The construction from 1386 of Milan Cathedral, the largest Gothic church ever constructed in Italy, was one of the most important episodes in the history of Italian and European architecture. The documentation of the late Trecento and early Quattrocento discussions over how to build the Cathedral is extraordinarily rich and extensive, and permits a consideration of the project from many points of view including the relationship between medieval architectural theory and an actual project. At the same time, any enquiry has to contend with the copious modern literature and the conclusions that have been reached hitherto – often erroneously in our view – about many of the most salient points. We thus re-examine published and unpublished documentation and the existing literature, analysing especially the format of the building's elevation, the proposals by Gabriele Stornaloco and Jean Mignot, and the drawings attributed to Antonio di Vincenzo. We also reconsider the notions of ars and scientia which have previously been misinterpreted in discussions of the cathedral documentation.

The dance hall was a symbol of social, cultural and political change. From the mid-1920s until the mid-1960s, the dance hall occupied a pivotal place in the culture of working- and lower-middle-class communities in Britain. Its emergence and popularity following the First World War reflected improvements in the social and economic well-being of the working and lower middle classes. The architecture of dance halls reflected these modernising trends, as well as a democratisation of pleasure. The very name adopted by the modern dance hall, ‘palais de danse’, emphasises this ambition. Affordable luxury was a key part of their attraction. This article examines how the architecture of dance halls represented moments of optimism, escapism and ‘modernity’ in British history in the period 1918–65. It provides the first overview of dance halls from an architectural and spatial history perspective.

Ancient granite columns have been a pervasive element in the architecture of Rome since the Imperial era. However, in the fifteenth century, just as the effort to revive Antiquity intensified, these ubiquitous and durable ancient columns fell out of use. It was instead the stone travertine that became the columnar material of choice. Yet, just as quickly as this change occurred, within an exceptionally short period of thirty years, beginning with the construction of the Palazzo della Cancelleria courtyard, Rome saw a renascence in their application. While little has been made of this material shift, this article argues that the sudden extensive employment of spoliated granite columns was a crucial component in the recovery of a distinctly local Roman Antiquity. It was through the use and transformation of spolia that builders and patrons attempted to create an architecture that not only recalled Antiquity, but resubstantiated it, literally making it whole again.

This article aims to reconstruct the plan of Theobalds, Hertfordshire, built between 1564 and 1585 by Sir William Cecil, Lord Burghley. Theobalds was perhaps the most significant English country house of the Elizabethan period and in 1607 was taken on as a royal palace. It was visited by all the major court and political figures of the age, while its fame also extended overseas. Theobalds was innovative in various respects, as the article makes clear, and it had a profound impact on the architecture of its generation. Its importance is all the more extraordinary given that Theobalds was so short-lived: the house was taken down shortly after 1650 and few traces of it survive today. The assumption has been that, because the house was demolished so long ago, it could not be well understood. This article contradicts that view by reconstructing in detail the plan of Theobalds, using evidence provided by primary documents.

The enduring concept of the orders was fundamental to the perpetuation of the classical tradition, and it is central to much architectural theory. One of the most resoundingly influential of its elucidations was published in 1570 by Andrea Palladio (1508–80) in the opening book of his architectural treatise, the Quattro libri dell'architettura (Four Books of Architecture). There, as in other theoretical works from around this period and later, the five orders — Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Composite — are presented as a hierarchy of purportedly ideal exemplars; and, in this particular case, their universal ‘principles’ (precetti) are conveyed through two sets of illustrations, one depicting colonnades (Fig. 1) and the other arcades (Fig. 2), together with many further plates showing various individual details. In each of the main illustrations, the specimen is given its own designated proportions of column-diameter to column-height, ranging from 1:7 for Tuscan to 1:10 for Composite, and a distinctive formal make-up for both the column and its accompanying entablature. What is little borne in mind, however, is that this published rendition of the orders dates from towards the end of Palladio's career and was preceded by three decades of prolific practice, during which time his approach — as we shall discover — was in many respects very similar. In other words, the Quattro libri treatment of the orders was not merely a necessary and predictable inclusion in such a publication, or just a theoretical or ‘paper’ exercise, which is rather how it has also been viewed, since, as we shall see, it was representative to a very substantial degree of Palladio's actual established practice and its underlying rationale and philosophy.

In mid nineteenth-century Britain, the study of geology involved radical new understandings of the earth's history. This had ramifications for architecture, providing new ways of seeing stone and designing buildings. This article examines the works of stone-mason Charles Smith. Following the destruction of the Houses of Parliament in 1834, the government initiated a national survey to select a stone for Britain's new legislature. Alongside geologists Henry De la Beche and William Smith, Charles Smith toured the buildings and quarries of Britain, producing a report that was intended to guide not only the choice of stone at Westminster, but all future architectural projects. He spent the following two decades promoting geological knowledge for architectural work. His reading of texts that examined the earth's geological formation, such as Charles Lyell's, shaped new understandings of stone and cement. This article demonstrates how, in a rapidly industrialising society, geology and architecture became increasingly inseparable.

During the twentieth century, diverse cultures from around the globe served as vital sources for architects who attempted to merge Modernist ideas with traditional values. Richard Neutra (1892–1970) absorbed ideas from Japan, the American Middle West and his own native Austria, and eventually his study of these regions deeply affected his work. By analysing archival sources and period publications, this article reveals that even before emigrating to the United States (1923), and throughout his career, the cultures of California, Latin America and Spain were also sources for Neutra's work. He travelled extensively throughout these regions, he researched their local customs and architecture and he deftly and purposefully incorporated vernacular elements, such as sun-shading devices, ventilation strategies and interior patios, into his own work. For his Latin American and Spanish colleagues, his work exemplified a successful fusion between their own traditions and Modernist principles.

Domestic interiors created during the Aesthetic Movement have often been interpreted in terms of the ideas of aesthetic autonomy associated with Théophile Gautier, Walter Pater and Joris-Karl Huysmans. This essay takes a different tack by analysing the aesthetic interior in light of concerns with health reform. It focuses on the writings and designs of architect E.W. Godwin (1833–86) who pursued interior design as part of an effort to foster a healthy life, one that consisted of hygiene, relief from urban stress, and an enlargement of the aesthetic responsiveness of his clients. He conceived of spare and calm interiors that were healthful alternatives to dust-infested Victorian clutter while concomitantly offering psychological respite from the ‘high-pressure, nervous times’ endemic to metropolitan life. This goal accords with Godwin's related interest in dress reform, a preoccupation that led to his participation in the Health Exhibition of 1884. By unpacking Godwin's specific contribution to the sanitary discussions that prevailed in Victorian Britain, I align the aesthetic interior with the central imperative of sanitary reform: promoting health through ameliorating Britain's urban environment.

Architecture and bureaucracy: indissociable and irreconcilable? The two spheres are often seen in opposition — the latter curtailing the former’s creative power — yet might they not also overlap, partake and occasionally coincide in their processes? Dismissing the role of bureaucracy in architecture as extraneous or detrimental seems to hinder our capacity, as thinkers and producers of architecture, to work through this relationship and explore ways of dealing with a pervasive tool of contemporary societal organisation; whereas understanding the fraught relationship might help us bridge the gap that, in many contexts, separates architecture and the communities it exists to serve. This special collection explores how architecture and bureaucracy have negotiated their stances in the twentieth century. In particular, it aims to shed light on instances where knowledge of architecture was an element in, and a product of, the machinery of bureaucracy. Beyond the notion of bureaucracy in architecture as a site of imposition and control — and the vivid sentiments of frustration and deception it prompts — lies a terrain where less contrasted, more fine-grained actions and exchanges occur. The ways in which these two spheres relate are diverse and merit scholarly attention, as the articles that follow demonstrate.

This article investigates a series of development strategies pursued in Ghana from the mid-1940s under British colonial rule to the early independence period of the 1960s, seeking to understand how the pace and location of development affected the wider built fabric and especially housing production. While two contrasting visions emerge — of rural extractive agriculture versus industrial urban manufacturing — the impact of these endeavours was most strongly felt in the accompanying housing developments. Attempts to create a new artisan school capable of manufacturing building materials, and a laboratory tasked with developing new local building materials, sought to preserve a mainly rural-based population and lifestyle while reducing costs and making dwellings more durable. However, with advancing industrialisation and rapidly expanding urban centres, efforts to accommodate this change with revised urban boundaries and new construction standards failed adequately to address the housing issues and revealed fundamental problems in the governance of newly urbanising and suburban settlements. Could the solution be to ’start again’, to build a new town without the difficulties of the past? This was the approach of the elected nationalist government that commissioned the new town of Tema, east of the capital Accra. As one of the grand projects of the then prime minister, Kwame Nkrumah, Tema has been the focus of much scholarly attention, but a new source has recently come to light that changes understanding of the project. The notebooks kept by Michael Hirst, one of those charged with its design and realisation, show how Tema became an unwitting design school with its own series of trials and tests performed by a team of newly qualified architects. It was not only a political new beginning, but also an experimental attempt to create a new urban environment built on the promise of an industrialised future.