Representation of Places: Reality and Realism in City Design - Couverture rigide

Bosselmann, Peter

Couverture rigide

ISBN 10 : 0520206584 ISBN 13 : 9780520206588

Editeur : University of California Press, 1998

Synopsis

People live in cities and experience them firsthand, while urban designers explain cities conceptually. In "Representation of Places" Peter Bosselmann takes on the challenging question of how designers can communicate the changes they envision in order that 'the rest of us' adequately understand how those changes will affect our lives. New modes of imaging technology - from two-dimensional maps, charts, and diagrams to computer models - allow professionals to explain their designs more clearly than ever before. Although architects and planners know how to read these representations, few outside the profession can interpret them, let alone understand what it would be like to walk along the streets such representations describe. Yet decisions on what gets built are significantly influenced by these very representations. A portion of Bosselmann's book is based on innovative experiments conducted at the University of California, Berkeley's Visual Simulation Laboratory. In a section titled 'The City in the Laboratory', he discusses how visual simulation was applied to projects in New York City, San Francisco, and Toronto. The concerns that Bosselmann addresses have an impact on large segments of society, and lay readers as well as professionals will find much that is useful in his timely, accessibly written book.

A propos du livre

À propos de l'auteur

Peter Bosselmann is Professor of Urban Design at the College of Environmental Design, University of California, Berkeley.

À propos de la quatrième de couverture

"Bosselmann's extensive academic explorations and professional experience make him the acknowledged expert to guide us in this new era of design simulation. Besides his broad knowledge of media, he brings to his subject a genuine concern for design quality and social responsibility. . . . [This book] is likely to become required reading for anyone interested in design."—Robert S. Harris, FAIA, University of Southern California

À propos de la deuxième de couverture

"Bosselmann's extensive academic explorations and professional experience make him the acknowledged expert to guide us in this new era of design simulation. Besides his broad knowledge of media, he brings to his subject a genuine concern for design quality and social responsibility. . . . [This book] is likely to become required reading for anyone interested in design."Robert S. Harris, FAIA, University of Southern California

Extrait. © Reproduit sur autorisation. Tous droits réservés.

Representation of Places: Reality and Realism in City Design

By Peter Bosselmann

University of California Press

Copyright © 1998 Peter Bosselmann
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0520206584
Concept and Experience: Two Views of the World

Pictures do not mimic what we see. In fact, no optical system exists to mimic the tasks performed by our eyes, although now, more than 150 years after the invention of photography, we assume that photography truthfully records the world around us. But photography is based on a convenient geometric fiction called "central projection." Picture taking, film, television recording, and eye-level drawings rendered by hand or computer all rely on the concept of central projection, or linear perspective, a technique that offers a somewhat limited representation of reality.

These limitations have been with us since Filippo Brunelleschi (1377–1466) carried out an experiment associated with the discovery of linear perspective,1

Rudolf Arnheim, "Brunelleschi's Peep Show," Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 41 (1978): 57-60.

a method for representing a place in a manner that approximates reality. This artisan-engineer gave Florence the magnificent dome (1420–1436) of the cathedral, the first such engineering accomplishment in the Western world since Roman antiquity. He was also a painter. Much has been written about his experiment with a painting—what Rudolf Arnheim calls Brunelleschi's peep show. A decade prior to the construction of the dome, Brunelleschi had painted from the portal of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore the view of the Baptistery San Giovanni di Firenze. Apparently he executed the painting in perfect linear perspective. It is known that he painted the picture on a wooden panel, although there is much speculation in art-historical literature about both the method Brunelleschi used to produce it and the date he finished it.2

See Samuel Y. Edgerton, The Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective (New York: Basic Books, 1975), who estimates 1425; Martin Kemp, Geometrical Perspective from Brunelleschi to Desargues (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), who gives the date as prior to 1413; and Michael Kubovy, The Psychology of Perspective in Renaissance Art (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), who cites a source setting the date between 1401 and 1409.

The painting is lost, and the method used was not recorded until after his death.

According to his biographer Antonio Manetti, Brunelleschi's demonstration went as follows:

He [Brunelleschi] had made a hole in the panel on which there was his painting. … The hole was as small as a lentil on the painting side of the panel, and on the back it opened pyramidically, like a woman's straw hat, to the size of a ducat or a little more. He wished the eye to be placed at the back, where it was large, with one hand bringing it close to the eye and with the other holding a mirror opposite, so that there the painting came to be reflected back … which in being seen, it seemed as if the real thing was seen. I have had the painting in my hand and have seen it many times in these days, so I can give testimony.3

Antonio di Tuccio Manetti, in John White, The Birth and Rebirth of Pictorial Space (Boston: Boston Book and Art Shop, 1967), 116.

Indeed, Brunelleschi's contemporaries must have been stunned when he took viewers to the exact spot where he had painted the Baptistery. Brunelleschi had set up his painted panel on an easel, five feet inside the cathedral's main portal.4

According to Manetti, "some three braccia inside the middle door of Santa Maria del Fiore," in ibid., 114.

He had drilled a hole in the center of his picture to control the position of the viewer's eye. Brunelleschi asked his viewer to look from the back of his painting through the hole into a mirror that he held approximately a foot from the painted side of the panel. The observer saw the reflection of the painting in the mirror. When the mirror was lowered, the observer could confirm the painting's accuracy by comparing the painted scene with the reality framed by the dark doorway of the cathedral. When the mirror was raised, the observer would again see the reflection of the painting. A person standing where Brunelleschi stood when he painted the image could see the Baptistery in the center of the scene, the Misericordia on the left, and the Canto alla Paglia on the right.

Brunelleschi sought to increase the realism of the picture: "For as much of the sky as he had to show, that is where the walls in the picture vanished into the air, he put burnished silver, so that the air and the natural skies might be reflected in it; and thus also the clouds which are seen in that silver are moved by the wind, when it blows."5

Ibid.

More than a decade after the experiment, Leon Battista Alberti credited Brunelleschi as the inventor of linear perspective and called it constructione legitima .6

See Leon Battista Alberti [1402-1472], Della Pittura (1435).

Now, nearly six centuries later, art historians believe Brunelleschi's experiment "ultimately was to change the modes, if not the course of Western history."7

Edgerton, Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective, 40.

Brunelleschi demonstrated a technique for representing the world as we see it. We can only speculate that the late-fourteenth-century invention of flat mirror glass, produced on the Venetian island of Murano, gave him the idea of a two-dimensional representation of the multidimensional world around him.

Since Brunelleschi, instructions in perspective generally start like those in Alberti's Della Pittura : "First of all, on the surface on which I am going to paint, I draw a rectangle of whatever size I want, which I regard as an open window through which the subject to be painted is to be seen."8

Quoted in ibid., 42.

In Brunelleschi's experiment, the frame of the cathedral door (today, as in Brunelleschi's day, 3.80 meters wide) was his "window." The distance between the doorway and the exact place where the picture was painted was approximately 1.75 meters. The two-to-one ratio of door width to distance means that a person standing where Brunelleschi stood to paint and looking out toward the piazza could take in a 90-degree view between the uprights of the door.9

Manetti, in White, Birth and Rebirth, 114.

Such explicit instructions guide an effort to re-create what Brunelleschi's painting must have shown and what could be seen through the hole in it. The re-creation of Brunelleschi's experiment clarifies the shortcomings of linear perspective.

What is most noticeable when the cathedral's heavy doors swing open (they open only on special occasions) is the immediate presence of the Baptistery, with the morning sun illuminating the splendid gold panels of the Portal del Paradiso. When the eyes grow accustomed to the scene, they begin to take in the details of the Baptistery (the arches, the inlaid marble) and the people in front of the Portal del Paradiso who, noticing the open cathedral doors, step inside, as if that were the normal way to enter the cathedral. All this the spectator sees while looking at the facade of the Baptistery. The square to the right and left is visible, but only with a turn of the head. Similarly, the sky above the Baptistery can be seen only by tilting back the head.

Portal del Paradiso, 17-degree horizontal angle, 80 mm focal length.

View from the Portal of Santa Maria del Fiore, taken with a 90-degree angle of view, 21 mm focal length (60 mm camera format).

A modern camera equipped with an adjustable zoom lens can reframe the view to take in everything Brunelleschi would have seen through the frame of the cathedral door. To take in the entire 90-degree field of view, the zoom lens would have to be adjusted to a 21 mm focal length.10

L.A. Mannheim, ed., The Focal Encyclopedia of Photography (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1969), defines "focal length" as the distance from the plane in which the lens forms an image of objects at infinity to the node of emission.

In the viewfinder (at 21 mm), however, the Baptistery appears farther away than it actually is, and the piazza more spacious. If the zoom lens is adjusted until the dimensions of the Baptistery in the viewfinder are identical to those of the Baptistery as the eye sees it, that is, to a 65 mm focal length, the field of view in the viewfinder becomes much narrower—approximately 30 degrees, or one-third of the view seen through the cathedral door frame. Although the Baptistery appears at the same distance and size, one cannot take all of it in through the viewfinder.

Brunelleschi must have given distance perception serious consideration. If he wanted to verify the painting's accurate recording of the view, he must have concerned himself with the match between the objects in that view and their reflection in the mirror held up to the painting. Only if the mirror was held at the correct distance could there have been such a match. That distance would have depended on the size of the painting and the angle of the view. The view through the hole to the mirror image of the painting showed no more than what can be seen in a 30-degree cone of vision; that is, it included only slightly more than the portal of the Baptistery. The painting in all likelihood showed more; and if the hole in its back side was large enough, it might have been possible to move the eye, thus seeing the buildings and the sky Manetti so vividly described.

The experiment with an adjustable focal length demonstrates one of the shortcomings of a linear perspective as a two-dimensional recording of the three-dimensional world around us. The problem lies in its imposed conditions. To close one eye and hold the head still at a single predetermined point in space is not the normal way of looking at the world. Under such conditions, matters that relate to the distance and dimensions of objects cannot be judged with certainty.

Portal del Paradiso, 27-degree horizontal angle, 65 mm focal length.

Portal del Paradiso, 60-degree horizontal angle, 35 mm focal length.

Portal del Paradiso, composite view created from twenty images taken with a 27-degree horizontal angle, 65 mm focal length.

It would be possible to overcome some of the problems inherent in linear perspective by keeping the zoom lens fixed at 65 mm and using the camera to scan the scene. The resulting series of pictures would start at the Misericordia on the left, move toward the Baptistery and the Canto alla Paglia, and end where Via de Martelli meets the piazza on the right. This photographic survey would require a matrix of pictures and would scan the scene in four horizontal rows.

Photographic prints of these negatives at a size of 4 × 6 inches mounted on a large board show the full 90-degree field of view. If the photoboard is held at eye level, approximately 12 inches away, it shows the actual distance relationship the eye sees in the scene. The scene on the board can then be scanned more naturally with both eyes, which would not be limited to the narrow predetermined field of view seen in the viewfinder but could wander across the scene as they would if one were to stand in the actual place, looking at a slightly different perspective with each split-second move of the eyes. Painters of large canvases commonly practiced such multiple-station-point perspective. In a large urban scene like a view down Venice's Grand Canal, a Canaletto might give a detail its own focal

Multiple-station-point perspective.

point and vanishing lines, slightly different from those of the main scene. Such a painting has a stronger spatial effect on the viewer than even a very large photographic print. As the eyes of the viewer wander across the canvas, the picture places the viewer in the scene. The viewer appears to be part of the picture because with every move of the eyes, a correct perspective is seen.11

See David Hockney, "On Photography," lecture at the Victoria and Albert Museum (New York: André Emmerich Gallery, 1983).

The line drawing created from photographs taken through the portal of Santa Maria del Fiore captures the multiple station points of a 65 mm lens; it also captures time, showing how people opposite, in front of the Portal del Paradiso, move on. The reader, holding the drawing close to the eyes, can now judge the distance to the Baptistery and the dimensions of the structure more easily. The eye perceives a multitude of reference points, and therefore the viewer appears to be part of the scene.

Anyone interested in the dimensions of the square in front of the cathedral and the proportions of the buildings surrounding it, however, would be well advised to step out of the cathedral portal and stroll around the square. Much of the experience of such a stroll is taken in with the eyes. But all the senses work together in the experience of the square. The sense of touch registers the condition of the paving between the cathedral and the Baptistery. Body orientation conveys a sense of the proximity of walls, even those outside the field of view. Hearing is involved. Sound is reflected back by the buildings that frame the square. After taking such a stroll, one can look at the Baptistery from different angles and judge its dimensions more accurately than before, because these now relate to the dimensions of the body.

Map of Imola by Leonardo da Vinci, 1502, Royal Library at Windsor,
Codex Atlanticus, no. 12284. © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

Whereas the physical dimensions of the real world can be judged by direct experience, any future reality has to be modeled. It is not coincidental that the art of modeling was perfected at the time that linear perspective came into use. During the Renaissance it was common to build large and precise models of building designs. James Ackerman writes that Giuliano da Sangallo built a model of St. Peter's in Rome that was big enough for a person to stand inside.12

James S. Ackerman, The Architecture of Michelangelo (London: A. Zwemmer, 1964). The model mentioned here was included in an exhibition titled "The Representation of Architecture: The Renaissance, from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo," Palazzo Grassi, Venice, March-November 1994.

Brunelleschi's view tries to capture the world as the eye sees it. Almost ninety years after his experiment,

on the eve of the Renaissance, a second method of representing the world was perfected. Originally called ichnographia, or plan view, it is an abstraction of reality in which a place is viewed from above.

Certainly the plan view does not depict a city in the way it is experienced. This method of representation was first used, as it is used today, to show accurately the dimensions of streets and city blocks as well as the general layout of a city, with its relationship to surrounding places.

In the first known example of a plan view resembling modern city maps, Leonardo da Vinci drew the small town of Imola, located on Italy's Emilia Romana halfway between Bologna and Faenza.13

Leonardo's map of Imola, commissioned by Cesare Borgia, is preserved, together with field notes and sketches, in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, Codex Atlanticus, no. 12284.

Leonardo's map differs from plan diagrams like the early-ninth-century parchment of St. Gall. Although the historian Howard Saalman has traced the composition of cloisters, church, and chapter hall on the St. Gall map to the great colonnaded square of the Forum of Trajan in Rome, framed by a basilica and temples,14

Howard Saalman, Medieval Cities (New York: George Braziller, 1968).

the map itself represents neither historical reality nor a plan for building. It was an organizational scene that served as a guide in the layout of numerous abbeys from the ninth century on.

Leonardo da Vinci's Imola map showed actual conditions. In 1502 Cesare Borgia commissioned Leonardo to design repairs for the city's fortifications, ruined during a siege in 1499. As Architecto e Ingegnero Generale, Leonardo drew an image of this town that drastically departed from representations common at the time. Late medieval plans represented cities iconically. They showed a single perspective, with selected buildings chosen to symbolize the city, drawn in elevation. These buildings were distinguished in size according to their chiefly religious virtue, not their actual dimensions.

For Leonardo, such a representation was of little use. New ballistic methods required attention to a fortification's plan dimensions and the accurate measurement of angles. For determining exact bearings, Leonardo used a transit, known since antiquity, and a magnetic compass,15

"Leonardo's transit consisted of a circular, dial-like surface with its circumference divided into eight parts corresponding to the eight winds, each further subdivided into eight degrees. At the center of this disc was a magnetic compass. With the addition of a movable right vane, also pivoted at the center, the transit was identical in all its essentials to a modern surveying instrument" (John Pinto, "Origins and Development of the Ichnographic City Plan," Journal of the Society of Architecture Historians 35, no. 1 [1976]: 40).

an invention

The Plan of St. Gall, early ninth century.
© Stiftsbibliothek, St. Gall, Switzerland.

Imola in comparison, 1502 and 1984. The 1984 plan view (shaded area) is imposed on the 1502 line drawing by Leonardo.

from China that had come to the Western world through the Arabian Sea. Leonardo also used a modified odometer, a device known since Roman times, to measure distance.16

Leonardo's measuring wheel, an odometer, is described and illustrated in the Codex Atlanticus, fol. 312 V-a and fol. I 4-a, dated 1497 and 1500, respectively. Alberti describes the forerunner of Leonardo's invention in the Ludi matematici, chap. 18. It is derived from a similar instrument described by Vitruvius in De architectura, 10.9.

With these three instruments, Leonardo surveyed Imola and constructed an ichnographic city plan.17

Pinto, "Origins and Development." The term "ichnographia" was first used by Vitruvius, De architectura, 1.2.2.

He was inspired by Leon Battista Alberti's Descripto Urbis Romae , a brief description of a survey of Rome, written between 1443 and 1455. Although no example of Alberti's survey work has survived, his methodology is clear in another of his writings, the Ludi matematici . Apparently Alberti did not use a compass but wrote that any point in a city can be fixed by establishing its polar coordinates. Using Alberti's technique, Leonardo drew a polar grid, with the town square at the center of the map, locating all plan measurements of the town on the grid.

The Imola map is the earliest surviving artifact of the Renaissance revolution in cartographic techniques. Every element of the town in the ground plan is represented as if it could be seen from an infinite number of viewpoints, each perpendicular to the earth's surface. Every point on the map is rendered equidistant from the observer. Modern high-altitude photogrammetry of the town largely concurs with Leonardo's map, confirming Leonardo's astonishing achievement. Since no written document of Leonardo's technique has survived, we rely on a letter Raphael wrote while in service to Pope Leo X, proposing to map Rome according to Leonardo's specifications.18

For the full text of Raphael's letter to Pope Leo X, see V. Golzio, Raffaello, sei documenti (Vatican City, 1936). For an English translation, see Carlo Pedretti, appendix to A Chronology of Leonardo da Vinci's Architectural Studies after 1500 (Geneva: E. Droz, 1962), 162-170.

Raphael died in 1520, before he could finish his work.

New ways of looking at reality, however, can provoke surprising reactions from those unaccustomed to them. One sixteenth-century source reports that Leonardo was ridiculed when he presented an unsolicited map of ancient Rome to the courtiers of Pope Leo X:

In telling you something about the kind of consideration that courtiers have for men of ingenuity and draftsmanship, I recall a wonderful cartoon which is impressed in my memory. A gentile intelletto had portrayed Rome as it was in antiquity, not as it is now; he presented his work to the courtiers believing that they would express their enthusiasm for it, as it is customary of people who have no other way of prising themselves than that of giving credit to the ingenuity of others. And while he was explaining to them how he had subdivided the city into seven parts, that is in as many parts as there are hills, they started to let the wax of their candles pour down on the drawing. He was so intent on his explanation that he did not notice that, and he went on saying that this is the Pantheon, which Marcus Agrippa dedicated to all the Gods, and this is the Templum Pacis, and here are the Baths of Diocletian, here the Antoniane, and again: through this passage, above such great columns, one could go from the main Forum to the Campidoglio. In the meantime the wax of the candles continued to pour down, and he continued to go on by saying: here in the Vatican was the foundation of the Domus Aurea of Nero, here is the bridge of Horace, here Hadrian's sepulchre, which is now the Castle of S. Angolo, and from which one could watch the bellum navale. And when he arrived to point out the Colosseum, the courtiers raised their candles pretending to praise the Ancients. Our good man continued his explanation, pointing out the places of the performances of the gladiators and of the fights of the wild beasts, and giving measurements of aqueducts, of painted grottoes,

Detail, map of Rome, 1736–1748. Giambattista Nolli, The Pianta grande di Roma of Giambattista Nolli in Facsimile ,
Highmount, N.Y.: J.H. Aronson, 1984. Note the Theater of Pompeii in the upper middle of the map between the numbers 635 and 633.

of the Metae, of obelisks, of the Column of Trajan, of the arches of Titus, of Septimius, of Constantine, and of all the others. Then he explained how many colossi and marble statues there were in Rome, and how many statues of bronze and gold; really, as I can tell you, he was explaining every detail in a marvellous way. And the courtiers, who as architects of human suffering could understand the Ionic, the Corinthian, and the Composite Orders in the same way as they could understand Chaldean, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, set fire to one of the sides of the cartoon with their candles, breaking into such laughter that one could only feel utter disgust at their behavior.19

The narrative text is from a contemporary, Pietro Aretino, Ragionamento della Corti, Venice, 1538, quoted in Pedretti, Chronology, 161-162.

More than two centuries after Leonardo completed his Imola map, Giambattista Nolli undertook his famous survey of Rome. The map that resulted from his work is a high point of mapmaking. Nolli began as early as 1736 and finished in 1748. He started work on the survey of Rome after being given an extraordinary pass by the Vicar of Rome, Cardinal Gandagni, that reads: "Since His Holiness

Rome, 1991, drawn at the scale of the Nolli map using the same graphic conventions.

has given permission for the publication of a new, exact Map of the City of Rome, and since the geometra surveyor assigned to this task, Giambattista Nolli by name, must have access and entry to all the Basilicas, churches and convents, even those of Cloistered Nuns, in order to take the necessary measurements, His Holiness orders that the above-named geometra be permitted to enter with 4 or 5 Companions."20

Clemente Faccioli, "Giambattista Nolli (1701-1756) e la sua gran Pianta di Roma del 1748," Studi Romani 14 (1966): 418; quoted and trans. R. Ingersoll, Design Book Review 8, no. 22 (1986).

The first use of Nolli's map appears to have been political. In 1744 a print of it was used to redefine the borders of the city's fourteen administrative districts.21

Giambattista Nolli, Rome 1748, intro. essay Allan Ceen (Highmount, N.Y.: J.H. Aronson, 1984).

In his surprisingly accurate map, Nolli employs a simple and effective convention of using voids to represent publicly accessible space and solid black to represent the coverage of buildings on a given block. His map holds up well in comparison with the detailed modern maps made for the 1991 Atlas of Rome,22

Atlante di Roma, 2d ed. (Venice: Marsilio, 1991).

though Nolli made some interesting mistakes. For example, the representation of the Roman ruin of the Theater of Pompeii is largely Nolli's invention. (The theater is situated in the upper middle portion of the Nolli map.) The location is correct, and the large arch can still

Detail of a map of Rome produced at the time of the Emperor Septimus Severus, 203–211 A.D. Only fragments of the map have
survived. Traced and reproduced at the same scale as the Nolli map. Note the location of the Theater of Pompeii and its orientation
in the upper portion of the map.

Location of ruins according to an archaeological survey. Source: Carta de Centro Storico di Roma, 1988 (1:1000).
Three survey maps were used to reproduce the detail shown here: Largo Argentina, Isola Tiberina, and Campo des Flori.

be seen in the fabric of Rome today, but the theater opens to the east, not the north.

Over the centuries, the Nolli map has sustained its appeal. The map reads like a written language, describing the dimensions of streets and piazzas, interiors of churches, public buildings, courts, and gardens. Nolli's graphic convention produces an abstraction of physical reality and, like all abstractions, conveys selective information.

Both methods of representation, Leonardo da Vinci's and Brunelleschi's, have been developed over the past six centuries. Brunelleschi's constructione legitima made possible the invention of photography, which led to motion pictures, which led to television and now digital image recording. Leonardo's cartography developed into modern mapmaking, with photogrammetry used to record selected points through triangulation.

These two methods, fundamentally the only means available for depicting the world, represent two ways of looking at and understanding that world. In the development of a human individual and of our civilization, Brunelleschi's painting represents the earlier view—an understanding of the world based on the evidence of the senses. We believe those things to exist and to be true which we can take in through our senses. Leonardo's map symbolizes our need to go beyond direct experience, to explain the structure of things, the theory behind the phenomena we can see. Both methods of representation made possible design and planning work as we know it today, remote from the actual place of construction.

It is not entirely fair to associate the two men with opposing methods of representation. We admire Leonardo's sensuous paintings and sculptures as much as his meticulous engineering studies and scientific records. Likewise, the concept governing Brunelleschi's dome above Santa Maria del Fiore still inspires engineering students. Creative achievement draws from both concept and experience.

The chapters that follow suggest that the two methods of representation—map and perspective—introduced a division in professional thinking about places between the clarity of abstractions (the view from above) and the befuddling richness and confusion of the ground-level view. These two mind-sets rarely achieve balance; but when they do, the effect is that of a bull's-eye hit.

Continues...

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Détails de l'édition

• Éditeur: University of California Press
• Date d'édition: 1998
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN 10: 0520206584
• ISBN 13: 9780520206588
• Reliure: Tapa dura
• Nombre de pages: 232
• Coordonnées du fabricant: non disponible
• Personne responsable: non disponible