. London, New York : Continuum, 2006, p. 38. Tít. orig. Le partage du sensible: esthétique et politique.
(Original published: 2000).
27 Gilles Deleuze; Félix Guattari. Kafka: Für eine kleine Literatur. Frankfurt : Suhrkamp, 1976. 807 p. Tít. orig.: Kafka: pour une littérature mineure. (Original published: 1975).
28 Vittorio Magnago Lampugnani. Neue Perspektiven für den Städtebau. Tages Anzeiger. Nº 30 (Aug. 2005), p. 49.
29 Fredric Jameson. The politics of utopia. New Left Review. Nº 25 (2004), p. 40. (Original published: The language of post-modern architecture. New York : Rizzoli, 1977).