10 83efe0f0 or the seagram building 2 · 302 the art of architecture/the science of architecture...

298 THE ART OF ARCHITECTURE/THE SCIENCE OF ARCHITECTURE

10283EFE0F02 or the Seagram Building

SEAN KELLERHarvard University

Like a strange organic molecule, the formula ofthe Seagram Building was discovered by LionelMarch at the University of Cambridge in 1973 (figs.1 and 2). Removed from its famous site, strippedof its materiality, and pinned to a cubic grid, Mies’siconic work was distilled finally into a single num-ber “about the same length as some telephone di-aling codes”: 10283EFE0F02. Similarly, LeCorbusier’s Maison Minimum—apparently not com-pact enough—became F2803F71280EFE032F (fig.3). These “boolean descriptions” appeared in anarticle describing the mathematical basis of com-

puter modeling.1 Still uncommon and arcane, com-puters were central to March’s effort as head ofCambridge’s Center for Land Use and Built FormStudy to direct architectural education and practiceaway from what he considered an unhealthy obses-sion with appearances, and toward the scientific so-lution of social and environmental problems.

Yet even March could not resist demonstrating thenovel formal potential of his mathematics: bytweaking a few numbers one could easily producea beveled version of the Seagram Building (fig. 4).His colleague Robin Forrest used the same tech-nique to create alternatives which were rotated,scaled and sheared (fig. 5). For the first time inarchitectural history such transformational opera-

Figure 1: Boolean description of the Seagram Building,Lionel March, 1976.

Figure 2: Seagram Building, New York, Ludwig Miesvan der Rohe, 1957.

10283EFE0F02 OR THE SEAGRAM BUILDING 299

tions became a natural mode of production (oncethe mathematical structures were in place, repre-senting a cock-eyed cube was as easy as repre-senting an orthogonal one). We see here, slippingout of March’s strongly iconoclastic program, thefirst signs of a new formal vocabulary of transfor-mations, processes, and anti-materialism whichwould come to define the architectural avant gardeof the 1980s and which since has evolved into anentire mode of architectural production.

Twenty years after its completion, it was no longerthe Seagram Building itself, but its digital encod-ing which signaled a new period of architecturalproduction—a period, which we continue to occupy,marked not only by the shift from parallel rule toparallel processing, and the formal consequenceswhich followed, but also by the end of the Modern-ist social aspirations that motivated March’s re-search. For the growth of computing led not to therational resolutions of architectural programs en-visioned by March’s theory, but, ironically, to a newvocabulary of architectural forms suggested by his(and his colleagues’) images. Encoded and manipu-

lated, the last monument of high modernism be-came, unintentionally, the first evidence of a for-mal strategy which has affected architecture farmore deeply than the postmodern facades whichdominate our view of the 1970s. The story of theSeagram Building’s code teaches a few lessons

Figure 3: Boolean description of Le Corbusier’s MaisonMinimum plan, March, 1976.

Figure 4: Bevelled version of the Seagram Building,March, 1976.

Figure 5: Seagram Building transformed by three-dimensional sheer, Robin Forrest, 1976.


then: about new technologies, about the end ofmovements, and about where architectural formscome from.

SYSTEMS LABORATORIES

Planning to study mathematics, March had enteredCambridge as an undergraduate in 1955 with arecommendation from computer pioneer Alan Tur-ing, the central hero, and victim, of the British codecracking effort during World War II. March seemsto have thought of architecture only after arrivingat Cambridge, where the “new status of the schoolof architecture under Prof. [Leslie] Martin” con-vinced him to alter course after his first year (hewould receive a first class B.A. in mathematics andarchitecture).2 As a result, March studied withChristopher Alexander who also had migrated frommathematics to architecture. March remembersAlexander suggesting in 1957 that “games theoryand linear programming might be useful techniquesin architectural design,”3 and though he claims thatAlexander’s references were beyond him at thetime, in fifteen years it would be March who wasrunning a research center at Cambridge devotedto computational design methods and scoldingAlexander for sloppy mathematical reasoning—while Alexander had abandoned computers andmathematics for the intuitive knowledge of his “pat-tern language.”4

The movement of these two prodigies from math-ematics to architecture was not coincidental: the“new status” of architecture at Cambridge, fosteredby Leslie Martin, was achieved largely by pushingarchitecture toward the sciences and mathemat-ics. Best known as the designer of London’s RoyalFestival Hall (1948–51, fig. 6), Martin was also thefirst professor of architecture at Cambridge (ap-pointed in 1956).5 Before the war Martin had ed-ited, with the artists Ben Nicholson and Naum Gabo,Circle: International Survey of Constructive Art,which included contributions from Piet Mondrian,Le Corbusier, Henry Moore, Marcel Breuer, RichardNeutra, Siegfried Giedion, Walter Gropius, LaszloMoholy-Nagy and Lewis Mumford (figs. 7 and 8).6

His prewar involvement with modernism—particu-larly his—“constructivist” faith in an underlyingcontinuity between science and art—gave Martin areceptive predisposition toward the postwar infatu-ation with science, especially the new technologyof electronic computing. The result was an explo-sion of architectural “science” under his leadership.

Figure 6: Royal Festival Hall, London, Leslie Martin,1951.

Figure 7: Cover of Circle, 1937.

Figure 8: Le Corbusier and Martin, University ofCambridge, 1959.


The turn toward science was also a response to aprofessional crisis of confidence and lingering senseof inferiority brought on by architects’ experiencesduring the war. The extremities of war had forcedto the surface many doubts about architecture asa significant modern profession: did architects pos-sess special expertise? Was their expertise objec-tive or merely based on taste? In times of realneed, were architects necessary? In short, wasarchitecture serious business?

The crisis is most clearly illustrated by the waver-ing of architects’ official status in Britain duringthe war. At the start of World War II, architecturewas considered an essential occupation and archi-tects twenty-five and older were reserved frommilitary service and restricted to employment withintheir profession. Presumably they were meant toaid the construction of military and industrial fa-cilities and to coordinate the planning of evacua-tions and the use of air-raid shelters. However, mostof this work was actually given directly to largecontracting firms with few architects involved. Pri-vate building was restricted by law in the fall of1940 and architects were left without work. Awk-wardly, the Royal Institute of British Architects wasforced to push for reevaluation of their members’status. Architects were first removed completelyfrom the category of reserved occupations, enablingthem to enlist in the armed services, and later frac-tionally reserved. When enlisted, architectsstruggled to be treated as favorably as engineers.7

Meanwhile, the entire British building industry wasput under the control of the Department of Worksand Buildings. Anthony Jackson makes clear that,in this context, architects had to fight to be viewedas anything other than superfluous aesthetes. 8

After the war, public building exerted a dominantinfluence on British architecture and urban plan-ning. At a peak in 1955, 45% of architects practic-ing in Britain worked in public departments, andby 1964 that fraction was still as high as 39% (fig.9).9 One result of the centralization and quantifi-cation of building information during the war andsubsequent reconstruction was the establishmentof architectural research as a distinct, and fundable,activity. The scope of architectural research alsoexpanded from concerns technical issues such asheating, lighting, and estimating to a focus in the1960s on the general relationship of structures touser needs—what became known as environmen-tal design (fig. 10).10 It is in the context of this last

Figure 9: Plan for the New Town of Crawley, 1947.

Figure 10: NENK design process, Ministry of PublicBuildings and Works, c. 1965.

broadly defined research that architects began todeploy computers in a “scientific” approach to de-sign methodology.

At Cambridge, architects were not alone in adopt-ing a scientific approach: as a visiting scholar notedin 1961,”“The university itself . . . should get adifferent name. Not the University of Cambridge,


Figure 11: Diagrams from Peter Eisenman’s CambridgePh.D. thesis, 1963.

it really should be called Fenland Tech; and weshould all go out and get T-shirts to advertise thismessage.”11 Or, as a participant in the scene re-called, “Models, quantitative techniques, structur-alism seemed to be in the Fenland air.”12 Marchrecalls the influence of work coming out of otherCambridge departments: Mary Hesse’s Models andAnalogues in Science (1963), Richard Stone’s Math-ematics in the Social Sciences and Other Essays(1967), Richard Chorley and Peter Haggett’s Mod-els in Geography (1967), and David Clarke’s Ana-lytical Archeology (1968). When this work was readby researchers in architecture “there opened upthe prospect of disciplines merging togetherthrough the form of approach, despite the ever-increasing specialization of content.”13 The form ofapproach in all cases was to be mathematical, andthe common tool would be the computer.

A distinct setting for architectural research was es-tablished in 1967 with the creation of the Centre forLand Use and Built Form Studies within the Depart-ment of Architecture first under Leslie Martin’s direc-tion, and then under Lionel March’s.14 Research wasno longer conducted by “lone scholars” like PeterEisenman, who received a Cambridge Ph.D. in 1963(fig.11), but by “systems laboratories”:

the old Vitruvian view of architecture whichrelated it to the study of classics, divinity,fine arts and music (some of the subjectareas in Group I of the Faculties in whichArchitecture finds itself in Cambridge) haslong since been outgrown . . . . Today mostof our research workers would connectmost easily to engineering, geography andgeology, mathematics, and even physicsand chemistry: indeed many of them cometo us from these disciplines and not fromarchitecture.15

Like the scientific labs which were its models, theCentre was financed by research contracts and grants,

primarily from British public agencies. By 1971 thecenter housed sixteen full-time researchers and aboutan equal number of post-graduate doctoral candi-dates and visiting associates.16 The center espousedan explicitly mathematical approach:

The common method of the Centre’s workis to formulate mathematical and logicalmodels which make it possible to charac-terize and to explore the ranges of spatialpatterns which accommodate various ac-tivities. . . . The research is mainly in thefield of quantitative methods, mathemati-cal and logical models, and computer aidesfor building and environmental design,planning, development and management.17

A STRUCTURAL REVOLUTION

The most zealous version of the Cambridge posi-tion was given in a special issue of ArchitecturalDesign, published in 1971, edited by March, MarcialEcheñique and Peter Dickens, and filled exclusivelywith the work of Cambridge researchers and gradu-ates (fig. 12).18 The one-page introduction to thiscollection, titled “Polemic for a structural revolu-tion,” gives a concise summary of the assumptionsunderlying their work.

First, that “architecture and physical planning lackadequate theoretical foundations.” Second, thatonly the certainties of mathematics can providethe needed theoretical base. Third, that the inter-rogation of architecture and planning throughmathematical methods is part of a moregeneral”“structural revolution” taking place in thesocial and behavioral sciences which is based on anew awareness of”“systems and structures.”Fourth, that this mathematical approach is intendedto replace the “intuitive skill”, “confusion”, “sophis-tical sciences”, “individual hunches”, “court jestersand acrobats”, “private pranks” , “pricey prima-donnas”, “hallucinations”, “extravagant and empty


Figure 12: Cover of “Models of Environment,” specialissue of Architectural Design, May 1971.

images”, “individual expression” and “personalprejudice” which threaten architecture and plan-ning. Fifth, that the structural revolution will re-quire architecture and planning to be closely relatedto other disciplines with mathematics as a com-mon language. This will mean abandoning irrel-evant professional distinctions established in thenineteenth century in favor of a holistic, interdis-ciplinary approach. Finally, that all of these tenetsare intended to encourage objective, communaland socially responsible answers to what is de-scribed as the “environmental dilemma” of the1960s and early-1970s.

As an architectural theory, this polemic is mostradical in its rejection of artistic intuition and in itsdeep iconoclasm. Intuition is condemned on twocounts: first, that it is unequal to the complexityof postwar politics, economics, and technology;second, that it is unaccountably private and, so,inappropriate for a discipline as public as architec-ture. Instead, the methodologists seek an explicit,quantified, design process which is open to criti-cism and gradual improvement. Regarding archi-tectural images, the damnation is concise:“Draughtsmanship is a drug.”19 In the work of theCambridge methodologists, texts, formulae, dia-grams and computer code replace plans, eleva-tions and photographs as the proper tools ofarchitectural research; and the long-held under-

standing of the building as an object of sensoryengagement is replaced by the idea of the buildingas a system of functional relationships (althoughwe will see that for March this too might be “aes-thetic” in some sense). An architectural theory thatrejected images was rejecting the profession’sdominant medium of communication—both inter-nally and with the public—as well as the profession’sestablished methodologies, all of which were im-age based. That the long history of drawing couldbe replaced by mathematics was not obvious and“revolution” seems a fair term.

Like Reyner Banham, the Cambridge researchersargued that, as yet, modernism’s relationship toscience had been only metaphorical had led to ahost of subjective, thoroughly unscientific, archi-tectural styles (fig. 13). Instead, they claimed,postwar architecture needed to share the meth-ods of the sciences—it did not need to look “scien-tific” (what architecture should look like was neveraddressed in the Cambridge work). Strangelythough, this doggedly scientific approach wouldsoon find itself demonstrating nothing so much asits own limitations, so that the apparent triumphof functionalism turned out to be its end. Evenworse, from the Cambridge perspective, the com-puter turned out to be a prolific font of novel ar-chitectural images and forms rather than a coolcalculating machine of architectural logic.

PROGRAMMING PROGRAMMING

In The Architecture of Form from 1973, Marchemphasizes the distinction between “architecturalengineering” and”“architectural science.”20 The lat-ter is meant to apply to the analysis and design ofthe built environment as a whole: a mathemati-cally-based theory of architecture from which, ul-timately, new buildings and cities could begenerated. “Architectural science” became possibleonly “with the coming of large, fast and reliablecomputers during the latter half of the 1960s.”21

March and his colleagues intended to solve build-ing programming with computer programming.Strict functionalism, they believed, could finallysucceed through the merger of the two: program-ming programming (figs. 14 and 15).

Continuing the trajectory begun by ChristopherAlexander, this “architectural science” focused onproblems of spatial arrangement, particularly prob-lems of architectural plans. These took a number


Figure 13: Walking City on the Ocean, Ron Herron, 1964.

Figure 14: Paper tape used to program an earlycomputer, 1966.

Figure 15: Early CAD system.

of related forms: arrangement of rooms within agiven perimeter, of spaces according to a givenarchitectural program, or of activities within a givenplan (figs. 16 and 17). Normally the goal was tominimize walking distances for users. Working onthese sorts of problems the Cambridge research-ers, many of whom had mathematical backgrounds,were able to draw on an existing body of work intopology and graph theory.

However this research faced serious challenges:not only from outside critics such as Alan Colquhounand Colin Rowe, but soon from within the Centrefor Land Use and Built Form Study itself. In a neatturnabout, two Cambridge researchers, Philip Ta-bor and Tom Willoughby, offered a critique in whichcareful scientific arguments are used to reject “thatmost extravagant of fancies, completely automaticdesign.”22 Both their reviews of prior work and theirown efforts (fig. 18) led Tabor and Willoughby toconclude that quantifiably optimized architecturalsolutions were largely impossible. They suggestedthat, at best, quantitative approaches have a lim-ited use for certain very complex problems, andmust always rely upon many assumptions whichcannot be quantified. Tabor argues against anyattempt to automatically produce designs whichare too carefully tailored to specific descriptions ofuse—which is to say that he rejects dogmatic func-tionalism. Instead, he suggests, “buildings can bedesigned only for general ease of communication”and that this may be achieved through the use ofinherited types.23


Figure 16: Dual relationship of a plan graph and itsadjacency graph, Philip Steadman, 1976.

Figure 17: Enumeration of rectangular dissections for0-6 subdivisions, Steadman, 1976.

THE SYSTEMS AESTHETIC

So by the early 1970s, it had become clear thateven with the new analytical power of computersthere was no convincing path which directly con-nected functions, formulae and forms. In response,March began to acknowledge these critiques andto describe a more limited, if still central, role formathematics and the computer in architecturalmethodology.

The fullest version of March’s theory appears inThe Architecture of Form.24 March begins with acritique of his former classmate ChristopherAlexander who is identified as the source of naivescientism in architecture. March then introduceshis own theory which, though under the heading“scientific approach,” sounds strikingly like that ofRowe or Colquhoun.

Any scientific approach to design must confront theissues raised by the pluralism of individual valuesand the autonomy of social choice; and must acceptthe conditionality of degrees of conviction about truth,rightness and goodness.25 March’s model of archi-tectural methodology then springs directly from hisreaction to Karl Popper:Popper’s philosophy of sci-ence cannot be applied directly to architecture.

Figure 18: Programmatic analysis, treble-linkage Venndiagram, Philip Tabor, 1976.


Figure 19: The PDI (production/deduction/induction)model of design, March, 1976.

The philosophy of Karl Popper has had some influ-ence on modern architectural design theory. In themain its impact has been pernicious, but this is asmuch the result of misunderstandings as it is ofPopper’s own shortcomings. Just as Popper drawsa distinction between logic and empirical science,so too must a distinction be made between theseand design. To base design theory on inappropri-ate paradigms of logic and science is to make abad mistake. Logic has interests in abstract forms.Science investigates extant forms. Design initiatesnovel forms. A scientific hypothesis is not the samething as a design hypothesis. A logical proposal isnot to be mistaken for a design proposal.26

If architects have missed this distinction, that islargely because they have followed Popper’s re-jection of synthetic logic which, March believes,design requires since it aims to produce uniquecompositions rather than universal statements.27

What March attempts to describe, then, is a ratio-nal theory of design which takes synthetic reason-ing into account. He does this in two ways, firstthrough the work of the American philosopherCharles Sanders Peirce and then through Baye-sian probability theory. The basic structure is thesame in both systems: design is presented as a“cyclic, iterative procedure” (like most computerprograms) which passes repeatedly through threephases: production, deduction and induction (the“PDI-model”, fig. 19).

We conceive of rational designing as having threetasks—(1) the creation of a novel composition,which is accomplished by productive reasoning;(2) the prediction of performance characteristics,which is accomplished by deduction; (3) the ac-cumulation of habitual notions and establishedvalues, an evolving typology, which is accom-plished by induction.28

March believes that this has always implicitly beenthe way designs have been developed, whether byindividuals, architectural offices or entire buildingtraditions. Not unlike Alexander however, he ar-gues that there is a new need, and a new capabil-ity, to make the process explicit:

If internalized personal judgement, expe-rience and intuition alone are relied upon,the three modes of the PDI-model becomeinextricably entangled and no powerfullysustained use of collective, scientific knowl-edge is possible. Design will remain moreor less personalistic and a matter of opin-ion, albeit professional. If the design pro-cess is externalized and made public, as itevidently must be for the team work to befully effective, then the three stages of thePDI-model are worth making explicit sothat as much scientific knowledge can bebrought to bear on the problem as seemsappropriate. In this externalized process itis feasible to experiment with artificial evo-lution within the design laboratory usingsimulated designs and environments. New,synthetically derived stereotypes mayemerge, and old ones may be given newpotential without having to wait for practi-cal exemplification. Design comes to de-pend less on a single occasion ofinspiration, more on an evolutionary his-tory, greatly accelerated as this iterativeprocedure can now be—a prospect openedup by recent advances in computer repre-sentation.29

For March the success of this “artificial evolu-tion” depends on the creation of broad, sophisti-cated computer models which can simulate thedemands of the real world and which—followingthe mandate set out by Leslie Martin in 1959—can unite the disparate concerns of the architectin one design space:


The mathematical model of the design maybe made alive on a computer, complete withits structural integrity, with its environmen-tal climate, with patterns of user activities;it may be disassembled into its componentelements and costed; it may be speedilymodified, transformed, and manipulated.

Architectural education around the concept of mod-elling—even penetrating into the teaching andmethods of architectural history—becomes, I be-lieve, an intellectually tough discipline around thetheme of man and his environment. . . . It re-moves architecture from the invention of imageswhich reflect the externalities of our technologicalculture (the machine aesthetic), and penetratesbeyond appearances to the elements, relationships,and processes of its very existence: we might cointhe phrase, “the systems aesthetic”. It turns itsback on architecture warped by the competitiveindividualism of the 19th century and theaggrandisement of personal genius, and faces for-ward to an architecture balanced in its collectivedesign and its commitment to the promotion ofcultural evolution: architecture no longer residingin the souls of individuals, but in the body of aprofession.30

BOOLEAN DESCRIPTION OF BUILT FORMS

Returning to March’s “Boolean description” of theSeagram Building, we can now see all that it meantfor him. First, Boolean algebra represented themathematization of “the very processes of ratio-nal argument.”31 Being able to describe buildingsthrough this algebra would make architecture morerational and less intuitive, more scientific and lessartistic. This representation would relate architec-ture to circuit design, topology and informationtheory rather than painting, sculpture, or music.32

Second, all of these associations with mathemat-ics and computer science would give architecturenot just a sound epistemological base, but alsogreater practical standing in a postwar societydominated by science. Architecture would be re-constructed as a serious business with a legitimate,and fundable, role for advanced research like thatcarried out at Cambridge. March argued that forthe first time since the eighteenth century archi-tectural studies had “touched the frontiers of knowl-edge” and it seemed that architects might regainmembership to the Royal Society.

Third, the Boolean description would have beenfor March only the grammar of a proper architec-tural model, which would also have included struc-tural, environmental, programmatic and economicinformation. As nearly as possible this model wouldhave been a simulation of reality, permitting the“artificial evolution” of designs and assuring thatthe architectural proposal responded to objectivecriteria, not just the formal whims of the designer.In this way mathematics was put in the service ofMarch’s socialist ends.

Finally, we must consider an almost contradictorymotivation which was only hinted at earlier. Fordespite the iconoclastic rhetoric, all of this math-ematical work was driven by an interest whichMarch himself described as’“aesthetic.” Reflectingon his time as a student at Cambridge, March re-called:

. . . most strongly I recollect Sandy Wilsonstopping me in a corridor and saying some-thing about the future possibility of archi-tecture being notated as a mathematicalcode. This rang bells. It reinforced athought planted by Bruce Martin that theelements of architecture might be set outlike Lavoisier’s chemical table, and by afurther analogy, that with such a limitedmeans architectural works of the imaginarypower of a Beethoven symphony might beconstructed (fig. 20) . . . . My impellingmotivation at this time was aesthetic. Itstill is. There are other motivations, butdeep down what makes me tick is an aes-thetic sense of order, of essential simplic-ity behind apparent complexity.33

Like Leslie Martin, March believed that this sort oforder could unite the two cultures of art and sci-ence in a non-superficial way.

All of which did not happen. Instead what we seein his paper on Boolean description, and in theCambridge work which built on it, are the first hintsof the formal experimentation which could occurin digital environments freed from the constraintsof actual buildings—freed from gravity, from ma-teriality, from structure, from inhabitation, fromeconomics—and freed from the restraints of tradi-tional drafting and modeling techniques. In thebeveled and sheared versions of the Seagram build-


Figure 20: Juxtaposition of serial music andarchitectural research, March, 1972

ing we see the first signs of the—“free space” ar-chitecture, “anti-architecture,” and”“eighty-ninedegree” architecture which would sweep the disci-pline in the next two decades. We see the formswhich can evolve in simulations cut loose from theirreferents. Somewhere in the Cambridge fens func-tionalism had committed computer-aided suicide,and architecture was left with a new representa-tional system with which to project its images ofthe future—images created through ever moretechnical means, but for ever less scientific ends.

NOTES

1 Lionel March, “A Boolean Description of a Class of BuiltForms,” The Architecture of Form, Cambridge Urban andArchitectural Studies 4, edited by Lionel March (Cam-

bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976). There is someconfusion about the date of the material contained inthis volume: March’s forward to the volume, which heindicates was written after the articles, is dated June1973, the book’s bibliography contains entries from aslate as 1975, and the copyright is 1976.2 March, “Modern Movement to Vitruvius: Themes of Edu-cation and Research,” Royal Institute of British Archi-tects’ Journal (Mar. 1972): 101.3 Ibid., 101.4 See March, “The Logic of Design and the Question ofValue,” introduction to Architecture of Form; andAlexander introduction to paperback edition of Notes onthe Synthesis of Form (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Uni-versity Press, 1971). Strangely, today it is Alexander’spattern language which is well-respected in some com-puter science circles today.5 Peter Carolin and Trevor Dannatt, eds., Architecture,Education and Research: the Work of Leslie Martin: Pa-pers and Selected Articles (London: Academy Editions,1996).6 Leslie Martin, Ben Nicholson and Naum Gabo, eds.,Circle: International Survey of Constructive Art (London:Faber and Faber, 1937).7 Anthony Jackson, The Politics of Architecture. (Toronto:University of Toronto Press, 1970), 79.8 Ibid.9 Ibid., 41.10 Ibid.11 Clinton Rossiter in 1961 as quoted by Colin Rowe in

As I Was Saying: Recollections and Miscellaneous Es-says, vol. 1 (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1996), 131.12 March, foreword to The Architecture of Form, ix.13 Ibid.14 In 1974 LUBFS merged with the smaller Technical Re-search Division of the Department of Architecture to cre-ate the Martin Centre for Architectural and UrbanStudies—it continues to operate under this new name.15 March, foreword to The Architecture of Form, xii.16 Nigel Lloyd, description of the Centre for Land Use andBuilt Form Studies, University of Cambridge (unpub-lished), 29 Nov. 1971, Library of the Martin Centre, Uni-versity of Cambridge.17 Ibid.18 Lionel March, Marcial Echeñique and Peter Dickens,eds., “Models of Environment,”Architectural Design 41(May 1971).19 Ibid., 275.20 March, foreword to The Architecture of Form, xiii.21 Ibid., xiv.


22 Tabor, “Analysing Communication Patterns,”The Archi-tecture of Form, 284.23 Ibid., 309.24 March, “The Logic of Design,” The Architecture of Form.25 Ibid., 5.26 Ibid., 15.27 Ibid., 15.

28 Ibid., 18.29 Ibid., 21-2.30 March, “Modern Movement,” 108-9.31 March, “Boolean Description,” 41.32 Ibid., 71-2.33 Ibid., 101.

10 83efe0f0 or the seagram building 2 · 302 the art of architecture/the science of architecture...

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