Carlo Scarpa: The Latest Architecture and News

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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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.

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."

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