![7
In the mimetic world in which Dürer worked, there was little question that per-
spective was, epistemologically speaking, a one way street of resemblance that, like
the apparatus’s string, connected real things like lutes with more or less satisfactory
representations of those things like perspective drawings on gridded surfaces. One
of the achievements of digital visualization techniques, which are based on mathe-
matical points arranged in X-Y-Z coordinate systems, was to take advantage of the
computability of those points to reverse the setup, such that architects now fre-
quently design in perspective on their computer screens, rather than limit its employ-
ment to what are sometimes still called “presentation” (i.e., representational, rather
than design) drawings. Perspective has moved from being primarily a means of
representing something already known, to a technique for designing what is not yet
known. More than that, however, in a digital environment perspective is reversible.
Changes in a perspective view can automatically generate changes in the underlying
model, as well as the other way around.
The state of affairs that enabled this reversibility is captured vividly in another
technical diagram, from 1948. That is Claude Shannon’s “Schematic Diagram of a
General Communication System” (Fig. 1.2), from his landmark article, “A
Fig. 1.1 Albrecht Dürer, The Second Perspective Apparatus (Albrecht Dürer: Underweisung der
Messung, [trans. as The Painter’s Manual], 1525, p. 393)
1 Points of Departure](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-22-320.jpg)
![36
BIM-
coordinated projects seek to bring into focus the blurry contours of the BIM
project, and the considerable efforts we invest in building it into the dominant
infrastructure for architectural production.25
2.5
Image One—Confronting a New Physical, Social,
and Cognitive Distance
The world runs on paper —Jack Glymph (Pollack 2006)
While BIM processes are premised on the idea of creating a simpler way of man-
aging conflicts during both building design and construction, some actors find it
unnecessarily complicated and prone to generate further conflicts. For these skep-
tics, BIM processes—premised on new technologies as well as on new actors to
manage these technologies—are obstructive to traditional forms of design
coordination.
Jacques, an engineer working as a project manager in the construction of a large
shopping mall in a Middle Eastern city, struggled to come to terms with what he
perceived as a new, digitized bureaucracy of design coordination. His skeptical
stance towards the new process is summed up with his opinion that “new software
and new technologies create[d] new ways for possible misunderstandings”
(Interview, May 16, 2011). Used to a process of project coordination based on 2-D
drawings printed on paper, where people “sit in a room with the decision makers,
each with their own set of drawings, and together discuss and figure out solutions
for the issues” he has now to engage, under BIM, with a new technology and a new
process based on digital 3-D models. Rather than identifying issues and marking
them on paper drawings, Jacques has to confront a new practice of coordination
where meeting participants gather around and coordinate their practices around a
digital model.
However, in the Mall project, cultural factors and contractual hierarchies chal-
lenge the centrality of the simulation and the authority of those who advocate for it,
creating tension (compare where the simulation is located in Figs. 2.2 and 2.3). Not
without a sense of irony, Jacques describes the 3-D images produced by BIM spe-
cialists as “nice” and “impressive,” only to remark that they are useless in the con-
struction site—where only 2-D drawings are in fact used. Since the workers on site
relied exclusively on 2-D drawings, any inconsistencies between the 3-D model and
the 2-D drawings made coordination difficult and threatened impending construc-
tion deadlines. To be effective, decisions taken by design coordinators on the 3-D
25
The actors and events I describe exist within the larger contexts of the desert city and Emirate of
Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates, and the Middle East. Far from the relative technological
comfort zones of Angloamerica and Western Europe—where BIM processes and technologies are
closer to what Paul Edwards terms a “naturalized background.”
D. Cardoso Llach](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-50-320.jpg)
![38
skeptical view, the new bureaucracy of project coordination relies on obscure inter-
faces, intricate channels of verification and approval, and on a new, unwelcome
middleman. This bureaucracy of project coordination establishes how information
circulates within a project, for example prescribing how design coordinators are to
communicate information about design problems to other members of the organiza-
tion. Distinct actors enact different roles such as inspection, verification, and model-
ing, and shepherd conflict information from conflict detection to, ideally, resolution
(Fig. 2.4).
Furthermore, Jacques thinks that the focus on the simulation changes the dynam-
ics of coordination meetings, taking away from less structured verbal interactions
around physical drawings:
“In the days before BIM, when there was an important clash people would sit together,
would call each other, set a meeting, sit together, have a good fight, either the MEP would
lower his duct or the architect would lower his ceiling, but after the meeting, after the fight,
there would be a solution, so…”
The new dynamics of coordination with BIM baffles Jacques, who sees it as a
deterrent to what he construes as more the informal and direct verbal exchanges
distinctive of traditional coordination. In his view, the distance introduced by the
new technical expert, the BIM specialist or coordinator, induces passivity among
participants and creates opportunities for misunderstanding:
“[In a BIM meeting] it always ends up in “we will check” or “we will send you an email”
and then [the report is] sent to five different persons and they all have to say nay or yay, and
there’s always someone who comments, or who leaves the back door open…”
Jacques’ reluctance to BIM illustrates a familiar irritation towards new techno-
logical propositions. He saw computer simulations purporting to channel design
and construction coordination as foreign territories where key actors are no longer
in touch with the project’s information. Alienating key actors who do not have the
skills to read, create, or manipulate digital models, the new technical expert was
perceived as an obstructive gatekeeper and middleman. As a result, Jacques and
those who shared his skepticism refused to see BIM as a legitimate infrastructure
for coordination, and reverted back to habitual methods of trust-building and work.
Their frustration and resistance could easily be dismissed as a generational or tech-
nophobic quirk. However, it also inscribes pragmatism towards the fast-paced con-
text of construction sites. Here, the infrastructural impulse of BIM is contested by
an uneven landscape of technological literacy among the organizations and
participants, and by long standing traditions of visual communication, organization
and coordination work.
Accordingly, a parallel coordination process took place away from the three-
dimensional images produced by BIM specialists in the digital models (Fig. 2.5).
This parallel coordination occurred in different spaces, under different schedules,
and relied on each organization’s habitual forms of 2-D coordination.26
In light of
26
In the mall project, this was particularly true of the organization in charge of the Mechanical,
Engineering and Plumbing (MEP) systems.
D. Cardoso Llach](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-52-320.jpg)
![40
this parallel coordination process, the weekly BIM meetings appeared to many as a
legal formalism with dubious benefits on the overall project coordination. At its
most entangled, the two coordination processes operated in a sort of denial, failing
to acknowledge redundancies between the 2-D and 3-D coordination processes
(Fig. 2.6a). Summoned weekly to witness inevitably partial versions of a digital
model, trade people, client representatives, BIM consultants and project managers
discussed the conflicts represented in the simulation in events I have elsewhere
termed “liturgical” because of the participants’ standing commitment to BIM rituals
despite a lack of evidence to the their effectiveness (Cardoso Llach 2015b: 130).
During the final stages of the construction of the mall, however, after hundreds
such meetings had taken place, Jacques articulated a different view of BIM where
the computer simulation is not a prescriptive device but a reference tool—a refer-
ence for actions already taken on site and a record (instead of a vehicle) of coordina-
tion. He admitted that his frustration tempered when he started seeing the BIM as a
reference to the team. “…[N]ow that the BIM is behind us, BIM has become more
popular.” No longer seeing the simulation as an instrument purporting to discipline
and control, but as a recording tool to account for the actions already performed on
site, Jacques started to accept it, and the tensions loosened. The rhetorical relocation
of BIM “behind us” is a remarkable move. Jacques puts the computer simulation in
its place as a supportive device, decentering it and in fact dismantling its purported
central and infrastructural role within the project. Compare the coordination pro-
cesses as diagrammed in Fig. 2.6b, where the model is a verification and a reference
with no prescriptive power over the site or construction documents, with the process
as diagrammed in Fig. 2.6c, where the model is at the focus of coordination,
Fig. 2.5 Image of a conflict as reported by a BIM specialist in the mall project (Image by author)
D. Cardoso Llach](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-54-320.jpg)
![Ngoya (Angoy), kingdom, 5.6 S., 12.3 E., 42, 104
Ngulungu (Golungo), a region between the Lukala and Mbengu, 9.0 S.,
14.5 E., 149, 179
Ngumbiri, fetish, 49, 81
Ngunga mbamba, soba in Lubolo, 180
Ngunza a ngombe, chief in Ndongo, 164
Ngunza a mbamba, in Hako, 10.3 S., 15.3 E., 180
Ngwalema (Ngolome) a Kayitu, soba in Ngulungu, 179
Ngwalema a kitambu, the Ngolome akitambwa of V. J. Duarte (An. do
cons ultram., ii, p. 123), and the [Pg 222] Anguolome aquitambo of
Garcia Mendes, 9.1 S., 15.8 E., 143, 148
Njimbu, native name for cowries.
Njimbu a mbuji (Gimbo Amburi) a fetish place, about 5.9 S., 14.5 E.
Nkanda Kongo, of Girolamo of Montesarchio, is perhaps identical with
a modern village, Nkandu, 4.8 S., 14.9 E.
Nkandu, one of the four days of the Kongo week, and hence applied to
a place where a market is held on that day.
Nkishi. See Fetish.
Nkondo (Mucondo), district between Sonyo and Kibango, 16.7 S., 14.1
E., 131
Nkanga. See Cango.
Nkundi (Kundi), female chief in Kwangu, 4.7 S., 16.8 E., 126
Nkusu (Incussu), 26, district in Kongo, 6.7 S., 15.0 E., 126
Nogueira, A. F., quoted, 103, 194, 207
Nombo (Numbu), river, enters Xilungu Bay, 4.3 S., 11.4 E., 53
Nsaku (Caçuto) Cão’s hostage, 106, 108
Nsata, a district in Kongo, 7.8 S., 16.0 E., 125
Nsanda. See Banyan tree.
Nsanga, of Girolamo Montesarchio, is perhaps identical with a modern
village, Nsanga, 4.7 S., 15.2 E.
Nsela (Sheila), district, 11.3 S., 15.0 E., 180
Nsongo, a province of Mbata (Cavazzi, 6), 4.4 S., 16.5 E.?
Nsonso (Zucchelli, xvii, 3), a district above Nsundi, the capital of which
is Incombella (Konko a bela).
Nsoso (Nsusu), a province of Mbata, 6.7 S., 15.5 E.
Nsundi (Sundi), province of Kongo, capital perhaps, 5.2 S., 14.3 E., 109](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-56-320.jpg)
![Ntinu, King of Kongo, 102
Ntotela, title of King of Kongo, 102, 136
Nua Nukole (Nuvla nukole), river, (nua, mouth), 10.2 S., 15.4 E.
Numbi. See Nombo.
Nzari, or Nzadi, “great river,” applied to the river Kongo (Zaire) and its
tributaries.
Nzenza, said to be the proper name of the river Mbengu, and is also
the name of several districts, as Nzenza of Ngulungu, the chief
place of which is Kalungembo, [Pg 223] 9.2 S., 14.2 E. Nzenza means
river-margin; Nzanza, table-land.
Nzenza a ngombe, a Jaga in Ndongo, 168
Nzinga a mona (D. Antonio Carrasco), king, 176, 177
Nzinga mbandi ngola (D. Anna de Souza), the famous queen, 141,
142, 163, 164, 165, 173, 176, 181
Nzinga mbandi ngolo, kiluanji, 163
Oacco. See Hako.
Oarij. See Ari.
Ocango. See Kwangu.
Offerings, 77
Oliveira, Manuel Jorge d’, 149
Oliveira, bishop João Franco de, 177
Oloe, a river, which on the map of D. Lopez, flows past S. Salvador, and
enters the Lilunda (Lunda)—an impossibility. The river flowing past
S. Salvador is the Luezi.
Onzo, or Ozoni (D. Lopez), 8.2 S., 13.3 E.
Orta, Garcia d’, quoted, 119
Ostrich eggs, beads, 31. Mr. Hobley suggests to me that these may
merely be discs cut out of the shell of ostrich eggs and then
perforated, such as he saw used as ornaments in Kavirondo.
Ouuando, seems to be a region to the N. of Encoge and the river Loje.
Rebello de Aragão, p. 20, calls it Oombo (Wumbo) and says the
copper mines of Mpemba are situated within it. J. C. Carneiro (An.
do cons. ultr, ii, 1861, p. 172) says that the proper name is Uhamba
(pronounced Wamba) or Ubamba. Dapper calls it Oando
(pronounced Wando). Rev. Thos. Lewis tells me that the natives
pronounce d, b, and v quite indistinctly, and suggests Wembo. He](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-57-320.jpg)
![rejects Ubamba as a synonym. From all this we may accept Wembo,
Wandu, or Wanbo as synonymous. See Wembo.
Oulanga. See Wanga.
Outeiro, the “Hill,” a vulgar designation of S. Salvador.
Ozoni. See Onzo.
Pacheco, Manuel, 116, 139
Padrão, Cabo do, at Kongo mouth, 6.1 S., 12.4 E., 105, 107, 125
Palm cloth, 9, 31, 43, 50, 52
Palm oil, 7
Palm wine, 30, 32
[Pg 224] Palm trees, 69
Palmar, Cabo or Punta do, 5.6 S., 12.1 E.
Palmas, Cabo das, on Guinea coast, 2
Palongola, a village one mile outside S. Salvador (Cavazzi.) No such
village exists now.
Palongola, kilombo of Kasanji ka Kinjuri in Little Ngangela (Cavazzi, 42,
781, 793).
Pampus Bay, Dutch name given to S. Antonio Bay at Kongo mouth,
126
Pangu. See Mpangu.
Panzu. See Mpanzu.
Parrots, 54
Partridges, 63
Paul III, Pope, 113
Peacocks, sacred birds, 26
Peas, 67
Pechuel-Loesche, quoted, 18, 40, 43, 54, 55, 60, 66, 76, 104
Pedras da Ambuila, are the Pedras de Nkoski, or the “Roca” S. of the
Presidio de Encoge, 7.7 S., 15.4 E., 129
Pedro, King of Portugal, 181
Pedro I, King of Kongo, 117, 136
Pedro II, King of Kongo, 123, 137
Pedro III, King of Kongo, 131, 137
Pedro IV, King of Kongo, 130, 133, 137](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-58-320.jpg)
![Pedro Constantino, King of Kongo, 133, 138
Pedro, Dom, negro ambassador to Portugal, 110
Pegado, Captain Ruy, 175
Peixoto, Antonio Lopez, 19, 147
Peixoto, Manuel Freis, 176
Pelicans, 63
Pemba. See Mpemba.
Penedo de Bruto, 9.1 S., 13.7 E., 146
Pereira, Andre Fereira, 144, 148
Pereira, Luiz Ferreira, 149
Pereira, Manuel Cerveira, 37, 38, 39, 72, 156, 159, 161, 182, 188
Pete (puita), a musical instrument, 15, 21, 33
Pheasants, 63
Philip of Spain, King of Portugal, 121, 153, 169
Philip II, King of Portugal, 122
Phillips, R. C., quoted, xvii, 15, 17, 45
Pigafetta, quoted, x, 14, 42, 74, 122. See also Lopez.
Pimental, quoted, 16
[Pg 225] Pina, Ruy de, quoted, 104, 108
Pinda. See Mpinda.
Pinto, Serpo, quoted, 17
Pirates, 170, 175
Piri, the lowland of Luangu, inhabited by the Bavili.
Pitta, Antonio Gonçalves, 121, 159
Plata, Rio de la, 4
Plymouth, departure, 2
Poison ordeals, 59, 61, 73, 80
Pongo (Mpunga), an ivory trumpet, 15, 21, 33, 47, 86
Pontes, Vicente Pegado de, 175
Portuguese knowledge of inner Africa, xv;
massacre of Portuguese in Angola, 145;
in Kongo, 105
Poultry, 63
Prata, Serra da, the supposed “silver mountain” near Kambambe, 27](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-59-320.jpg)
![Prazo, Porto do, the bay of the Kongo.
Prohibitions. See Tabu.
Proyart, quoted, 64
Pumbeiros (from Pumbelu, hawker), in Kongo, the country of the
Avumbu, the trading district about Stanley Pool is known as
Mpumbu (Bentley). See p. 164 for “Shoeless Pumbeiros.”
Punga, an ivory trumpet. See Pongo.
Purchas, as editor, xi
Pungu a ndongo, 9.7 S., 15.5. E., 143, 178
Pygmies, 59
Quadra, Gregòrio de, 116
Quelle (Kuilu), river, 4.5 S., 11.7 E., 52
Quesama. See Kisama.
Queimados, serras, “burnt mountains” (D. Lopez), about 6.9 S., 15.3 E.
Quesanga, a fetish, 24
Qui-. See Ki.
Quigoango. See Kinkwango.
Quina (Kina), sepulture, 166
Quiôa. See Kiowa.
Quisama. See Kisama.
Quimbebe of D. Lopez, I believe ought to have been spelt Quimbēbe
(pron. Kimbembe), and to be identical with Cavazzi’s wide district of
Bembe (Mbembe). Its king, Matama, may have been the Matima
(Mathemo) near whose Kilombo Queen Nzinga was defeated, p.
166. The Beshimba, or Basimba (Nogueira, A raça negra, 1881, p.
98) have nothing to do with this Kimbembe, but may have given
origin [Pg 226] to the Cimbebasia of the missionaries. See Bembe.
Quingi. See Kinti.
Quinguego (D. Lopez). See Kingengo.
Rafael, king of Kongo, 130, 131, 137
Raft, built by Battell, 41
Rain-making in Luangu, 46
Rangel, D. Miguel Baptista, bishop, 122
Rapozo, Luiz Mendes, 147](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-60-320.jpg)
![San Salvador, 6.2 S., 14.3 E., the Portuguese name of the capital of [Pg
227] Kougo, also referred to simply as “Outeiro,” the Hill, on the
ground of its situation. The native names are Mbaji a ekongo (the
palaver place of Kongo), Mbaji a nkanu (the place of judgment),
Nganda a ekongo or Ngandekongo (the “town”) or ekongo dia
ngungo (town of church-bells, because of its numerous churches),
103, 109, 117, 123, 131, 134
S. Sebastian, in Brazil, 6
S. Thomé, island, 139
Schweinfurth, quoted, 67
Seals in the Rio de la Plata, 5
Seat. See Sette.
Sebaste, name given by Dias to Angola, 145
Sebastian, King of Portugal, 145
Sela. See Nsela.
Sequeira, Bartholomeu Duarte de, 177
Sequeira, Francisco de, 148
Sequeira, Luiz Lopez de, 129, 153, 177, 178, 180
Serra comprida, the “long range,” supposed to extend from C.
Catharina to the Barreira vermelha, 1.8 to 5.3 S.
Serrão, João, 146
Serrão, Luiz de, 144, 147, 148, 150, 188
Sette, 2.6 S., 10.3 E., 58
Shelambanza. See Shilambanze.
Shells, as ornaments, 31, 32
Shilambanza, 26, 86 (a village of the uncle of King Ngola), and
Axilambansa (a village said to belong to the king’s father-in-law),
are evidently the same place, situated about 9.8 S., 15.1 E.
Shingiri, a diviner, soothsayer.
Sierra Leone, supposed home of the Jaga, 19
Silva, Antonio da, 180
Silva, Gaspar de Almeida da, 182
Silva, Luiz Lobo da, 190
Silva, Pedro da, 182
Silva e Sousa, João da, 190
Silver and silver mines, 27, 113, 115, 122, 128, 140, 145](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-62-320.jpg)
![Silver mountain (Serra da Prata), supposed to be near Kambambe.
Simão da Silva, 112
Simões, Garcia, Jesuit, 143, 144, 202
Sims, Rev. A., quoted, 198
Singhilamento (Cavazzi, 189, 198), a divination, from Shing’iri, a
diviner.
[Pg 228] Sinsu, a district on Mbengu river, N. of Luandu (Dapper), 8.7 S.,
13.3 E.
Slave trade, 71, 96, 135, 157
Soares, João, Dominican, 110
Soares, Manuel da Rocha, 182
Soares, Silvestre, 124
Soba, kinglet, chief, only used S. of the river Dande.
Sogno, pronounced Sonyo, q.v.
Soledade, P. Fernando de, 108
Sollacango (Solankangu), a small lord in Angola, 14. Perhaps identified
with Kikanga, 8.9 S., 13.8 E.
Songa, village on the Kwanza, 9.3 S., 13.9 E., 37, 156
Songo, a tribe, 11.0 S., 18.0 E., 152, 166
Sonso, a province of Kongo (P. Manso, 244), to N.E. of S. Salvador, 15.7
S., 14.5 E.?
Sonyo (Sonho), district on lower Kongo, 6.2 S., 12.5 E., 42, 104 (origin
of name).
Sorghum, 67
Sotto-maior, Francisco de, 173, 189
Sousa, Balthasar d’Almeida de, 154
Sousa, Christovão Dorte de, 118
Sousa, Luiz de, quoted, 108
Sousa, Ruy de, 108
Souza, Fernão de, 168, 189
Souza, Gonçalo de, 108
Souza, João Corrêa de, 123, 164, 169, 187
Souza, João de, 108
Souza, José Antonio de, 134
Souza Chichorro, Luiz Martim de, 189](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-63-320.jpg)
![Soveral, Diogo, Jesuit, 118
Soveral, Francisco, bishop, 168
Sowonso (Sonso), village 14
Spelling, rules followed, xvii
Stanley, Sir H. M., quoted, 198
Sulphur discovered, 160
Sumba mbela’, district at the Kuvu mouth, 10.8 S., 14.0 E., 160. On
modern maps it is called Amboella.
Sumbe of Sierra Leone, are not Jaga, 150
Sun mountains (Serras do Sol) of D. Lopez, E. of Mbata and Barbela.
Sundi. See Nsundi.
Susa, district of Matamba, 7.8 S., 16.6 E.
Sutu Bay, 9.7 S., 13.3 E., 173
Tabu (prohibitions), 57, 78
Tacula (red sanders), 82
[Pg 229] Talama mtumbo (S. João Bautista), in Nzenza do Ngulungu,
9.2 S., 14.2 E.
Tala mugongo, mountain, 9.8. S., 17.5 E.
Tamba, district, 10.1 S., 15.5 E., 180
Tari (Tadi) ria nzundu, district in Kongo. A Tadi, 4.9 S., 15.2 E.; a
Nzundu, 5.6 S., 14.9 E.
Tavale, a musical instrument, 21
Tavares, Bernardo de Tavora Sousa, 190
Tavora, Francisco de, 178, 190
Teeth, filed or pulled out, 37
Teka ndungu, near Kambambe, 9.7 S., 14.6 E., 147
Temba ndumba, a daughter of Dongy, 152
Tenda (Tinda), town between Ambrize and Loze (D. Lopez).
Theft, its discovery, 56, 80, 83
Tihman, Captain, 125
Tin mines, 119
Tombo, village, 9.1 S., 13.3 E., 36, 145
Tondo (Tunda), a district, 10.0 S., 15.0 E., 26
Tovar, Joseph Pellicer de, quoted, 126](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-64-320.jpg)
![Treaties with Holland, 128, 175
Trials before a fetish, 56, 80, 83
Trombash, or war-hatchet, 34, 86
Tuckey, Capt., quoted, 77
Turner, Thomas, ix, 7, 71
Ukole, island in Kwanza, 9.7. S., 15.7 E.
Ulanga, battle of 1666, 7.7 S., 17.4 E., 127, 179
Ulhoa, D. Manuel de, bishop, 122
Ulolo. See Mpangu.
Umba, district of, 8.1 S., 16.7 E., 167
Vaccas, Bahia das, 12.6 S., 13.4 E., 16, 29, 160
Vamba, river. See Vumba.
Vamma, district at mouth of Dande (Dapper), 8.5 S., 13.3 E.
Vambu a ngongo, a vassal of Kongo, in the south, who sided with the
Portuguese. He seems to be identical with Nambu a ngongo, q. v.
Vasconcellos, Ernesto, quoted, 210
Vasconcellos, Luiz Mendes de, 163, 188
Vasconcellos da Cunha, Bartholomeu 127, 189
[Pg 230] Vasconcellos da Cunha, Francisco de, 167-170, 174, 179, 189
Veanga (Paiva Manso, 244), a prince of Kongo. Rev. Tho. Lewis
suggests Nkanga, E. of S. Salvador, 6.3 S., 14.6 E.
Vellez, João Castanhosa, 147
Velloria, João de, 149, 153, 155
Verbela, a river, perhaps the same as Barbela (Duarte Lopez).
Viéra, Antonio, 113
Vieira, Antonio, a negro, 119
Vieira, João Fernandez de, 173, 179, 183-185, 189
Vilhegas, Diogo de. See Antonio de Dénis.
Voss, Isaac, his work on the Nile, xv
Vumba (Va-umba, “at or near Umba,”) a river that runs to the Zaire
(Lopez), called Vamba (Cavazzi) = the Hamba (C. and I). Mechow
(Abh. G. F. E., 1882, p. 486) mentions a large river Humba to the E.
of the Kwangu; a river Wamba joins the lower Kwangu; another](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-65-320.jpg)
![Vamba joins the lower Zaire, and leads up to Porto Rico.
(Vasconcellos, Bol., 1882, 734); and there is a river Umba or Vumba
in E. Africa. (Vumba = to make pots, in Kongo). Vamba is perhaps
another name for the Kwangu.
Vunda, district of Kongo (Paiva Manso, 104); but Vunda means “to
rest,” and there are many of these mid day halting-places of the old
slave gangs, the villages where they passed the night being called
Vemadia, i.e., Ave Maria (Tho. Lewis). A village Vunda, on the
Kongo, 5.2 S., 13.7 E.
Walkenaer, quoted, 19, 22
Wamba, river. See Vumba.
[Pg 231] Wembo, or Wandu, district 7.5 S., 15.0 E., 123, 126. See
Ouuanda.
Welwitsch, quoted, 16, 17
West India Company, Dutch, 170
Wheat (maize), 7, 11
Wilson, Rev. Leighton, quoted, 134
Witchcraft, 61
Women, first European, at Luandu, 155
Wouters, a Belgian capuchin, 132
Ybare. See Ibare.
Yumba, country, 3.3 S., 10.7 E. 53, 82
Zaire, (Nzari, or Nzadi). See Kongo.
Zariambala, Nzari Ambala of Zucchelli, probably the Mamballa R. of
Turkey, which is the main channel of the Kongo in 12.9 E.
Zebra, and zebra tails, 33, 63
Zenze (Nzenza), river bank, Nzanza, table land, said to be the proper
name of the river M’bengu, and also the name of several districts.
Zenze angumbe. See Nzenza.
Zerri (Chera), N. of Mboma, 5.8 S., 13.1 E.
Zimba, the first Jaga, 152;
the Zimba are identical with the Maravi in East Africa, 150
Zimbo, soldiers of a Jaga (Cavazzi, 183).](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/3308319-250523222202-11c20e2c/85/The-Active-Image-Architecture-And-Engineering-In-The-Age-Of-Modeling-Sabine-Ammon-66-320.jpg)
The Active Image Architecture And Engineering In The Age Of Modeling Sabine Ammon
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- 5. Philosophy of Engineering andTechnology Sabine Ammon Remei Capdevila-Werning Editors The Active Image Architecture and Engineering in the Age of Modeling
- 6. Philosophy of Engineering and Technology Volume 28 Editor-in-chief Pieter E. Vermaas, Delft University of Technology, The Netherlands Editors Christelle Didier, Lille Catholic University, France Darryl Cressman, Maastricht University, The Netherlands Neelke Doorn, Delft University of Technology, The Netherlands Byron Newberry, Baylor University, U.S.A, Editorial advisory board Philip Brey, Twente University, The Netherlands Louis Bucciarelli, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, U.S.A. Michael Davis, Illinois Institute of Technology, U.S.A. Paul Durbin, University of Delaware, U.S.A. Andrew Feenberg, Simon Fraser University, Canada Luciano Floridi, University of Hertfordshire & University of Oxford, U.K. Jun Fudano, Kanazawa Institute of Technology, Japan Craig Hanks, Texas State University, U.S.A. Sven Ove Hansson, Royal Institute of Technology, Sweden Vincent F. Hendricks, University of Copenhagen, Denmark & Columbia University, U.S.A. Don Ihde, Stony Brook University, U.S.A. Billy V. Koen, University of Texas, U.S.A. Peter Kroes, Delft University of Technology, The Netherlands Sylvain Lavelle, ICAM-Polytechnicum, France Michael Lynch, Cornell University, U.S.A. Anthonie Meijers, Eindhoven University of Technology, The Netherlands Sir Duncan Michael, Ove Arup Foundation, U.K. Carl Mitcham, Colorado School of Mines, U.S.A. Helen Nissenbaum, New York University, U.S.A. Alfred Nordmann, Technische Universität Darmstadt, Germany Joseph Pitt, Virginia Tech, U.S.A. Ibo van de Poel, Delft University of Technology, The Netherlands Daniel Sarewitz, Arizona State University, U.S.A. Jon A. Schmidt, Burns & McDonnell, U.S.A. Peter Simons, Trinity College Dublin, Ireland Jeroen van den Hoven, Delft University of Technology, The Netherlands John Weckert, Charles Sturt University, Australia
- 7. The Philosophy of Engineering andTechnology book series provides the multifaceted and rapidly growing discipline of philosophy of technology with a central overarching and integrative platform. Specifically it publishes edited volumes and monographs in: the phenomenology, anthropology and socio-politics of technology and engineering the emergent fields of the ontology and epistemology of artifacts, design, knowledge bases, and instrumentation engineering ethics and the ethics of specific technologies ranging from nuclear technologies to the converging nano-, bio-, information and cognitive technologies written from philosophical and practitioners perspectives and authored by philosophers and practitioners. The series also welcomes proposals that bring these fields together or advance philosophy of engineering and technology in other integrative ways. Proposals should include: A short synopsis of the work or the introduction chapter. The proposed Table of Contents The CV of the lead author(s). If available: one sample chapter. We aim to make a first decision within 1 month of submission. In case of a positive first decision the work will be provisionally contracted: the final decision about publication will depend upon the result of the anonymous peer review of the complete manuscript. We aim to have the completework peer-reviewed within 3 months of submission. The series discourages the submission of manuscripts that contain reprints of previous published material and/or manuscripts that are below 150 pages / 75,000 words. For inquiries and submission of proposals authors can contact the editor-in-chief Pieter Vermaas via: p.e.vermaas@tudelft.nl, or contact one of the associate editors. More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/8657
- 8. Sabine Ammon • Remei Capdevila-Werning Editors The Active Image Architecture and Engineering in the Age of Modeling
- 9. ISSN 1879-7202 ISSN 1879-7210 (electronic) Philosophy of Engineering and Technology ISBN 978-3-319-56465-4 ISBN 978-3-319-56466-1 (eBook) DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56466-1 Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943332 © Springer International Publishing AG 2017 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Printed on acid-free paper This Springer imprint is published by Springer Nature The registered company is Springer International Publishing AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Editors Sabine Ammon Institute of Vocational Education and Work Studies Berlin University of Technology Berlin, Germany Remei Capdevila-Werning Philosophy Department Oberlin College Oberlin, OH, USA
- 10. v Preface This volume deals with the many ways images become active in architecture and engineering design processes. Specifically, it aims to address the fact that pres- ently – in the age of computer-based modeling – images play an active and indis- pensable role. The term “active image” should be understood in a very general and non-technical term. This book is about what images do in design processes, as they are exemplified by cases in architecture and engineering. It deals with many types of images, be they pictures, sketches, renderings, maps, plans, or photographs; be they analog or digital, planar or three-dimensional, ephemeral, realistic, or imagi- nary. The term “active” is chosen as it captures the vast array of “actions” that images perform. Images serve as means of representing, as tools for thinking and reasoning, as ways of imagining the inexistent, and as means of communicating and conveying information, but they may also perform functions and have an agency of their own. The essays of this compilation aim to show that the various functions that images perform and the roles they may play are not necessarily set; rather, they may vary, be it according to their context, the type of image, or the phase in the design process. “Active image” thus intends to capture this performative or operative nature of images. Architecture and, to a lesser extent, engineering are used as paradigmatic fields to explore images in the age of modeling. This is so for several reasons. First, archi- tecture encompasses a very strong visual culture, as it typically works with a vast array of images (sketches, plans, elevations, sections, models, drawings, renderings, etc.). In engineering, imagery’s presence had diminished due to increased mathema- tization but has become more relevant again due to computerization, modeling, and simulation. Second, given the pervasive presence of imagery in architecture, it can be considered as a sort of supra-discipline that includes both design and engineer- ing, and given that, the outcomes achieved by examining architectural cases can easily be extrapolated to these other disciplines. Third, both architecture and engi- neering require many different actors, which need reliable communication struc- tures to carry out their projects. This is why its notations are widespread and its images play a more central role. Note also that active images are not only present in these disciplines but can be found elsewhere. The essays in this volume, hence, may
- 11. vi also offer valuable insights to better understand how images operate and function in the arts and sciences in general. Along with the vast array of “actions” that images can undertake within the fields of architecture and engineering, there are manifold perspectives to interpret them – not only from different academic disciplines and methodologies but also within the same area of expertise – and it is not unusual that interpretations are at odds with each other. In addition to presenting what images do in architecture and engineering in the age of modeling from the perspective of philosophy, theory and history of architecture, history of science, media theory, cognitive sciences, design studies, and visual studies, this book aims to show the tensions and differences in points of view within the same field. Rather than trying to resolve a tension or judging in favor of one approach or another, the editors leave the evaluation to the reader. Each essay constitutes its own argument individually and contributes to the broader scope of addressing what active images are and do. Some of them offer a historical approach to images, others a theoretico-philosophical, and yet others offer a thor- ough examination of case studies that illuminates the role of images in specific contexts. Roughly, the book is structured so that the first essays are prevalently theo- retical, while the final ones are case studies. This does not mean, however, that theo- retical essays lack specific examples and essays examining case studies are devoid of theoretical claims. The volume thus begins with an essay that offers a historical view of visualiza- tion in architecture or, in other words, how images are both synchronically and diachronically active. Reinhold Martin’s main thesis in “Points of Departure: Notes Toward a Reversible History of Architectural Visualization” is that architectural drawings are redrawings of other drawings and that in this process images are com- municative elements rather than representational ones. By explaining this shift, Martin shows how the history of architectural visualization is nonlinear, and he provides a novel way to understand contemporary digital modeling. Like Martin, in “Architecture and the Structured Image: Software Simulations as Infrastructures for Building Production,” Daniel Cardoso Llach maintains that images no longer play a mere representational role. Rather, they are operative arti- facts that actively participate in the design itself, thus being central to modeling and simulation. Cardoso Llach further argues that to understand the epistemological and practical role of such images, which he terms “structured images,” one needs to frame them in their historical and socio-technical contexts. In her essay “Architectural Drawings as Symbols: A Goodmanian Account of Epistemic Practices in the Design Process,” Remei Capdevila-Werning focuses on the epistemological role that images play throughout the design process and pro- vides a philosophical framework that accounts for such role. Architectural drawings are symbols that not only serve as repositories of knowledge but contribute in a unique way to the thinking involved in the architectural project. Images are here examined not only as conveyers but also as active creators of knowledge and understanding. While Capdevila-Werning examines the epistemological role of various kinds of architectural drawings, in “Manual Sketching: Why Is It Still Relevant?” Gabriela Preface
- 12. vii Goldschmidt focuses on manual sketching. She maintains that the cognitive func- tion of manual sketching cannot be substituted by computational tools, and by showing the specificities of such active images, she makes explicit the cognitive advantages that complement contemporary modeling techniques. Irene Mittelberg, Thomas H. Schmitz, and Hannah Groninger explore another facet of manual and nondigital engagement. In their essay, “Operative Manufacts: Gestures as Immediate Sketches in the Early Stages of the Design Process,” they show the epistemological and communicative aspects of gestures, which act as ephemeral images that play an active and central role when designing. In the next essay, “The Role of the Image in Digital Design: Processing the Image versus Imaging the Process,” Rivka Oxman provides a systematization of various models of digital design based on the different roles that visual images play in them. Active images are thus contextualized and redefined in the light of the cur- rent transformations in design. Whereas Oxman’s article provides a general overview of several models of digi- tal design, Nathalie Bredella’s “Visualization Techniques and Computational Design Strategies: Reflecting on the Milieu and Agency of Digital Tools in 1990s Architecture” examines a turning point in digitally based visualization techniques, when individual design strategies emerged from combining numerous software tools and images acquired another kind of active role in architecture. In “Image-based Epistemic Strategies in Modeling: Designing Architecture after the Digital Turn,” Sabine Ammon examines the epistemic role of images in design development. Rather than focusing on images as a result, this essay explores the active role that image generation plays in the course of the design process, which allows various modes of image-based reasoning. Like Ammon’s essay, Mehul Bhatt and Carl Schultz focus on the role of images in the process of developing an architectural project. In “People-Centered Visuospatial Cognition: Next-generation Architectural Design Systems and their Role in Conception, Computing, and Communication,” the authors show how designing tools based on human cognitive modalities help in anticipating the users’ experience of a building and in that way set people-centered design criteria as one of the foundations of the design process. In “License to Explore: How Images Work in Simulation Modeling,” Johannes Lenhard focuses on the role of images in simulation modeling as they function as a series, rather than as single images, and emphasizes the cognitive value of the dif- ferences among images rather than their similarities. By examining the use of images in particle physics, computational fluid dynamics, and nanoscale tribology, this essay shows how these sciences use image-based simulation in a mode similar to that of engineering. Doris Hallama’s “On Fuzziness and Relationships: Abstraction and Illustrative Visualization in Snow Avalanche Control Planning” closes the chapter section. In this essay, she examines the role of images in landscape architecture, specifically on the planning processes of avalanche control. Here, images play an active role in both generating planning tools to recreate landscapes and in designing construction measures against avalanches. Preface
- 13. viii Finally, Sabine Ammon’s “Epilogue: The Rise of Imagery in the Age of Modeling” examines the relevance of imagery in modeling processes. It also pro- vides a philosophical and theoretical context of how operative images have been considered and interpreted in the existing literature and thusly offers a way to frame the chapters of this volume within the current debate on imagery. The initial idea that brought together the essays of this book emerged from the workshop “Imagery in the Age of Modeling” held at the University of Basel in May 2013 and funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation and the German Fritz Thyssen Foundation. Many thanks to all the participants for contributing to inspir- ing discussions that helped to further develop the concept and content of this vol- ume. Special thanks to Inge Hinterwaldner, co-organizer of the workshop and pillar of the project. Two publications stem from this workshop: Bildlichkeit im Zeitalter der Modellierung. Operative Artefakte in Entwurfsprozessen der Architektur, und des Ingenieurwesens, a German volume edited by Sabine Ammon and Inge Hinterwaldner, and the present English publication. These two volumes differ in their focus and also in some of the contributors. We thank all of them for having made these books possible. We want also to thank eikones, the Swiss National Center of Competence in Research Iconic Criticism, the Marie Skłodowska-Curie Program of the European Union for funding the Project IPODI (Grant Agreement No. 600209), and the Beatriu de Pinós Postdoctoral Fellowship Program, which supported the editors of this volume. Pieter Vermaas, at Springer, has been of great support to both us and the project. To him and Springer our deepest gratitude. Special thanks as well to the anonymous reviewers, whose critical insights and comments have contributed to make this volume much better. Finally, thank you to our families – Philipp, Ludwig, and Charlotte as well as Peter and Ignatius, for being there throughout the entire process. Berlin, Germany Sabine Ammon Oberlin, OH, USA Remei Capdevila-Werning Preface
- 14. ix Contents 1 Points of Departure: Notes Toward a Reversible History of Architectural Visualization................................................... 1 Reinhold Martin 2 Architecture and the Structured Image: Software Simulations as Infrastructures for Building Production........................................................................... 23 Daniel Cardoso Llach 3 Architectural Drawings as Symbols: A Goodmanian Account of Epistemic Practices in the Design Process......................... 53 Remei Capdevila-Werning 4 Manual Sketching: Why Is It Still Relevant?........................................ 77 Gabriela Goldschmidt 5 Operative Manufacts: Gestures as Embodied Sketches in the Early Stages of the Design Process.............................................. 99 Irene Mittelberg, Thomas H. Schmitz, and Hannah Groninger 6 The Role of the Image in Digital Design: Processing the Image Versus Imaging the Process................................................... 133 Rivka Oxman 7 Visualization Techniques and Computational Design Strategies: Reflecting on the Milieu and Agency of Digital Tools in 1990s Architecture.................................................... 157 Nathalie Bredella 8 Image-Based Epistemic Strategies in Modeling: Designing Architecture After the Digital Turn...................................... 177 Sabine Ammon
- 15. x 9 People-Centered Visuospatial Cognition: Next-Generation Architectural Design Systems and Their Role in Design Conception, Computing, and Communication..................... 207 Mehul Bhatt and Carl Schultz 10 License to Explore: How Images Work in Simulation Modeling........................................................................... 233 Johannes Lenhard 11 On Fuzziness and Relationships: Abstraction and Illustrative Visualization in Snow Avalanche Control Planning.............................. 255 Doris Hallama 12 Epilogue: The Rise of Imagery in the Age of Modeling........................ 287 Sabine Ammon About the Authors............................................................................................ 313 Contents
- 16. 1 © Springer International Publishing AG 2017 S. Ammon, R. Capdevila-Werning (eds.), The Active Image, Philosophy of Engineering and Technology 28, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56466-1_1 Chapter 1 Points of Departure: Notes Toward a Reversible History of Architectural Visualization Reinhold Martin Abstract Before a pencil moves or a mouse twitches, computation, or at least, a certain computational intuition, has already “taken command” in architectural design studios and offices worldwide. But to what historical changes does this intrinsic development correspond? What continuities and discontinuities define the present in relation to the various modes of visualization by which, for example, modern architecture came into being in its diverse forms during the twentieth cen- tury? On the one hand, we see a shift away from a representational regime, governed by the projected building-as-telos, toward a communicational one, in which every drawing effectively redraws another, and the building is merely one informational node among many. Yet, the X-Y-Z coordinate system, the basis of much older pro- jective systems such as linear perspective that persist into the present, underlies this shift. Historical change in modes of visualization is therefore nonlinear. Moreover, insofar as its governing technical logic remains calibrated to numerical grids on which two-way input-output sequences are performed, any history of digital model- ing must be considered “reversible,” or indeterminate, precisely to the degree that it is technically determined. Keywords Communication • Computer-aided Design (CAD) • Drawing • Modeling • Projection • Representation Conventionally, an architectural scale model is a three-dimensional object, con- structed out of cardboard, foam core, Plexiglas, wood, or, in the digital age, various kinds of resins or plastic filaments. Underlying all of these analog or “physical” models (as they are now sometimes called) are drawings, including the three- dimensional digital drawings (or “models”) from which physical models, and increasingly, buildings or parts of buildings, are normally fabricated. In that it R. Martin (*) Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation, Columbia University, New York, NY, USA e-mail: rm454@columbia.edu
- 17. 2 therefore models something that is exterior to it, the physical model, like the draw- ing, might appear as an intermediate object, located at a halfway point in a process that architectural historian Robin Evans described as the subtle, fraught “transla- tion” from drawing to building (see Evans 1997). This translation is what is usually meant by the term “design.” Thinking this way emphasizes the relation or non-relation of drawings and other visual documents, such as diagrams or model photographs, to the eventual building, which occupies a privileged position as endpoint in a roughly linear process, albeit with a certain amount of give and take built in. What we can call a “translational” account, then, construes drawing and modeling as forms of projection, a notion to which Evans gave delicate texture. Projection, in his eyes, entailed both the derivation of archi- tectural form by specific geometrical means, such as the use of projective geometry to move from two dimensions to three, as well as what architectural design does in general by moving from drawings (or models) to buildings (Evans 1995). But it is also possible to regard a drawing or a model as an independent bundle of informa- tion that circulates in a nonlinear fashion within a media system. Thinking like this emphasizes the ontic or thing-like character of all kinds of drawings and all kinds of models in and of themselves. It concentrates on what these things do rather than what they represent or the buildings they project. In the following, I will outline several key consequences, including implications for materialist thought, the pres- ence of an epistemic modulation that replaces representation with communication, continuities within this modulation such as the persistence of underlying grids, the logic of the Computer-Aided Design (CAD) interface, followed by a short, provi- sional conclusion. 1.1 Architectural Visualization and the New Materialism This is in keeping with a new materialism that has cut across the humanities over the past two decades or so. Among its relevant coordinates are the media archaeologies of Friedrich Kittler (1990) and the Actor-Network-Theory (ANT) of Bruno Latour (2005) and others, as well as extensions and critiques of these approaches discussed here.1 Of the latter, the approach known in Germany as Kulturtechniken (cultural techniques), associated with the work of theorists like Bernhard Siegert and the late Cornelia Vismann, is closest to, though not identical with, what I aim to exemplify below. “Cultural techniques” refers here to primary acts of differentiation, such as plow- ing (or cultivating) the soil, which even in their most rudimentary form, entail both a symbolic and a practical dimension. Where Kittler differentiates media histori- cally along the Lacanian axes of the imaginary, the symbolic, and the real, Siegert defines cultural techniques as “involved in operationalizing distinctions in the real” 1 The German Kulturtechniken (or “cultural techniques”) hypothesis, discussed below, is one such extension and critique. R. Martin
- 18. 3 (Siegert 2013: 61).2 He illustrates with a simple door: “Operating a door by closing and opening it allows us to perform, observe, encode, address and ultimately wire the difference between inside and outside” (Siegert 2013: 61–62; see also Siegert 2012). In a similarly concrete formulation, Vismann describes the consequences for subjective agency: “If media theory were or had a grammar, that agency would find its expression in objects claiming the grammatical subject position and cultural techniques standing in for verbs” (Vismann 2013: 83; see also Vismann 2008). In other words, things do things. But what does it mean to consider drawings, too, as things, and to write the verb “to draw” as an action performed not only by architects, but also by the drawings themselves? To begin with, this requires com- bining the act of drawing with the thing itself into a single compound: a technique. Conceived this way, architectural drawings “draw things together,” to use one of Latour’s formulas (Latour 1990). That is, they gather materials, documents, readers, and writers around themselves, in an ensemble of activities. So rather than asking “What does this drawing mean?” or “What future building does it represent?” we might ask, “What commands does it issue, what does it make possible, what materi- als does it assemble, what objects or processes does it organize?” In the case of architectural drawings, one answer to the question “What do draw- ings draw or bring together?” would be “Other drawings.” That is because every architectural drawing belongs to a historical network of visual and textual practices, or what Kittler called a discourse network (Kittler 1990). In such a network, signi- fiers do not simply dissolve into signifieds (or drawings into buildings); rather, media perform acts of transubstantiation.3 A drawing becomes a model, which becomes a photograph, or perhaps another drawing, in a recursive process that counts buildings as simply one among many media, or channels, rather than as end points toward which the system is oriented. In these networks, at one stage or another, every drawing eventually redraws another. A straightforward example is the series of archaeological reconstructions of the Athenian Acropolis that have been produced since the eighteenth century. The Acropolis, and in particular, the Temple of Athena, or the Parthenon, served as important reference objects in an aesthetic economy based on mimesis, or imitation, and associated concepts like resemblance. Despite the fact that the competing mea- sured reconstructions by the Frenchman Julien-David Le Roy and the Englishmen James Stuart and Nicholas Revett both originated on site, under the hot Athenian sun, each effectively modified earlier, less precise views that were already circulating in temperate libraries. This is not a question of influence as much as it is an example of the technique called “antiquity.” This technique (rather than this concept, or this ideological construction) conditioned European modernity for over four centuries, 2 See also the other essays collected in this special issue for an outline of the “cultural techniques” hypothesis. On the media archaeology of Jacques Lacan’s psychoanalytic categories of the sym- bolic, the imaginary, and the real, see Friedrich Kittler (1999). 3 To avoid confusion, I say “transubstantiation” here rather than “translation,” even though both Callon (1990) and Latour (1993) use “translation” in reference to mediating processes similar to those I describe here. 1 Points of Departure
- 19. 4 right up to the perspective views of the Acropolis drawn by Auguste Choisy, and the sketches made on the same site under the same sun by a young Charles-Edouard Jeanneret (the future Le Corbusier) in 1911. As Le Roy’s and Stuart and Revett’s portfolios and Jeanneret’s sketchbooks also show, drawings move. Which is to say that they belong quintessentially to the class of objects that Latour has called “immutable mobiles” (Latour 1990: 26 ff.). The same can be said for architectural models. Even when they sit on a table or base, models never sit still. They link up with other media in horizontal chains that are made up of other models, drawings, notes, writings, diagrams, maps, sketches, pho- tographs, mock-ups, animations—and, of course, buildings. Precisely in translation, but also in the literal sense of movement in space rather than by analogy to lan- guage, drawings, models, and other architectural visualizations move from office to office, desk to desk, desktop to desktop, table to table, screen to screen, pixel to pixel, building site to office, workshop to site to workshop, studio to book to museum to book to studio. So architectural drawings and models, whether digital or analog, are not (or not merely) representations but things in themselves. And if Latour (with Marx) is right, things socialize. That is, they communicate with one another, and in the process, they assemble or gather others around themselves, including architects. For archi- tects do not typically build; they draw and they write. In doing so, they themselves are drawn into the webs of gathering and dispersion that are enacted by drawings and other visual documents. Some of these documents analyze, some represent, some issue commands, some report results, some make requests, and some even declare theoretical principles, to all of which architects, engineers, builders, clients, students, and other addressees respond with other documents that perform the same or different acts, and so on. Though builder’s manuals, code books, and construction drawings are much older, only since the eighteenth century have builders regularly built buildings in response to binding, legal commands issued by drawings that have been drawn by architects or engineers. And though they normally resemble the eventual building in whole or in part, these kinds of drawings help to produce the building less by resem- blance, than through the exchange, of visual, textual, and numerical information, an exchange that is enabled and limited by social and political institutions as well as by material processes. From this vantage point, technical drawings constitute a stan- dard against which all other drawings, including presentation renderings or models, should be measured. R. Martin
- 20. 5 1.2 Architectural Media Interfaces from Representation to Communication When we recognize such documents as media, and when we observe these media interacting with one another throughout the design process, we are able to see that the practice of architecture is constituted by a set of media interfaces.4 The particu- lar set of interfaces that we call architectural, which includes institutions or chan- nels like architecture schools, museums, and professional offices, as well as the tools of drawing and modeling, and the visualizations the entire complex produces, has only been gathered together in most parts of the world for a little more than a century.5 Defined as a circulating mixture of visual materials, architecture is hardly a timeless or ancient thing; it is a modern thing that is still under construction as a category of knowledge and of practice. In a digital environment, the heterogeneity of architectural interfaces is con- cealed in the seeming comprehensiveness of the data-rich computer model. Symmetrically, at the other end, that same heterogeneity is concealed in the proper name of the architect. For when we name an architect in relation to a certain piece of work, we are not merely naming an individual person, an artist or author who signs a drawing, designs (or co-designs) a building, meets with clients, delivers lectures, mounts exhibitions, or runs an office. We are, again, naming the set of media interfaces that encompass these activities, of which the architect, as an inher- ently plural entity, is both an operator and an outcome. Moreover, when we name an architect in relation to a set of media interfaces that belong to a given work, such as the hardware and software used to design and produce it, we locate that work in time and in space. We situate it in a given culture or cultures, connect it with a given language, a given political and economic system, a given city or nation, and a given set of technological infrastructures or systems, as well as a given set of conflicts, aspirations, and dreams—in short, when we name an architect and a set of interfaces we also name a world. The twentieth century saw a vast multiplication of the channels comprising such worlds. This multiplication accompanied the consolidation, breakup, and reshaping of empires, two world wars, the realignment and expansion of international trade, and the superimposition of communications networks one onto the other: shipping lines, railroads, telegraph lines, roadways, telephone lines, radio transmitters, satel- lites,televisionstations,postalsystems,couriers,andfiberopticwebs.Architecturally speaking, the period we call modern is defined by the movement of visual docu- ments within, among, across, and between worlds through such channels. That is 4 For a theoretically precise technical history of the computer interface, see John Harwood (2011). 5 Dates vary by context, but the interaction of professional architectural academies, and later, schools of architecture, with professional organizations and museums within a fully institutional- ized discursive formation is a relatively recent phenomenon. In the United States, the American Institute of Architects was founded in 1857, the first university-based schools of architecture were founded in the 1860s and 1870s, and architectural drawings, models, and photographs were not exhibited regularly in museums until the 1930s (most notably at the Museum of Modern Art). 1 Points of Departure
- 21. 6 why the history of architectural visualization in the nineteenth and twentieth centu- ries is also a history of globalization. Put the two histories together—a history of visualization and a history of global- ization, both of which emphasize exchange and translation—and any straightfor- ward chronology fails. For no history, least of all a history of techniques for making projects, is merely a record that consigns what is past to the past, restricts what is present to the here and now, and allows the future simply to be what has not hap- pened yet. History is also a repetition, a return, in which occasionally appears some- thing entirely new, unforeseen, and indeed, unforeseeable. Still we can recognize, across the “long” twentieth century, a movement or shift in modes of visualization, from an emphasis on representation to an emphasis on communication. Ultimately, this shift corresponds to a fundamental change in how we know what we know, and how we explain it to ourselves and to others. But rather than calling this a paradigm shift or an epistemic break, let us call it an epistemic modulation, an expression that captures better the waviness and the unevenness of these kinds of changes, if not their actual messiness or incompleteness. Two diagrams summarize this modulation, which, in its broadest outlines spans several centuries but truly defines the period from around 1900 to the present. The first of these diagrams lies well outside our chronological frame but casts a long shadow across it: Albrecht Dürer’s perspectival woodcut print of a “perspective demonstration,” from Underweysung der Messung, mit dem Zirckel und Richtscheyt, in Linien, Ebenen und gantzen corporen (The Painter’s Manual: A Manual of Measurement of Lines, Areas, and Solids by Means of Compass and Ruler, 1525) (Fig. 1.1). Dürer’s woodcut was executed almost 100 years after Leon Battista Alberti’shandwrittencodification(in1435,printedin1540)ofFilippoBrunelleschi’s “demonstration” of perspectival painting of the Florentine Baptistery. I refer to it first, because the rejection or modification of perspectival space was an important characteristic of modern painting and modern architecture, in response to which, historians, most notably Erwin Panofsky, reasserted linear perspective’s centrality to European humanism. And second, because most digital modeling platforms used by architects favor perspectival construction. Dürer’s woodcut shows the following setup: 1. A noticeably curved object (a lute) 2. An Albertian “window,” with taught crosshairs (x, y coordinates) 3. A hinged panel (on which to draw) 4. A weighted string 5. Two operators, working at either end of the string The room itself is drawn in perspective, with the light source oriented parallel to the perspectival projection “rays.” Kittler has explained how, unlike the fully analog camera obscura that Brunelleschi likely used to capture the perspectival image of the Baptistery, this system translates from an analog object (whose continuity, we might add, is emphasized by its curves) to discrete, proto-digital points of informa- tion on a virtual planar grid that serves as an Albertian “veil” or velum stretched across the window, like a lattice (Kittler 2001b). R. Martin
- 22. 7 In the mimetic world in which Dürer worked, there was little question that per- spective was, epistemologically speaking, a one way street of resemblance that, like the apparatus’s string, connected real things like lutes with more or less satisfactory representations of those things like perspective drawings on gridded surfaces. One of the achievements of digital visualization techniques, which are based on mathe- matical points arranged in X-Y-Z coordinate systems, was to take advantage of the computability of those points to reverse the setup, such that architects now fre- quently design in perspective on their computer screens, rather than limit its employ- ment to what are sometimes still called “presentation” (i.e., representational, rather than design) drawings. Perspective has moved from being primarily a means of representing something already known, to a technique for designing what is not yet known. More than that, however, in a digital environment perspective is reversible. Changes in a perspective view can automatically generate changes in the underlying model, as well as the other way around. The state of affairs that enabled this reversibility is captured vividly in another technical diagram, from 1948. That is Claude Shannon’s “Schematic Diagram of a General Communication System” (Fig. 1.2), from his landmark article, “A Fig. 1.1 Albrecht Dürer, The Second Perspective Apparatus (Albrecht Dürer: Underweisung der Messung, [trans. as The Painter’s Manual], 1525, p. 393) 1 Points of Departure
- 23. 8 MathematicalTheory of Communication” (Shannon 1948: 380).6 Here, visualization is simply a mode of communication, where the emphasis is on the transmission and reception of images conceived as information rather than as semblances. The com- munication system described by the diagram, which is reversible, comprises four key elements: 1. A transmitter (a sender, or source) 2. A channel (through which passes a signal) 3. A noise source (which introduces modulation and interference) 4. A receiver (or destination) To illustrate the difference between an essentially representational model (Dürer) and a communicational one (Shannon), we can reread Dürer’s woodcut in terms of Shannon’s diagram. Thus the transmitter would be the assemblage that contains the object itself (the lute) and Operator #1, the channel would be the string, window, grid, pencil (i.e., the material conditions of projection), the noise source could be any of the above, plus the panel or paper and Operator #2, and the receiver would be Operator #2 plus the panel or paper. It is nonsensical, however, to reverse the direc- tion of information flow in the Dürer, or to put a perspective drawing resulting from use of the apparatus in place of the lute and start all over again. For, in effect, Dürer’s apparatus can draw anything accurately except another drawing. Remade as sender-receiver circuits, however, and ultimately, converted into bits by hardware/ software packages, perspective drawings no longer require lutes. They only require other perspective drawings from which the mathematical rules for drawing lutes can be derived and converted into code. Once done, drawings of lutes can flow in both directions, from the real to the imaginary and the imaginary to the real, and back, a consequence that I will explain in more detail in the following. 6 The diagram was reprinted in Claude Shannon and Warren Weaver (1949: 7, Weaver’s introduc- tory text; 1949: 34, Shannon’s main text). Fig. 1.2 Claude Shannon, Basic Diagram of an Information Circuit (Shannon and Weaver 1949: 7. Orig. 1948) R. Martin
- 24. 9 1.3 Repurposing the Coordinate System in Digital Architectural Visualization Over the past three decades or so, the predominantly perspectival modeling tech- niques practiced in architecture offices and design studios with a computer interface have come to be called “digital.” So much so, in fact, that at this point it is redundant to speak of a “digital architecture,” just as it is futile to sort models into essentially analog and digital forms. Today, before a pencil moves or a mouse twitches, com- putation, or at least, a certain computational intuition, has decisively “taken com- mand” in architectural design. And although much has been made of the academic vanguard’s belated digital turn in the 1990s, a digital extrapolation of Shannon’s 1948 diagram was decisively in place in professional offices by the mid-1980s.7 By that time, large architectural offices like Skidmore, Owings Merrill (SOM) and Hellmuth, Obata and Kassabaum (HOK) were even designing and marketing their own software. HOK, for example, developed HOK Draw, a CAD, or Computer- Aided Design, software package for use on the firm’s projects and for sale to their fellow design professionals. In the United States, professional journals published detailed feature articles on the new techniques, and reported on the trade fairs at which the requisite hardware and software were marketed, bought, and sold. On the pages of these same journals, the usual advertisements for construction materials and services were joined by page after page of advertisements for CAD software packages, desktop computer systems, and digital printing supplies. In 1984, for example, one year after Bernard Tschumi won the competition for the redesign of the Parc de la Villette with a hand-drawn grid of red cubes, a similar grid, clearly a quotation, featured on the opening page of Progressive Architecture’s guide to the A/E Systems trade fair (Fig. 1.3). This appropriation serves as a reminder that the X-Y-Z coordinate system, which was a predominant element of architectural visualization during the early twentieth century, was repurposed rather than replaced in the hardware and software of the new corporate—and only later academic—drawing machines. It also reminds us that, for the very first time, the process of architectural visualization had become big business. The 1927 Palace of Nations competition in Geneva required that submissions be drawn in India ink. In just over 50 years, the modest system of set squares, drafting boards, pencils, linen, vellum, pens, dividers, and compasses through which that ink flowed had trans- formed into a formidable industry that produced and sold desktop computers, plot- ters, tablets, pens, paper, mylar, and the software that held it all together. In 1982, as Tschumi drew his grids for the Parc de la Villette competition, the most important of those early softwares, AutoCAD, was released at the COMDEX trade fair in Las Vegas. An advertisement for AutoCAD from a 1985 issue of Progressive Architecture (Fig. 1.4) emphasizes the software’s relatively high perfor- mance for a relatively low cost, at $2500 per license, which would be over $5600 in 7 For a helpful discussion of the digital turn in vanguard academic practice, see Nathalie Bredella (2014). 1 Points of Departure
- 25. 10 Fig. 1.3 Guide to A/E Systems ‘84 (Progressive Architecture, May 1984, p. 191) R. Martin
- 26. 11 Fig. 1.4 AutoCAD advertisement (Progressive Architecture, May 1985, p. 21 A/E) 1 Points of Departure
- 27. 12 today’s dollars. Add the hardware, and the costs rise exponentially. It is not surpris- ing, then, that the first years of widespread computer use in architecture saw a great deal of emphasis on efficiency, time-savings, and cost-savings in other areas. ICON, a new dual monitor “fully-integrated CAD system,” with digitizer and tablet, was available in 1984 for “only” $37,250, or $84,000 today. MiCAD was available for less than half that price, ($13,500), which climbed to $21,000 the next year but was still relatively low (maybe too low) in an environment where CAD systems could reach $70,000 per workstation (or about $160,000 today). Price wars notwithstand- ing, it is clear why a multinational company like General Electric would enter the CAD business with its own product, Calma. Or why another multinational, Dupont, would counter with a hybrid systems drafting overlay approach.8 With the notable exception of AutoCAD, relatively few of these products and systems survived. They did however share a practice of drawing—visualization— that was formally conceived as a system of hardware and software interfaces (Fig. 1.5). That system, more than any of the particular softwares and hardwares that came and went, persisted and grew to have a subtle yet decisive effect on the archi- tectural imagination. This occurred most obviously in three-dimensional modeling. Not only because it was now possible to make mathematically precise, manipulable perspective or axonometric models of buildings with relative ease, but also because those ephemeral models effectively drew together a world. One early perspective drawn by HOK (Fig. 1.6) on their in-house CAD system shows a mosque in Saudi Arabia. During the years immediately following the oil 8 Prices are all drawn from advertisements in the May 1984 issue of Progressive Architecture. Fig. 1.5 Microcomputer CAD system, courtesy of CalComp, a Sanders company (E. Lee Kennedy, CAD: Design, Drawing, Data Management, 1986) R. Martin
- 28. 13 crises of the mid and late 1970s, many American and European firms designed large, expensive projects for oil-rich states in the Middle East such as Saudi Arabia and Kuwait. It is not an exaggeration to say that these countries, and oil money more generally, were key factors in architecture’s “digital turn,” supplying the projects and resources for large Western firms to test the capacities and efficiencies of the expensive new CAD systems. For HOK, this included everything from video walk- throughs of a digital model to database-driven facilities management systems that both reshaped practice and reflected the guiding logics of capitalist globalization. Another protagonist in the early experiments was the firm of Skidmore, Owings Merrill (SOM). Like HOK, SOM made a major investment in developing an in- house CAD system, called Design Workbench, the hardware for which alone cost $35,000 per workstation. Like HOK, they tested that system on projects in the Middle East and elsewhere. Such projects were of a scale and presented problems that justified and benefited from a basic digital model. Limited as it was by hard- ware processing capabilities, such a model could nonetheless be used to study mass- ing and to produce rudimentary colored renderings, as well as to produce scaled templates from which a physical or analog model could be constructed. SOM produced computer visualizations for projects in Kuwait (Fig. 1.7), Malaysia, and other growing post-colonial economies. The wireframe isometrics, perspectives, and plans that allowed their designers to test variations were occasion- ally accompanied by partially rendered perspectives, which required a good deal more processing time to produce and were therefore more expensive and less com- mon. SOM’s New York office also invested in building a three-dimensional model of midtown Manhattan (Fig. 1.8), a simple task now but a huge—and expensive— undertaking in 1984. With it they were able to test formal and stylistic options in context, but also, in combination with specialized charts, gauge technical perfor- mance such as compliance with zoning regulations and daylight specifications. Meanwhile, in architecture schools such as those at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Carnegie Mellon University, the University of Michigan, Ohio State University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cornell University, and Fig. 1.6 Hellmuth, Obata, and Kassabaum (HOK), Mosque, Saudi Arabia (unbuilt), 1984. Digital perspective (Progressive Architecture, May 1985, p. 141) 1 Points of Departure
- 29. 14 Fig. 1.7 Skidmore, Owings Merrill (SOM), Kuwait Insurance Company, Kuwait City (unbuilt), 1984. Digital model, renderings (Progressive Architecture, May 1984, p. 141) R. Martin
- 30. 15 the University of California Los Angeles, students learned programming and com- puter modeling, in some cases developing specialized tools and techniques. In one particularly advanced example, a softly rendered interior produced at Cornell in 1984 (Fig. 1.9) using computational techniques developed at the school includes diffuse, specular, and intra-environmental reflections, with transparencies and tex- ture maps, as well as a customized anti-aliasing program to minimize jagged edges caused by the rendering’s relatively low resolution. As digital computing machines entered office and studio, their protocols rein- forced some of the inputs to the design process coming from older media, like the straight, black lines of the parallel ruler and set-square or drafting triangle, and modified others. They also hooked up with other visual techniques. For example, figure/ground plans made with ink on mylar, in which open space (shown in white) was contrasted with solid matter (shown in black), had become a staple of architec- tural pedagogy and discourse since the 1960s. Figure/ground, even when hand Fig. 1.8 Skidmore, Owings Merrill (SOM), Midtown Manhattan digital model, 1984 (Progressive Architecture, May 1984, p. 145) 1 Points of Departure
- 31. 16 drawn, denoted a binary way of knowing and a binary way of seeing; thus, the step to the if/then, input/output sequences of computing is less abrupt than it may ini- tially seem. Even though relatively few early CAD drawings reproduced the figure/ ground format per se, all of them depended on the binaries embedded in the if/then statements written into AutoCAD and other platforms. As these statements ran, the algorithmic manipulation of mathematical coordi- nates in X-Y-Z space followed an axis that measured computation and rendering time: a time axis. This is where the cost, and the business opportunity, was. To mini- mize cost and maximize opportunity, each computational instance was defined by algorithmic compromises that matched mathematical complexity to existing hard- ware capacity. Kittler has described the resulting output of computer graphics as the “image of an image” (or a “mass of pixels”) derived from radar and television (Kittler 2001a: 32). But as he points out, strategies for arranging pixels on screens in the early rendering platforms bore the marks of two mutually exclusive techno- logical and optical modes. Raytracing, which is the older of the two, is based on reflections and hence points of light and glossiness. Radiosity, the newer mode, was developed by researchers at Cornell University and appears in the aforementioned rendering produced there. This technique derives its light from luminous surfaces, which requires significantly more complex calculations per surface. Hence its use was limited early on to geometrically straightforward shapes. In a signal instance of output anticipating input, radiosity favored the simple, luminous interior (originally known as the “Cornell box”), while raytracing favored glistening, complex objects, including what later became known in architectural jargon as “blobs.” Fig. 1.9 Student work, School of Architecture, Cornell University, 1984. Digital rendering (Progressive Architecture, May 1984, p. 155) R. Martin
- 32. 17 This bifurcation concisely demonstrates what critics of media archaeology, and of Kittler’s work most specifically, have dismissed as technical determinism, wherein hardware and software assemblages seem to dictate or bias outcomes to an implausible degree. To some extent the objection is legitimate, although even a cur- sory examination of Kittler’s argument reveals an equally foundational indetermi- nacy. In this case, raytracing and radiosity may each be said to bias toward certain kinds of geometries or effects, and in that sense to partially determine the outcome of a design process that relies on one or the other. Still, their underlying optical premises are incommensurable, and there is nothing absolutely determined about opting for one or the other platform in the first place, or even about mathematical and commercial attempts to synthesize them. But neither is that choice simply a “free” pathway toward the recovery of authorial control in a visualization environ- ment dominated by technical protocols. On the contrary, any answer to the question “Raytracing or radiosity?” is overdetermined by a whole host of other factors both internal and external to the design setup, including but not limited to the economic and institutional factors I have been emphasizing with respect to CAD more generally. 1.4 The Inherent Logic of the Media Interface Regardless of the output path chosen, AutoCAD and its competitors also brought a distinct logic to the input side of the interface. The first and defining characteristic of these techniques was that drawing was, in fact, input rather than trace. Which is to say that drawing no longer entailed the making of marks; it entailed keyboard entry, stylus taps, and mouse clicks. Software packages often came bundled with their own input devices: light pens, mouse pads, and tablets. In some cases, digitizer menus provided short cuts (written into the software) to “graphic standards” that encoded typical building components such as doors, walls, and windows in dimen- sions and articulations drawn from construction industry norms and their societal substrates. These devices, however, only partially covered up the irreducible fact that, in the age of AutoCAD, drawing became a type of writing that consisted almost solely of imperatives, or commands. These commands took the form of if/then statements that appeared onscreen as the machine did its work, converting inputs into outputs, step-by-step. Points were functions of other points; the absolute X-Y-Z coordinates required by the first input became the basis for relative position, one point to the other, as lines and surfaces emerged (Fig. 1.10). To the extent that each point con- stituted a numerical variable that could be manipulated and specified relative to other points, each point realized certain parameters. Thus was parametric thinking institutionalized within the commodity sphere of CAD. Moreover, as in HOK’s facilities management software, each drawing, or really, each file (since that is what drawings had become), was also a database, which enabled its use in architectural 1 Points of Departure
- 33. 18 design as a matrix for embedding other codes, such as the coordinate address that could be assigned to each piece of furniture in an interior office layout. Drawings could thence be made composite, with each layer corresponding to a specific type of information. This procedure translated the earlier office practice of overlaying semi-transparent sheets often drawn by other (usually consulting) offices onto one another, with accurate registration maintained by a pinbar, to enable coor- dination of data sets and dimensions. This, in turn, allowed the detailing, in a single drawing, of complex, often hidden three-dimensional intersections, where, for example, ductwork met structure above a suspended ceiling, to avoid unenvisioned clashes between infrastructural systems. To do so, algorithms had to be written to describe three-dimensional space, most of which were perspectival by default. To be readable as line drawings, “hidden lines” (or lines delimiting surfaces that would have been obscured by others in the foreground) had to be mathematically identified and removed from the resulting “wireframe” image, a procedure that consumed considerable computational resources along the time axis. Perspective drawing circa 1985 therefore internalized all of the elements of Albrecht Dürer’s perspective apparatus circa 1525. The two operators had become the two components of the human-machine interface, the desktop computer and the CAD operator; the frame had become a monitor, and the two-dimensional grid of strings (or Albertian vellum) woven into the frame, with a “perspectival” string stretched back into space, had become a three-dimensional X-Y-Z coordinate system. In that space, the modernist system of points, lines, and Fig. 1.10 Beginning to draw, from E. Lee Kennedy (CAD: Design, Drawing, Data Management, 1986, p. 49) R. Martin
- 34. 19 planes functioned as a substrate for mathematical calculations, in which points were located in space relative to one another and connected to form an image. The difference was that, as a mode of projection, or design, the CAD interface doubled up Shannon’s sender-receiver circuit into an input/output system running in both directions. Input from the CAD operator generates new output, which requires new input, and so on. Where it was nonsensical to reverse the direction of informa- tion flow in the Dürer, or to put the perspective drawing resulting from use of the apparatus in place of the lute and start all over again, digitally constructed perspective drawings are nothing but drawings of other drawings. To draw possible objects, such as buildings, in X-Y-Z space only required other perspective drawings from which the mathematical rules for drawing lutes or anything else could be abstracted as written code. This, unlike classical perspective, does not presuppose the object itself. It only presupposes points becoming lines becoming surfaces, indifferent to their resemblance to anything seen before. If this in turn implies that with sufficient computational capacity the geometrical potential of a digital model is mathematically infinite, the material complex from which that possibility derives constrains the outcome in advance. Were the history of that complex to be written only as media archaeology, it would have to withstand the charge of technical determinism. Broadening the archive to include the aes- thetic, social, and political terrain of cultural techniques goes some distance in refuting such a charge and multiplying causal and epistemic factors. But it does not address the relative linearity, or the “this after that” archaeological layering of tech- niques that is at the heart of the matter. To reconsider that history as, strictly speak- ing, reversible, is not to suggest that its time axis runs in both directions.9 Rather, it is to differentiate histories from projects, or projections. I say “reversible,” then, to emphasize that it is precisely a seemingly linear shift in governing technical logics, from representational projection to communicational feedback, that “determines” the present regime of visualization as constitutively indeterminate, or open-ended. For history, too, is a media system. Architecture’s primary materials are visual doc- uments like drawings, photographs, and models rather than texts or, for that matter, actual buildings. If we cease to regard these documents as representations of absent buildings and learn to think of them as bundles of information circulating recur- sively, we can think of design as a nonlinear series of communicational exchanges, and of its history as a nonteleological—yet materially constrained—series of media translations rather than a litany of successive styles, ideologies, manifestoes, pro- grams, or other projects. 9 On the reversibility and irreversibility of technical processes, see Callon (1990). 1 Points of Departure
- 35. 20 1.5 Conclusion: Notes Toward a Reversible History of Architectural Visualization In the case of architectural visualization, this entails foregoing an analytic that pits means against ends, intention against result, or drawing against building, measuring the former by its proximity or resemblance to the latter. Instead, it requires that we record all of these and everything in between as material acts of communication, comprising signals and noise, senders, channels, and receivers. Whereby, as draw- ing approaches calculation, the movement of numbers—in place of semblances— rewires the circuit as a two-way street, since numbers do not resemble anything except themselves, and can therefore move in both directions. A history of architectural visualization, then, is written as the interplay of numer- ical, graphic, and material worlds. In the twentieth century alone, we would recon- sider the Beaux Arts legacy, for example, as a set of techniques for organizing information that traveled the world (i.e., were “translated” spatiotemporally as cul- tural codes) and mixed with others to define as well as describe various “national” architectures. We would discover genealogies for the grids that organize both our streets and our screens, and the orthographic drawings (especially plans) from which early digital models were extruded into X-Y-Z space. We would revisit the history of standardization, of architectural components like doors or gridded sur- faces, and of human bodies redrawn as “normal” within the gridded matrix. We would distinguish the object (as a category) from objectivity (as fact and as value), and watch them intersect on the modernist drawing board, via the competing claims of axonometric projection and architectural photography. We would recognize in the visualization of movement, graphically, photographically, and cinematically, a translation of the mythos of dynamism and organic growth that persists in the digital sphere. We would learn to see the patterns seen and produced by both systems mod- elers as well as their opponents, from above and from below. We would seek out epistemological operators such as figure and ground that anticipate the binaries of computational thought. And we would assess the organizing influence of multivari- able, parametric risk analysis, and the drawing of data points into probabilistic lines, lines that point, on X-Y graphs and other time-based models, toward real and imag- ined futures, partially constituting those futures, as feedback guiding the historical circuitry. None of this comes down to linear pathways or inevitable outcomes, only a field of differently weighted contingent variables that bundle and cluster into patterns. These patterns display tendencies that are delimited by horizons of thought and action—what is thinkable and doable under specific conditions—rather than being programmed in advance. For as a system of material infrastructures and interfaces, drawing with computers is an act performed simultaneously by a multitude of inputs and operators, of which commands entered and executed at a desk are merely one component. As such, each keystroke or mouse click repeats the primordial activity of differentiating this from that, like the opening and closing of a door. Like the door R. Martin
- 36. 21 swings programmed into AutoCAD templates, each is written in advance; but like most doors, each also leads both ways. References Bredella, N. (2014). The knowledge practices of the ‘Paperless Studio.’ Grazer Architektur Magazin, 10, 112–127. Callon, M. (1990). Techno-economic networks and irreversibility. Sociological Review (Supplement), 38, 132–161. Evans, R. (1995). The projective cast: Architecture and its three geometries. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Evans, R. (1997). Translations from drawing to building. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Harwood, J. (2011). The interface: IBM and the transformation of corporate design 1945–1976. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Kittler, F. (1990). Discourse Networks 1800/1900 (M. Metteer with C. Cullens, Trans.). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Kittler, F. (1999). Gramophone, Film, Typewriter (G. Winthrop-Young, M. Wuts, Trans.). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Kittler, F. (2001a). Computer Graphics: A Semi-Technical Introduction (S. Ogger, Trans.). Grey Room, 2(Winter), 30–45. Kittler, F. (2001b). Perspective and the Book (S. Ogger, Trans.). Grey Room, 5(Fall), 38–53. Latour, B. (1990). Drawing things together. In M. Lynch S. Woolgar (Eds.), Representation in Scientific Practice (pp. 19–68). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Latour, B. (1993). We have never been modern. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Latour, B. (2005). Reassembling the social: An introduction to actor-network theory. New York: Oxford University Press. Shannon, C. (1948). A mathematical theory of communication. The Bell System Technical Journal, 27(3), 379–423. Shannon, C., Weaver, W. (1949). The mathematical theory of communication. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Siegert, B. (2012). Doors: On the Materiality of the Symbolic (J. Durham Peters, Trans.). Grey Room, 47, 6–23. Siegert, B. (2013). Cultural techniques: Or the end of the intellectual postwar era in German media theory. Theory, Culture Society, 30(6), 48–65. Vismann, C. (2008). Files: Law and Media Technology (G. Winthrop-Young, Trans.). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Vismann, C. (2013). Cultural techniques and sovereignty. Theory, Culture Society, 30(6), 83–93. 1 Points of Departure
- 37. 23 © Springer International Publishing AG 2017 S. Ammon, R. Capdevila-Werning (eds.), The Active Image, Philosophy of Engineering and Technology 28, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56466-1_2 Chapter 2 Architecture and the Structured Image: Software Simulations as Infrastructures for Building Production Daniel Cardoso Llach Never underestimate the power of a widely distributed tool. —John Walker1 In Image and Logic, historian of science Peter Galison writes about a new mode of coordinating activities emerging in the aftermath of the Second World War, where “scientists from different disciplines (different practice and language groups) could form a trading zone” (Galison 1997: 153). He observed how simulations allowed people of different backgrounds to collaborate without sharing a common language, 1 John Walker the chairman of Autodesk, the software company that developed AutoCAD, between 1982 and 1986 (Walker (Ed.) 1989: 300). D. Cardoso Llach (*) School of Architecture, Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA, USA e-mail: dcardoso@cmu.edu Abstract This chapter shows how technical and conceptual innovations brought about by Computer-Aided Design (CAD) research during the 1960s and 1970s fore- shadow current practices of building design and construction, and are foundational to a modern epistemology of the image in the age of simulation. No longer con- strued as pictorial representations of a design but rather as mathematically enliv- ened and operative artifacts performing it, computationally produced images elicited new aesthetic and managerial aspirations—crucially, to re-structure design labor and to destabilize the boundaries between design and construction. Interrogating the material and discursive tenets of this transformation through both historical evi- dence and ethnographic insight, the chapter proposes the analytical category of “structured image” to engage with its significance to architectural and visual cul- tures. It further proposes that the scale at which this reconfiguration is realized requires both historically informed perspectives and performative, localized accounts of socio-technical practice. Keywords Computer-AidedDesign(CAD)•BuildingInformationModeling(BIM) • Architecture • Science, Technology and Society (STS) • Design, Technology and Society
- 38. 24 and prompted the formation of a new field of technical expertise. In modern prac- tices of building design and construction, a growing consensus aspires to realize a similar mode of collaboration. This ambition coalesces today around the technology project known as Building Information Modeling (BIM): the use of highly detailed building simulations to centralize building design and construction coordination, reorganizing multiple trade and professional groups around a highly-detailed digital model and its associated protocols of information production and exchange.2 To offer a portrait of BIM that opens this ambition to critical examination, this chapter threads through primary archival and ethnographic sources and takes dis- tance from a dominant narrative of BIM as the universal future for building design and construction. Instead, it situates it within the landscape of technological and discursive production of Cold War era military-funded research projects in the United States, and respecifies it as the expression of an infrastructural project to reorganize the worlds of architectural and building practice around managerial effi- ciency and control. However, this is an infrastructure still in the making. Technological discourses often present desired outcomes as factual accounts, and possible futures as inevita- ble. To avoid these critical blind spots, we might ask what perspectives and voices— what other futures—are obscured by such discourses. By respecifying BIM as a sociotechnical proposition this chapter reveals how it is irreducibly contingent upon multiple social, material, and technical rearrangements. As we shall see, in order to participate in the trading zones of BIM, relevant actors must commit to visual, tech- nical, and organizational epistemologies whose deployment and adoption is neither seamless nor universal. A thesis of this chapter is that while the practices of building simulation that coalesce under the BIM rubric inscribe an infrastructural ambition to reorganize worlds of practice, they also engender creative forms of resistance. A second thesis has to do with method. Enabled by increasingly intricate socio- technical systems comprising humans, machines, software, as well as cultural and legal protocols, modern building production poses critical challenges that demand both historically-informed and localized, performative accounts of technological practice. Confronting the scale and scope of these challenges, studies of design, technology, and society—the field of inquiry I seek to circumscribe—may focus on examining dominant technological discourses and narratives against these localized accounts to reveal the seams, the uneven distributions, and the messy encounters such discourses often obscure. 2 Architect and BIM advocate Randy Deutsch provides a concise definition of BIM: “the software tool and process for generating and managing building data during its complete lifecycle, from conceptual design through fabrication, construction, maintenance, and operation of the building” (Deutsch 2011; see also Bergin 2015). D. Cardoso Llach
- 39. 25 2.1 From Picture to Artifact: The Rise of the Structured Image Despite its apparent novelty, the technical and conceptual origins of Building Information Modeling can be traced back to the Cold War era’s research and devel- opment projects within what is often termed, after Eisenhower, the US “military- industrial- academic complex” (1961). Crucial for our analysis, the key precursor to BIM was the wartime development of a new kind of image linked to the new com- puting technologies for data storage, manipulation, and display. First experienced on the screens of radar systems displaying maps and associated information, this new image was produced by a computer’s processing of numerical information describing geometric point coordinates of line segments. Encoded in punched cards, these numerical definitions were translated into signals controlling the way a stream of electrons fell onto the phosphorous inside of a cathode ray tube display, thus rendering the image. Emblematic of this era, the SAGE (Semi-Automated Ground Environment) defense system, launched in 1951, used radar technologies to track enemy airplanes and display maps with the position of the planes on cathode ray tube monitors (Fig. 2.1). Besides the characteristic glow of these early displays, what distinguished this image from its ink and paper relatives was a fundamental separation between the image itself (as rendered on the screen) and the numerical Fig. 2.1 Semi-Automated Ground Environment (SAGE) (MITRE Corporation. Photograph is used and reprinted with permission of The MITRE Corporation © 2015. All other rights reserved) 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 40. 26 information behind it (as inscribed in storage media such as punched cards). In contrast with images produced using traditional methods such as pencil and ink on paper, computer-generated images resulted from a continuous and semi-automatic process of translation between numerical definitions inscribed in a storage medium (software) and a rendering system (hardware). This split between the visible image and its encoded numerical definition inscribes a technical dissociation with profound implications for our analysis: the dissociation between the punched card and the radar screen—between symbolic, non-pictorial information and the electro-mechanical computing systems rendering the image. At a rate of several dozen translations per second between the symbolic definitions inscribed in software and the images rendered on the screen, these struc- tured images prompted Cold War era’s researchers to imagine new ways of going about designing, representating, and manufacturing. From the Latin voice struere, to build, the word structure conveys the tec- tonic mindset that shaped image-making practices in the age of computing. For most architects, a building’s structure is the collection of underlying material ele- ments making it stable and robust. In many buildings, these structural elements— columns, beams, bearing walls—are hidden from view, masked by non-structural architectural elements such as cladding and fixtures. In fact, the relationship between structure and space has long been a subject in architecture studies, bro- kered in part by a modernist emphasis on the affordances of industrially-produced construction materials, such as steel and glass, to separate spatial and structural form. In formulating the analytical category of “structured image,” we may use- fully consider how a comparable separation took place in the discourses of image production that accompanied the emergence of computational media. References to the “structure” of computer drawings and its affordances pepper the discourses of the early Computer-Aided Design (CAD) pioneers. Likening images to built artifacts, Cold War era’s engineers and mathematicians reframed images as arti- facts to be engineered: clad onto their underlying numerical structures, computer images were to enable a design process seamlessly linked to analysis, manufactur- ing and logistics. Detached from their pictorial character, the structured image was conceptualized as a simulation (not a representation) of a design.3 My emphasis here is on simulations’ performative character: invoking the word’s connotation as “theatrical” and “deceptive,” we can usefully see software simulations as staged 3 For example, Computer-Aided Design (CAD) pioneer Ivan Sutherland articulated the separation between structure and image with remarkable clarity (Sutherland 1975: 73–77). Computer Art pioneer Frieder Nake (2013) has also discussed it, retrospectively. For an extended discussion about early discourses of image-making during the early days of CAD, see Daniel Cardoso Llach (2013, 2015b). My use of simulations here aligns with Loukissas’ notion of these systems as “com- posed of theories, material processes, mathematical artifacts, and interpretations” the meanings of which are contingent upon the actors and practices they link (Loukissas 2012). D. Cardoso Llach
- 41. 27 performances where the computer image, enlivened via its structure, represents in a distinctive way.4 The first systematic exploration of the possibilities of the structured image for design and manufacturing can be traced back to the Computer-Aided Design (CAD) Project, a research operation funded by the United States Air Force at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) between 1959 and 1970.5 A joint effort combining faculty and students of the electrical and mechanical engineering departments at MIT, the CAD Project sought to take advantage of recent advances in servomechanisms, time-sharing, numerically controlled machinery and cathode ray tube monitors for aiding design and manufacturing processes. Besides coining the phrase “Computer-Aided Design,” CAD Project members were responsible for developing or laying the foundations for numerous innovations including interac- tive graphical communication, 3-D computer graphics, computer-vision, and object oriented programming languages.6 Under the advice of Steve A. Coons, one of the project’s leaders, Ivan Sutherland developed the first interactive graphics program, called “Sketchpad,” as part of his Ph.D. thesis in electrical engineering at MIT in 1964.7 Sketchpad allowed a user to draw on a 9-inch CRT monitor with a light pen and to transform the drawing using a variety of commands (Sutherland 1963). As I discuss at length elsewhere, besides their remarkable technical achieve- ments, members of this group were also design theorists who reimagined design in computational terms (Cardoso Llach 2015a, b: 149). Under the influence of contem- porary discourses about cybernetics and Artificial Intelligence, CAD Project mem- bers imagined that design could be described computationally as an iterative process of representation, analysis and manufacturing, where computers took care of the drudgery of mechanical and analytical work while humans devoted their time to more “creative” endeavors.8 Crucial to our analysis, the themes of seamless collabo- ration in design via computer simulations populating today’s discourses about BIM were laid out during this period of remarkable inventiveness. The engineers and technologists leading the CAD Project, prominently Steven A. Coons and Douglas T. Ross, saw in the “structured” character of the computational image an opportunity to reimagine design and construction practices as the manipulation of interconnected bundles of information (instead of as the manual production of physical drawings and artifacts). The programming languages they developed to communicate 4 See Loukissas (2012). 5 This is illustrated by Douglas Ross’s work on language development for numerical control dating back to the early 1950s. For an extended discussion about the early days of numerical control see Daniel Cardoso Llach (2015b). 6 An early formulation of computer vision can be found in Lawrence G. Roberts, and Peter Elias (1963). 7 While independently funded, Sutherland worked under the advice of CAD Project co-director Steven A. Coons. 8 For influential formulations of cybernetics see Wiener (1965), and Licklider (1960). 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 42. 28 with milling machines and oscilloscopes constituted a kind of neutral, intermediary space where information pertaining to geometric, graphic, technical, and material aspects of a design could be inscribed, manipulated, and shared (Cardoso Llach 2015b). For example, in a computer-generated image of a house, the CAD Project engineers realized that a door could be described with information about its shape but also about its material, cost, structural properties, and other attributes.9 A con- crete beam could be described with information such as length and height, but the same data structure could be furnished with information about its structural behav- ior. These structured images, they understood, could enable designers to instantly perform structural and cost analysis, and could be made available to different parties for coordination. It is in this precise sense that we can talk about the postwar rise of a new, structured, image marking the origins of what is today known as BIM. As we shall see, the structured image is the technical and conceptual fulcrum of our modern understanding of building design and construction.10 Often dismissed as the work of mere technicians automating conventional draft- ing practices (and thus irrelevant to discussions in architecture studies), the early work of CAD researchers in fact inscribes a profound theoretical reconfiguration of design and construction as data-centric practices. In the intermediary spaces of soft- ware, and in the new affordances of the structured image, the early days of CAD illustrate how simulations were always imagined as infrastructures enabling col- laborative work. We might also see them as expressions of a colonizing impulse typical of computing cultures: in the computer, CAD researchers saw a new disci- plinary territory they could claim as their own by encoding and thus displacing tra- ditional design practices.11 The earliest CAD innovations were in fact premised on a rhetorical rejection of drafting and on the adoption of a new epistemology of design representation construing images as engineered artifacts.12 As Ivan Sutherland himself explained, somewhat dismissively: compared to computer images, drawings made by hand have no structure; they are only “dirty marks on paper” (Sutherland 1975, italics are mine). Prompting visions of a seamless process from conception to manufacturing, the view of design that accompanied the rise of the structured image made its way into 9 During the late 1960s until the late 1970s, this line of work was further developed and enriched at the University of Cambridge, UK, by a group of researchers including CAD Project alum Charles Lang, Ian Braid and others. The academic researcher Charles Eastman spearheaded these efforts in the US (Cardoso Llach 2015b: 87). 10 The vision of design by the CAD Project engineers is linked to then contemporary cybernetic discourses. A particularly articulate vision of architectural work with computers is outlined by computer pioneer Douglas Engelbart in 1962, which starts with a suggestive “Let us consider an augmented architect at work (…)” (Engelbart 1962); see also Licklider (1960). 11 The terms of this redefinition and colonization were the subject of important debates among CAD researchers (Cardoso Llach 2015b: 149). 12 I have called this particular notion of design based on structured representations an “algorithmic tectonics” (Cardoso Llach 2013). D. Cardoso Llach
- 43. 29 discourses about architecture and construction, transforming professional boundar- ies, creating new social roles, and new ways of thinking about designing and build- ing—ultimately underpinning a multi-billion software industry. Whether the image’s structure is encoded in punched cards, as in the early days of CAD research, in solid-state hard drives or in distant servers, the fundamental separation between an image and its (computable, numerical and non-pictorial) structure remains the distinctive feature of images in the computing age. These technical and conceptual innovations are not only key precursors to contemporary practices of building production, but also foundational to a contemporary epistemology of the image in the age of simulation. 2.2 Infrastructural Ambitions Despite these researchers’ ambitious drive to reconfigure a wide array of design and construction practices, the CAD software industry evolved in a different direction and came to be dominated by software packages that offered more modest advance- ments such as the automation of manual drafting procedures.13 It was only until the 1990s that the technology project we now identify as BIM reactivated the goals of data-rich 3-D representations and links to manufacturing set forth by the early CAD proponents.14 A series of technical advancements made this reappearance possible: increased speed of graphics hardware and processors made software capable of managing larger amounts of data, enabling users to create and manipulate highly detailed 3-D models; mathematical advancements in computational geometry com- ing from the aircraft and car manufacturing industry made their way into consumer software packages, affording designers greater control over the definition and manipulation of digital three-dimensional models of surfaces and solids; a fledgling internet made the prospect of seamless, transnational forms of collaborative work somewhat more credible. Furthermore, economic demands for greater quantities of (and precision in) building documentation fueled a desire for more powerful and ever more connected work environments. Resting on these technical supports and fueled by the late twentieth century’s economic and cultural climate, the BIM project appears to give global amplitude to the ambition of combining computing, management and rhetoric to reorganize what is in fact a vastly diverse landscape of design and manufacturing practices—an 13 Commercial CAD systems such as AutoCAD and MicroStation dominated the market for decades. For detailed industry accounts, see Kristine K. Fallon (1997), David E. Weisberg (2008), and John Walker (1989). For historical perspectives on architect’s adoption of CAD see Robert Bruegmann (1989), and Alfredo Andia (2002). For a key source of ethnographic and historical insight regarding the CAD industry during the 1980s and 1990s see Allen B. Downey (2012). 14 The software Archicad, by Graphisoft, is often credited with spearheading this transition. 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 44. 30 ambition to be infrastructural. Accordingly, involving both software and a recon- figured ecology of building practices, the BIM project cannot be accurately described as a tool (a term that evokes the intimacy of an individual working with an instrument on a material) but rather as an infrastructure. The scale and scope of its ambition is to channel and regiment the production and circulation of informa- tion across a complex of individuals and organizations, radically transforming the building industry’s socio-technical dynamics. Accordingly, the development of strict protocols of information, production, manipulation, and exchange, and the inscription of these protocols in software sys- tems, workflows, and digital formats are at the root of the BIM. As we shall see, the project of making this vision a reality is in fact a very large socio-technical effort— not unlike the development of other large infrastructural projects, such as railroads or telegraph lines. A shift of perspective is in order. 2.3 Seeking a Lingua Franca: Standardizing the Structured Image Despite technologists’ visions of a seamless process of building design and con- struction enabled by simulations, making a building remains a distinctively messy affair, contingent upon multiple social, technical, and material factors. In contrast with the aircraft and car manufacturing industries, where economies of scale allow for the concentration of most design and production along serialized and (relatively) manageable production processes, building design and construction involves a more disperse and frequently unruly landscape of trades and industries, each with their own cultural and technological idiosyncrasies. A professional or trade group may forge an identity mainly through a distinctive technical jargon and shared training, but frequently also through technological literacies that often comprise trade- specific software systems, and their particular cultures of representation and work.15 The dominant BIM narrative normatively construes this diversity as a source of inefficiency—as something to be optimized away through computerized standard- ization. A report by the US National Institute of Standards (NIST) helps illustrate this common rationalization for the advancement of BIM. A single universal BIM format, the report argues, will reduce “redundant data entry, redundant IT systems and IT staff, inefficient business processes, and delays indirectly resulting from those efficiencies” (Gallaher et al. 2004, Laakso and Kiviniemi 2012: 136). The report estimates the yearly benefits resulting from the adoption of a common BIM standard at a remarkable $15.8 billion. It is worth noting, however, that architects, 15 Yanni Loukissas (2008) has shown how professionals use simulations to create distinct profes- sional identities. D. Cardoso Llach
- 45. 31 engineers, contractors, laborers, and fabricators are not the main beneficiaries of these projections, which chiefly privilege owners and operators. To accomplish the managerial efficiencies promised by such discourses, images need not only be structured, but also comply with standards making them readable by different systems and applications. A single standard would reduce the problems derived from a lack of compatibility between the many different proprietary formats used by different trades and professional groups. For its proponents, such Esperanto of building holds the promise of enabling easy communication across disciplines, and a “seamless flow of design, cost, project, production and maintenance informa- tion, thereby reducing redundancy and increasing efficiency throughout the lifecy- cle of the building” (Laakso and Kiviniemi 2012: 135, Björk and Laakso 2010, Howard and Björk 2008). The combined efforts by academics, industry consortia, professionals, and other actors to establish a single digital standard—a format—as a lingua franca for design and construction information illustrate the infrastructural scale and universalist ambition of the BIM project. The first attempt at creating a standard digital format for 3-D geometry dates back to 1979. A joint venture between Boeing, General Electric, and Xerox, with the US Department of Defense, created the first version of the Initial Graphics Exchange Specification (IGES) format, which was officially released in 1980 by the American National Standards Institute (ANSI) and was never widely adopted by the industry (see National Bureau of Standards 1988, Björk and Laakso 2010). Instead, Autodesk’s proprietary format DWG (for Drawing) became the de facto standard for digital files as a result of AutoCAD’s dominance over the market. In contrast with IGES, which was an open format, DWG was “closed,” so its specifications were not available to the public.16 Preceding these efforts were the attempts, starting in the 1960s, to turn an early language for controlling milling machines, Automated Programming Tool (APT), into an industry standard. Resulting from a joint effort between engineers at the Servomechanisms Laboratory at MIT, the US Air Force, and numerous aircraft companies, APT was in fact recognized as a standard for the aircraft industry in 1978 (Cardoso Llach 2015b: 42). More specific to building design, a softer form of standardization was used among CAD users in offices and firms in the US and Western Europe since the 1980s. The use of color codes for different “layers” in a drawing file helped archi- tectural practitioners organize and read distinct “families” of architectural elements separated visually.17 This “soft” standardization of aspects of drawing production facilitated the collaboration across different organizations. In some cases, color 16 However, by the 1990s other market vendors had reverse-engineered the format and made it available to other software systems outside the Autodesk family—this is the origin of the DXF (Digital Exchange File) format. 17 Architects with knowledge of layer standards and data management were valuable for compa- nies. In a sort of manual of technology for industry Kristine Fallon recommends companies exam- ining new hires for their knowledge of layer color-coding conventions (1997: 78). 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 46. 32 codes for CAD layers were formalized into regional (and national) norms.18 However, proponents of this approach complained that a lack of resources for mar- keting and training prevented it from becoming an effective industry standard (Howard and Björk 2007). Perhaps the most notable effort towards an open industry standard is the ongoing development of the Industry Foundation Classes (IFC) file format. Designed as an “open” standard without ties to particular companies or software vendors, its devel- opers describe it as “a common data schema that makes it possible to hold and exchange data between different proprietary software applications. The data schema—another way of calling the file’s data-structure—comprises information about the many disciplines that contribute to a building throughout its lifecycle: from conception, through design, construction and operation to refurbishment or demolition” (Howard and Björk 2008). An object-oriented representation of architectural elements, the IFC format is equipped with specific handlers for archi- tectural elements such as beams, walls, doors, to which relevant information, such as cost and performance data, can be associated as attributes. For example, a designer can specify a door geometrically, but also with attributes such as model, fabricator, cost, and other supply-chain information. The origins of IFC can be traced to the Standards for the Exchange of Product Data (STEP) project by the International Standards Organization (ISO) started in 1985. STEP laid the foundations of what a decade later would become the Industry Alliance for Interoperability (IAI),19 an effort towards standardization led by a group of 12 American companies using AutoCAD—Autodesk, the company behind AutoCAD, had in fact a founding role in the IAI. Since its foundation in the 1990s, the IAI—later called BuildingSMART—is the international body in charge of developing, promoting, and implementing IFC standardization. This organization released the first version of the IFC format in 1997 with the goal of making a platform- independent standard for international use (Howard and Björk 2008). While construed as a global effort, it is worth noting that the companies comprising theBuildingSMARTconsortiumareallAnglo-AmericanorBritish(BuildingSMART 2015). IFC proponents highlight the format’s virtues of openness and independency from software vendors. However, its adoption outside academia has been very slow (Howard and Björk 2008: 18). Unsurprisingly, members of different disciplines have different inclinations and opinions about what should be standardized, and many believe that the ISO should refrain from developing an open standard and simply formalize the de facto standard as reflected by the market—just asAutodesk’s DWG became a de facto standard for CAD in the 1980s (ibid). However, the IFC standard continues to be developed and sustained by an academic interest on open- 18 A standard for layer coloring was formalized by the ISO (International Organization for Standardization 1998). 19 TheIAIwasrenamedtoInternationalAllianceforInteroperabilityin1997andtoBuildingSMART in 2015 (Eastman et al. 2011: 72). D. Cardoso Llach
- 47. 33 ness, by industry actors concerned with the problematic consequences of making a proprietary format an international standard, and by the impact of governmental regulations mandating the implementation of such open standards in the building industry. Despite the alignment of these forces, the wide use of proprietary software sys- tems such as Autodesk’s Revit and their proprietary file formats will likely make them the de facto standards of work and information exchange in large portions of the industry, with IFC becoming in many cases a legal requirement—and in others, a useful sandbox for experimentation and speculative thinking about the building industry in academic and industry research circles. 2.4 Representations of BIM Consistent with its ambition to reorganize a diverse landscape of building design and construction practices, stereotypical representations of BIM depict it as a radial array of trades connected to the digital model, located at the center (Fig. 2.2). In this Fig. 2.2 Common representation of Building Information Modeling depicting the building indus- try as a ring of trades arranged around a central digital model (Image by author) 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 48. 34 diagram, the contractual, but also the social and cultural hierarchies of design and construction are flattened: clients, architects, and trade organizations are portrayed as equal tributaries to a central digital model. Also important, the lines connecting the digital model to each actor are symbolic of presumed seamless connections between industries traditionally separated by their different professional (and tech- nological) idiosyncrasies. These lines are sometimes explicitly referred to as “pipes” for design information to circulate (Shelden 2010). Obviously the “pipe” metaphor hints at the infrastructural ambition of the BIM project in its simplest disclosure as a physical system enabling material flows. Following Lucy Suchman, technological narratives constitute a “proposition for a geography within which relevant subjects and objects may claim their place” (Suchman 2006). Placing the digital model at the center of design and construction practices, this pervasive narrative of BIM has power to shape disciplinary and popu- lar expectations about what it means to design and build. How may we begin to examine this centrality? As historians of science and STS scholars have persua- sively shown, technologies are always social as their conception, development and operation inevitably comprises individuals, organizations, as well as shared modes of communication and work. The development of the BIM infrastructure is not exclusively the pursuit of tech- nologists but it also involves software vendors, academics, authors, technology proselytizers, industry consortia, government, engineers, journalists, students, and architects. One of the project’s key proponents, for example, is the prominent United States architect Frank Gehry, who adopts a typically optimistic view of computers and describes BIM as a means for architects to exert greater control over a build- ing’s design and construction—returning architects to being Renaissance master builders (Gehry 2011). Gehry has gathered the support of other prominent archi- tects—including Zaha Hadid and Jean Nouvel among many others—for the approach to building his firm enacts. Somewhat ironically, Gehry has played an important role in placing BIM at the center of a vibrant debate in industry and aca- demia about the role computing may play in architectural practice, despite not using computers himself.20 Contrary to Gehry’s optimistic view of BIM as an empowering tool for archi- tects—which is increasingly shared by his colleagues—in the hands of developers, contractors, and clients, BIM is frequently presented in a different light, as a way to reduce the role (and fees) of the architect in building production to that of just another consultant (Wallbank 2011). Aligned with larger forces shaping architec- tural production in the US towards increasingly corporate models of practice (Gutman 1997: 78), the efficiencies BIM promises mostly benefit owners and devel- 20 According to the press release “the alliance intends to enable new approaches to design through technology, to create more effective industry processes and a higher quality built environment. By applying and innovating new technology solutions to old problems such as waste, delay, and mis- communication, this new alliance will lead the process change that the AEC industry needs to confront future challenges. The group represents a new type of professional organization for the twenty-first century, one which embraces the possibility of technology to empower design” (Gehry Technologies 2011; Minner 2011). D. Cardoso Llach
- 49. 35 opers—as mentioned above. In the meantime, BIM has increasingly made it into public policy. For example, the General Services Administration in the United States established an official program to promote the implementation of three and four-dimensional BIM modeling practices in the public sector. Similar governmen- tal regulations request BIM across several countries in Europe and Asia.21 Meanwhile, other actors contribute to endowing BIM with an aura of historical inevitability. As we saw, industry consortia seek to standardize digital formats and practices to facilitate information sharing and to reduce costs derived from “interop- erability conflicts” between different industry actors (see for instance Björk and Laakso 2010). Software companies and vendors seek market dominance by estab- lishing proprietary de facto standard formats while aggressively partnering with academic institutions and firms (Appelbaum 2009; Arieff 2013; Autodesk 2013; Carfrae 2011). Academics in architecture, engineering, and construction manage- ment programs disseminate BIM software management ideas through lectures, articles, courses, and research projects.22 Researchers in economics study BIM’s potential to optimize the design and construction industry as a whole, identifying and quantifying legal, financial, and cultural obstacles to the system’s wide adop- tion, or to establish reliable metrics to assess its benefits.23 At the same time, a grow- ing body of academic and managerial literature promotes BIM through best practices and success stories.24 So, as suggested, the growing consensus among industry, academia and govern- ment sectors about the urgency of BIM’s deployment is itself another manifestation of the infrastructural scale of the project—and of its universalist ambition. No longer phrased as a trading zone but rather as an all-encompassing infrastructural space shap- ing a wide range of communicative and work practices, the structured images of build- ing simulations, and the managerial ideologies they inscribe, constitute an increasingly hegemonic view of how buildings and other artifacts are designed and built. I would like to turn now to a series of localized accounts from the field, which offer a glimpse into the ongoing construction of the BIM infrastructure in practice. Snapshots from a larger ethnographic work, they illustrate how the notions of centrality, universality, and seamlessness that populate conventional BIM dis- courses can be contested in practice (Cardoso Llach 2015b). Revealing seams, uneven distributions, and messy encounters, these localized accounts of two real 21 For reports on the adoption of BIM in Europe, see Harvey M. Bernstein (2010), and Pete Baxter (2013). For reports on the adoption of BIM in Asia, see Lachmi Khemlani (2012). 22 For salient examples see Charles M. Eastman (2008), Andrew Witt (2011), and Andrew Witt, Tobias Nolte and Dennis Shelden (2011). 23 Respectively, Rob Howard and Bo-Christer Björk (2008) and Kristen Barlish and Kenneth Sullivan (2012). 24 See, for instance Randy Deutsch (2011). For useful case studies, see Carlos Andres Cardenas (2008), Shiro Matsushima (2003). Recent work by Carrie Struts Dossick and Gina Neff (2011) offers a new perspective by collecting and analyzing a wide sample of qualitative data from BIM users in the US and Europe. These researchers usefully illustrate that while the claim of enhancing interoperability costs is true to some extent, messier forms of communication crucial to design coordination (for instance, informal speech) are not enhanced by BIM practices. 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 50. 36 BIM- coordinated projects seek to bring into focus the blurry contours of the BIM project, and the considerable efforts we invest in building it into the dominant infrastructure for architectural production.25 2.5 Image One—Confronting a New Physical, Social, and Cognitive Distance The world runs on paper —Jack Glymph (Pollack 2006) While BIM processes are premised on the idea of creating a simpler way of man- aging conflicts during both building design and construction, some actors find it unnecessarily complicated and prone to generate further conflicts. For these skep- tics, BIM processes—premised on new technologies as well as on new actors to manage these technologies—are obstructive to traditional forms of design coordination. Jacques, an engineer working as a project manager in the construction of a large shopping mall in a Middle Eastern city, struggled to come to terms with what he perceived as a new, digitized bureaucracy of design coordination. His skeptical stance towards the new process is summed up with his opinion that “new software and new technologies create[d] new ways for possible misunderstandings” (Interview, May 16, 2011). Used to a process of project coordination based on 2-D drawings printed on paper, where people “sit in a room with the decision makers, each with their own set of drawings, and together discuss and figure out solutions for the issues” he has now to engage, under BIM, with a new technology and a new process based on digital 3-D models. Rather than identifying issues and marking them on paper drawings, Jacques has to confront a new practice of coordination where meeting participants gather around and coordinate their practices around a digital model. However, in the Mall project, cultural factors and contractual hierarchies chal- lenge the centrality of the simulation and the authority of those who advocate for it, creating tension (compare where the simulation is located in Figs. 2.2 and 2.3). Not without a sense of irony, Jacques describes the 3-D images produced by BIM spe- cialists as “nice” and “impressive,” only to remark that they are useless in the con- struction site—where only 2-D drawings are in fact used. Since the workers on site relied exclusively on 2-D drawings, any inconsistencies between the 3-D model and the 2-D drawings made coordination difficult and threatened impending construc- tion deadlines. To be effective, decisions taken by design coordinators on the 3-D 25 The actors and events I describe exist within the larger contexts of the desert city and Emirate of Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates, and the Middle East. Far from the relative technological comfort zones of Angloamerica and Western Europe—where BIM processes and technologies are closer to what Paul Edwards terms a “naturalized background.” D. Cardoso Llach
- 51. 37 model had to be acted upon by the responsible organization, members of which should promptly produce a new set of 2-D drawings (Fig. 2.6a). This posed a prob- lem for the construction teams, as several of the project’s subcontractors were not proficient users of 3-D modeling software, and thus preferred to rely on traditional coordination methods based on 2-D drawings. Consequently, in some cases, con- flicts identified in the 3-D model and discussed in meetings had already been solved—or simply did not exist—on 2-D drawings. As a result, some actors on site came to see BIM as a redundant process and a complication. Without the contractual obligation to use BIM, Jacques admits, the builders “would have trashed it at the beginning of the project” (ibid). Following Mumford’s notion of technologies as enablers of different forms of distance, separation, and dissociation, we may see Jacques’ skepticism towards BIM as a defense against what he perceives as an estrangement from the project. This estrangement has cognitive, physical, and organizational dimensions. Crucially, new software and hardware systems capable of managing increasingly detailed descriptions have created the need for new specialized practitioners whose skill set spans information management, computational geometry, and architectural engi- neering skills. So, separated physically from the project’s information by a software interface he does not know how to control, and by a new expert acting as gate- keeper, Jacques feels that control has been taken, literally, out of his hands. In his Fig. 2.3 Contractually established hierarchies in the building industry can challenge the centrality simulations as inscribed in conventional representations of BIM (Image by author) 2 Architecture and the Structured Image
- 52. 38 skeptical view, the new bureaucracy of project coordination relies on obscure inter- faces, intricate channels of verification and approval, and on a new, unwelcome middleman. This bureaucracy of project coordination establishes how information circulates within a project, for example prescribing how design coordinators are to communicate information about design problems to other members of the organiza- tion. Distinct actors enact different roles such as inspection, verification, and model- ing, and shepherd conflict information from conflict detection to, ideally, resolution (Fig. 2.4). Furthermore, Jacques thinks that the focus on the simulation changes the dynam- ics of coordination meetings, taking away from less structured verbal interactions around physical drawings: “In the days before BIM, when there was an important clash people would sit together, would call each other, set a meeting, sit together, have a good fight, either the MEP would lower his duct or the architect would lower his ceiling, but after the meeting, after the fight, there would be a solution, so…” The new dynamics of coordination with BIM baffles Jacques, who sees it as a deterrent to what he construes as more the informal and direct verbal exchanges distinctive of traditional coordination. In his view, the distance introduced by the new technical expert, the BIM specialist or coordinator, induces passivity among participants and creates opportunities for misunderstanding: “[In a BIM meeting] it always ends up in “we will check” or “we will send you an email” and then [the report is] sent to five different persons and they all have to say nay or yay, and there’s always someone who comments, or who leaves the back door open…” Jacques’ reluctance to BIM illustrates a familiar irritation towards new techno- logical propositions. He saw computer simulations purporting to channel design and construction coordination as foreign territories where key actors are no longer in touch with the project’s information. Alienating key actors who do not have the skills to read, create, or manipulate digital models, the new technical expert was perceived as an obstructive gatekeeper and middleman. As a result, Jacques and those who shared his skepticism refused to see BIM as a legitimate infrastructure for coordination, and reverted back to habitual methods of trust-building and work. Their frustration and resistance could easily be dismissed as a generational or tech- nophobic quirk. However, it also inscribes pragmatism towards the fast-paced con- text of construction sites. Here, the infrastructural impulse of BIM is contested by an uneven landscape of technological literacy among the organizations and participants, and by long standing traditions of visual communication, organization and coordination work. Accordingly, a parallel coordination process took place away from the three- dimensional images produced by BIM specialists in the digital models (Fig. 2.5). This parallel coordination occurred in different spaces, under different schedules, and relied on each organization’s habitual forms of 2-D coordination.26 In light of 26 In the mall project, this was particularly true of the organization in charge of the Mechanical, Engineering and Plumbing (MEP) systems. D. Cardoso Llach
- 54. 40 this parallel coordination process, the weekly BIM meetings appeared to many as a legal formalism with dubious benefits on the overall project coordination. At its most entangled, the two coordination processes operated in a sort of denial, failing to acknowledge redundancies between the 2-D and 3-D coordination processes (Fig. 2.6a). Summoned weekly to witness inevitably partial versions of a digital model, trade people, client representatives, BIM consultants and project managers discussed the conflicts represented in the simulation in events I have elsewhere termed “liturgical” because of the participants’ standing commitment to BIM rituals despite a lack of evidence to the their effectiveness (Cardoso Llach 2015b: 130). During the final stages of the construction of the mall, however, after hundreds such meetings had taken place, Jacques articulated a different view of BIM where the computer simulation is not a prescriptive device but a reference tool—a refer- ence for actions already taken on site and a record (instead of a vehicle) of coordina- tion. He admitted that his frustration tempered when he started seeing the BIM as a reference to the team. “…[N]ow that the BIM is behind us, BIM has become more popular.” No longer seeing the simulation as an instrument purporting to discipline and control, but as a recording tool to account for the actions already performed on site, Jacques started to accept it, and the tensions loosened. The rhetorical relocation of BIM “behind us” is a remarkable move. Jacques puts the computer simulation in its place as a supportive device, decentering it and in fact dismantling its purported central and infrastructural role within the project. Compare the coordination pro- cesses as diagrammed in Fig. 2.6b, where the model is a verification and a reference with no prescriptive power over the site or construction documents, with the process as diagrammed in Fig. 2.6c, where the model is at the focus of coordination, Fig. 2.5 Image of a conflict as reported by a BIM specialist in the mall project (Image by author) D. Cardoso Llach
- 55. Exploring the Variety of Random Documents with Different Content
- 56. Ngoya (Angoy), kingdom, 5.6 S., 12.3 E., 42, 104 Ngulungu (Golungo), a region between the Lukala and Mbengu, 9.0 S., 14.5 E., 149, 179 Ngumbiri, fetish, 49, 81 Ngunga mbamba, soba in Lubolo, 180 Ngunza a ngombe, chief in Ndongo, 164 Ngunza a mbamba, in Hako, 10.3 S., 15.3 E., 180 Ngwalema (Ngolome) a Kayitu, soba in Ngulungu, 179 Ngwalema a kitambu, the Ngolome akitambwa of V. J. Duarte (An. do cons ultram., ii, p. 123), and the [Pg 222] Anguolome aquitambo of Garcia Mendes, 9.1 S., 15.8 E., 143, 148 Njimbu, native name for cowries. Njimbu a mbuji (Gimbo Amburi) a fetish place, about 5.9 S., 14.5 E. Nkanda Kongo, of Girolamo of Montesarchio, is perhaps identical with a modern village, Nkandu, 4.8 S., 14.9 E. Nkandu, one of the four days of the Kongo week, and hence applied to a place where a market is held on that day. Nkishi. See Fetish. Nkondo (Mucondo), district between Sonyo and Kibango, 16.7 S., 14.1 E., 131 Nkanga. See Cango. Nkundi (Kundi), female chief in Kwangu, 4.7 S., 16.8 E., 126 Nkusu (Incussu), 26, district in Kongo, 6.7 S., 15.0 E., 126 Nogueira, A. F., quoted, 103, 194, 207 Nombo (Numbu), river, enters Xilungu Bay, 4.3 S., 11.4 E., 53 Nsaku (Caçuto) Cão’s hostage, 106, 108 Nsata, a district in Kongo, 7.8 S., 16.0 E., 125 Nsanda. See Banyan tree. Nsanga, of Girolamo Montesarchio, is perhaps identical with a modern village, Nsanga, 4.7 S., 15.2 E. Nsela (Sheila), district, 11.3 S., 15.0 E., 180 Nsongo, a province of Mbata (Cavazzi, 6), 4.4 S., 16.5 E.? Nsonso (Zucchelli, xvii, 3), a district above Nsundi, the capital of which is Incombella (Konko a bela). Nsoso (Nsusu), a province of Mbata, 6.7 S., 15.5 E. Nsundi (Sundi), province of Kongo, capital perhaps, 5.2 S., 14.3 E., 109
- 57. Ntinu, King of Kongo, 102 Ntotela, title of King of Kongo, 102, 136 Nua Nukole (Nuvla nukole), river, (nua, mouth), 10.2 S., 15.4 E. Numbi. See Nombo. Nzari, or Nzadi, “great river,” applied to the river Kongo (Zaire) and its tributaries. Nzenza, said to be the proper name of the river Mbengu, and is also the name of several districts, as Nzenza of Ngulungu, the chief place of which is Kalungembo, [Pg 223] 9.2 S., 14.2 E. Nzenza means river-margin; Nzanza, table-land. Nzenza a ngombe, a Jaga in Ndongo, 168 Nzinga a mona (D. Antonio Carrasco), king, 176, 177 Nzinga mbandi ngola (D. Anna de Souza), the famous queen, 141, 142, 163, 164, 165, 173, 176, 181 Nzinga mbandi ngolo, kiluanji, 163 Oacco. See Hako. Oarij. See Ari. Ocango. See Kwangu. Offerings, 77 Oliveira, Manuel Jorge d’, 149 Oliveira, bishop João Franco de, 177 Oloe, a river, which on the map of D. Lopez, flows past S. Salvador, and enters the Lilunda (Lunda)—an impossibility. The river flowing past S. Salvador is the Luezi. Onzo, or Ozoni (D. Lopez), 8.2 S., 13.3 E. Orta, Garcia d’, quoted, 119 Ostrich eggs, beads, 31. Mr. Hobley suggests to me that these may merely be discs cut out of the shell of ostrich eggs and then perforated, such as he saw used as ornaments in Kavirondo. Ouuando, seems to be a region to the N. of Encoge and the river Loje. Rebello de Aragão, p. 20, calls it Oombo (Wumbo) and says the copper mines of Mpemba are situated within it. J. C. Carneiro (An. do cons. ultr, ii, 1861, p. 172) says that the proper name is Uhamba (pronounced Wamba) or Ubamba. Dapper calls it Oando (pronounced Wando). Rev. Thos. Lewis tells me that the natives pronounce d, b, and v quite indistinctly, and suggests Wembo. He
- 58. rejects Ubamba as a synonym. From all this we may accept Wembo, Wandu, or Wanbo as synonymous. See Wembo. Oulanga. See Wanga. Outeiro, the “Hill,” a vulgar designation of S. Salvador. Ozoni. See Onzo. Pacheco, Manuel, 116, 139 Padrão, Cabo do, at Kongo mouth, 6.1 S., 12.4 E., 105, 107, 125 Palm cloth, 9, 31, 43, 50, 52 Palm oil, 7 Palm wine, 30, 32 [Pg 224] Palm trees, 69 Palmar, Cabo or Punta do, 5.6 S., 12.1 E. Palmas, Cabo das, on Guinea coast, 2 Palongola, a village one mile outside S. Salvador (Cavazzi.) No such village exists now. Palongola, kilombo of Kasanji ka Kinjuri in Little Ngangela (Cavazzi, 42, 781, 793). Pampus Bay, Dutch name given to S. Antonio Bay at Kongo mouth, 126 Pangu. See Mpangu. Panzu. See Mpanzu. Parrots, 54 Partridges, 63 Paul III, Pope, 113 Peacocks, sacred birds, 26 Peas, 67 Pechuel-Loesche, quoted, 18, 40, 43, 54, 55, 60, 66, 76, 104 Pedras da Ambuila, are the Pedras de Nkoski, or the “Roca” S. of the Presidio de Encoge, 7.7 S., 15.4 E., 129 Pedro, King of Portugal, 181 Pedro I, King of Kongo, 117, 136 Pedro II, King of Kongo, 123, 137 Pedro III, King of Kongo, 131, 137 Pedro IV, King of Kongo, 130, 133, 137
- 59. Pedro Constantino, King of Kongo, 133, 138 Pedro, Dom, negro ambassador to Portugal, 110 Pegado, Captain Ruy, 175 Peixoto, Antonio Lopez, 19, 147 Peixoto, Manuel Freis, 176 Pelicans, 63 Pemba. See Mpemba. Penedo de Bruto, 9.1 S., 13.7 E., 146 Pereira, Andre Fereira, 144, 148 Pereira, Luiz Ferreira, 149 Pereira, Manuel Cerveira, 37, 38, 39, 72, 156, 159, 161, 182, 188 Pete (puita), a musical instrument, 15, 21, 33 Pheasants, 63 Philip of Spain, King of Portugal, 121, 153, 169 Philip II, King of Portugal, 122 Phillips, R. C., quoted, xvii, 15, 17, 45 Pigafetta, quoted, x, 14, 42, 74, 122. See also Lopez. Pimental, quoted, 16 [Pg 225] Pina, Ruy de, quoted, 104, 108 Pinda. See Mpinda. Pinto, Serpo, quoted, 17 Pirates, 170, 175 Piri, the lowland of Luangu, inhabited by the Bavili. Pitta, Antonio Gonçalves, 121, 159 Plata, Rio de la, 4 Plymouth, departure, 2 Poison ordeals, 59, 61, 73, 80 Pongo (Mpunga), an ivory trumpet, 15, 21, 33, 47, 86 Pontes, Vicente Pegado de, 175 Portuguese knowledge of inner Africa, xv; massacre of Portuguese in Angola, 145; in Kongo, 105 Poultry, 63 Prata, Serra da, the supposed “silver mountain” near Kambambe, 27
- 60. Prazo, Porto do, the bay of the Kongo. Prohibitions. See Tabu. Proyart, quoted, 64 Pumbeiros (from Pumbelu, hawker), in Kongo, the country of the Avumbu, the trading district about Stanley Pool is known as Mpumbu (Bentley). See p. 164 for “Shoeless Pumbeiros.” Punga, an ivory trumpet. See Pongo. Purchas, as editor, xi Pungu a ndongo, 9.7 S., 15.5. E., 143, 178 Pygmies, 59 Quadra, Gregòrio de, 116 Quelle (Kuilu), river, 4.5 S., 11.7 E., 52 Quesama. See Kisama. Queimados, serras, “burnt mountains” (D. Lopez), about 6.9 S., 15.3 E. Quesanga, a fetish, 24 Qui-. See Ki. Quigoango. See Kinkwango. Quina (Kina), sepulture, 166 Quiôa. See Kiowa. Quisama. See Kisama. Quimbebe of D. Lopez, I believe ought to have been spelt Quimbēbe (pron. Kimbembe), and to be identical with Cavazzi’s wide district of Bembe (Mbembe). Its king, Matama, may have been the Matima (Mathemo) near whose Kilombo Queen Nzinga was defeated, p. 166. The Beshimba, or Basimba (Nogueira, A raça negra, 1881, p. 98) have nothing to do with this Kimbembe, but may have given origin [Pg 226] to the Cimbebasia of the missionaries. See Bembe. Quingi. See Kinti. Quinguego (D. Lopez). See Kingengo. Rafael, king of Kongo, 130, 131, 137 Raft, built by Battell, 41 Rain-making in Luangu, 46 Rangel, D. Miguel Baptista, bishop, 122 Rapozo, Luiz Mendes, 147
- 61. Rebello, Pedro Alvares, 154 Resende, Garcia de, quoted, 104, 108 Revenue, administrative reforms, 169 Ribeiro, Christovão, Jesuit, 118 Ribeiro, Gonçalo Rodrigues, 111 Rimba, district, 11.5 S., 14.5 E., 180 Rio de Janiero, 6. “Roebuck,” voyage of, 89 Rolas, Ilheo das, islet off S. Thomé, 3 Roza, José de, 186 Sá, Diogo Rodrigo de, 129 Sá, Salvador Corrêa de, governor of Rio, 90, 93 Sá de Benevides, Salvador Corrêa de, 174, 189 Sabalo, inland town S.-E., of Sela (D. Lopez). Sakeda, mbanza in Lubolo, 180 Salag, mani, 50. Dennett suggests Salanganga, Rev. Tho. Lewis Salenga. Salaries of officials in 1607, 163 Saldanha de Menezes e Sousa, Ayres de, 190 Saltpeter mountains (Serras de Salnitre), of D. Lopez, are far inland, to the east of the Barbela. Salt mines, 36, 37, 160 Samanibanza, village in Mbamba, 14 Santa Cruz of Tenerife, 2 S. Cruz, abandoned fort on the Kwanza, perhaps at Isandeira, 9.1. S., 13.4 E., 146 n. S. Felippe de Benguella, 12.6 S., 15.4 E., 160, 170, 173, 183 S. Miguel, Roque de, 157 S. Miguel, fort and morro, 8.8 S., 13.2 E., 145, 170, 174 S. Paulo de Loande, 8.8 S., 13.2 E., 7, 13, 144, 157, 171-174. See also Luandu. S. Pedro, Penedo de, (perhaps identical with the Penedo de A. Bruto, 9.1 S., 13.7 E.), 145
- 62. San Salvador, 6.2 S., 14.3 E., the Portuguese name of the capital of [Pg 227] Kougo, also referred to simply as “Outeiro,” the Hill, on the ground of its situation. The native names are Mbaji a ekongo (the palaver place of Kongo), Mbaji a nkanu (the place of judgment), Nganda a ekongo or Ngandekongo (the “town”) or ekongo dia ngungo (town of church-bells, because of its numerous churches), 103, 109, 117, 123, 131, 134 S. Sebastian, in Brazil, 6 S. Thomé, island, 139 Schweinfurth, quoted, 67 Seals in the Rio de la Plata, 5 Seat. See Sette. Sebaste, name given by Dias to Angola, 145 Sebastian, King of Portugal, 145 Sela. See Nsela. Sequeira, Bartholomeu Duarte de, 177 Sequeira, Francisco de, 148 Sequeira, Luiz Lopez de, 129, 153, 177, 178, 180 Serra comprida, the “long range,” supposed to extend from C. Catharina to the Barreira vermelha, 1.8 to 5.3 S. Serrão, João, 146 Serrão, Luiz de, 144, 147, 148, 150, 188 Sette, 2.6 S., 10.3 E., 58 Shelambanza. See Shilambanze. Shells, as ornaments, 31, 32 Shilambanza, 26, 86 (a village of the uncle of King Ngola), and Axilambansa (a village said to belong to the king’s father-in-law), are evidently the same place, situated about 9.8 S., 15.1 E. Shingiri, a diviner, soothsayer. Sierra Leone, supposed home of the Jaga, 19 Silva, Antonio da, 180 Silva, Gaspar de Almeida da, 182 Silva, Luiz Lobo da, 190 Silva, Pedro da, 182 Silva e Sousa, João da, 190 Silver and silver mines, 27, 113, 115, 122, 128, 140, 145
- 63. Silver mountain (Serra da Prata), supposed to be near Kambambe. Simão da Silva, 112 Simões, Garcia, Jesuit, 143, 144, 202 Sims, Rev. A., quoted, 198 Singhilamento (Cavazzi, 189, 198), a divination, from Shing’iri, a diviner. [Pg 228] Sinsu, a district on Mbengu river, N. of Luandu (Dapper), 8.7 S., 13.3 E. Slave trade, 71, 96, 135, 157 Soares, João, Dominican, 110 Soares, Manuel da Rocha, 182 Soares, Silvestre, 124 Soba, kinglet, chief, only used S. of the river Dande. Sogno, pronounced Sonyo, q.v. Soledade, P. Fernando de, 108 Sollacango (Solankangu), a small lord in Angola, 14. Perhaps identified with Kikanga, 8.9 S., 13.8 E. Songa, village on the Kwanza, 9.3 S., 13.9 E., 37, 156 Songo, a tribe, 11.0 S., 18.0 E., 152, 166 Sonso, a province of Kongo (P. Manso, 244), to N.E. of S. Salvador, 15.7 S., 14.5 E.? Sonyo (Sonho), district on lower Kongo, 6.2 S., 12.5 E., 42, 104 (origin of name). Sorghum, 67 Sotto-maior, Francisco de, 173, 189 Sousa, Balthasar d’Almeida de, 154 Sousa, Christovão Dorte de, 118 Sousa, Luiz de, quoted, 108 Sousa, Ruy de, 108 Souza, Fernão de, 168, 189 Souza, Gonçalo de, 108 Souza, João Corrêa de, 123, 164, 169, 187 Souza, João de, 108 Souza, José Antonio de, 134 Souza Chichorro, Luiz Martim de, 189
- 64. Soveral, Diogo, Jesuit, 118 Soveral, Francisco, bishop, 168 Sowonso (Sonso), village 14 Spelling, rules followed, xvii Stanley, Sir H. M., quoted, 198 Sulphur discovered, 160 Sumba mbela’, district at the Kuvu mouth, 10.8 S., 14.0 E., 160. On modern maps it is called Amboella. Sumbe of Sierra Leone, are not Jaga, 150 Sun mountains (Serras do Sol) of D. Lopez, E. of Mbata and Barbela. Sundi. See Nsundi. Susa, district of Matamba, 7.8 S., 16.6 E. Sutu Bay, 9.7 S., 13.3 E., 173 Tabu (prohibitions), 57, 78 Tacula (red sanders), 82 [Pg 229] Talama mtumbo (S. João Bautista), in Nzenza do Ngulungu, 9.2 S., 14.2 E. Tala mugongo, mountain, 9.8. S., 17.5 E. Tamba, district, 10.1 S., 15.5 E., 180 Tari (Tadi) ria nzundu, district in Kongo. A Tadi, 4.9 S., 15.2 E.; a Nzundu, 5.6 S., 14.9 E. Tavale, a musical instrument, 21 Tavares, Bernardo de Tavora Sousa, 190 Tavora, Francisco de, 178, 190 Teeth, filed or pulled out, 37 Teka ndungu, near Kambambe, 9.7 S., 14.6 E., 147 Temba ndumba, a daughter of Dongy, 152 Tenda (Tinda), town between Ambrize and Loze (D. Lopez). Theft, its discovery, 56, 80, 83 Tihman, Captain, 125 Tin mines, 119 Tombo, village, 9.1 S., 13.3 E., 36, 145 Tondo (Tunda), a district, 10.0 S., 15.0 E., 26 Tovar, Joseph Pellicer de, quoted, 126
- 65. Treaties with Holland, 128, 175 Trials before a fetish, 56, 80, 83 Trombash, or war-hatchet, 34, 86 Tuckey, Capt., quoted, 77 Turner, Thomas, ix, 7, 71 Ukole, island in Kwanza, 9.7. S., 15.7 E. Ulanga, battle of 1666, 7.7 S., 17.4 E., 127, 179 Ulhoa, D. Manuel de, bishop, 122 Ulolo. See Mpangu. Umba, district of, 8.1 S., 16.7 E., 167 Vaccas, Bahia das, 12.6 S., 13.4 E., 16, 29, 160 Vamba, river. See Vumba. Vamma, district at mouth of Dande (Dapper), 8.5 S., 13.3 E. Vambu a ngongo, a vassal of Kongo, in the south, who sided with the Portuguese. He seems to be identical with Nambu a ngongo, q. v. Vasconcellos, Ernesto, quoted, 210 Vasconcellos, Luiz Mendes de, 163, 188 Vasconcellos da Cunha, Bartholomeu 127, 189 [Pg 230] Vasconcellos da Cunha, Francisco de, 167-170, 174, 179, 189 Veanga (Paiva Manso, 244), a prince of Kongo. Rev. Tho. Lewis suggests Nkanga, E. of S. Salvador, 6.3 S., 14.6 E. Vellez, João Castanhosa, 147 Velloria, João de, 149, 153, 155 Verbela, a river, perhaps the same as Barbela (Duarte Lopez). Viéra, Antonio, 113 Vieira, Antonio, a negro, 119 Vieira, João Fernandez de, 173, 179, 183-185, 189 Vilhegas, Diogo de. See Antonio de Dénis. Voss, Isaac, his work on the Nile, xv Vumba (Va-umba, “at or near Umba,”) a river that runs to the Zaire (Lopez), called Vamba (Cavazzi) = the Hamba (C. and I). Mechow (Abh. G. F. E., 1882, p. 486) mentions a large river Humba to the E. of the Kwangu; a river Wamba joins the lower Kwangu; another
- 66. Vamba joins the lower Zaire, and leads up to Porto Rico. (Vasconcellos, Bol., 1882, 734); and there is a river Umba or Vumba in E. Africa. (Vumba = to make pots, in Kongo). Vamba is perhaps another name for the Kwangu. Vunda, district of Kongo (Paiva Manso, 104); but Vunda means “to rest,” and there are many of these mid day halting-places of the old slave gangs, the villages where they passed the night being called Vemadia, i.e., Ave Maria (Tho. Lewis). A village Vunda, on the Kongo, 5.2 S., 13.7 E. Walkenaer, quoted, 19, 22 Wamba, river. See Vumba. [Pg 231] Wembo, or Wandu, district 7.5 S., 15.0 E., 123, 126. See Ouuanda. Welwitsch, quoted, 16, 17 West India Company, Dutch, 170 Wheat (maize), 7, 11 Wilson, Rev. Leighton, quoted, 134 Witchcraft, 61 Women, first European, at Luandu, 155 Wouters, a Belgian capuchin, 132 Ybare. See Ibare. Yumba, country, 3.3 S., 10.7 E. 53, 82 Zaire, (Nzari, or Nzadi). See Kongo. Zariambala, Nzari Ambala of Zucchelli, probably the Mamballa R. of Turkey, which is the main channel of the Kongo in 12.9 E. Zebra, and zebra tails, 33, 63 Zenze (Nzenza), river bank, Nzanza, table land, said to be the proper name of the river M’bengu, and also the name of several districts. Zenze angumbe. See Nzenza. Zerri (Chera), N. of Mboma, 5.8 S., 13.1 E. Zimba, the first Jaga, 152; the Zimba are identical with the Maravi in East Africa, 150 Zimbo, soldiers of a Jaga (Cavazzi, 183).
- 67. Zoca, an inland town, S. of Mbata (D. Lopez). Zolo (Nzolo), a village on road from S. Salvador to Mbata, 6.0 S., 15.1 E. Zombo, (Mosombi), the tribe inhabiting Mbata, 5.8 S., 15.5 E. Zongo, of Cavazzi, Mosongo of Rebello de Aragõa; our Songo, 11.0 S., 17.5 E. Zucchelli, Antonio, 132, 184, 186
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