The inhabited lobby is a recurring device in the work of Brady Mallalieu Architects based. It is characterised by a central space in a building which connects different activities physically, visually, acoustically and socially. Notionally a circulation space, it assumes an expanded role, becoming an inhabitable entity in itself and the social focus of a building.

The device has been deployed and developed across a series of built and un-built projects by Brady Mallalieu from 1996 to 2016, ranging in scale from a private family home through various community and educational buildings to a high-density housing complex and city centre masterplan. These projects are reviewed in order to identify the various spatial connections and physical props which constitute the inhabited lobby and its role in enriching the potential for occupation, not only of the lobby itself but also the network of places which it connects together. Its underlying purpose is to make the building more habitable and engage with the unanticipated potential which a more deterministic approach might overlook.

The explorations in this paper inform a discussion on the role of the architect in designing for predicted and unanticipated uses and, specifically, on the potential of the ‘inhabited lobby’ as an architectural device. As much as it is a connecting, in-between space, it is a space in itself.

This paper attempts to explore the social production of architecture in contemporary Chinese rural villages through a case study on the Community Centre in Xihe Village. This community project, designed and built in 2014, exemplifies a lesser-known type of Chinese architectural practice engaging in a local and specific context, which suddenly gave participation a dramatic image in current breakneck Chinese rural-urban transition of large scale and rapid speed. By looking at this highly specific case through a detailed description and critical evaluation, this paper takes this participatory architectural project as the very first critical example of the socially-engaged architecture in China; as presenting an alternative architecture of resistance in response to the top-down guiding principle ‘Construction of A New Socialist Countryside’ launched by the government in 2005. Source material was collected through fieldwork in the village, including observational study, photographic documentation, and intensive formal and informal interviews with practitioners, authorities, and villagers. The analysis emphasizes the social process and consequences of different stages of this building, in order to explore hidden potentials and methodologies tailoring the architectural design and construction to the site-specificity. The social consequence of the building process is much more important than the object produced. By investigating the architectural version within a broader framework combining anthropology and activism, the paper attempts to introduce a more socially resilient way of making architecture in the current Chinese rural-urban transition. On the one hand it addresses the contingencies in working with underprivileged village communities in inner rural China, which have scarce resources and fragile identities; on the other hand it cuts through the surface of rural vernacular China to expose the undercurrent of silent issues in architecture that constitute the indigenous, the everyday, resistance, transition, and resilience.

The public abattoir emerged as an institution across the industrialized world in the mid-nineteenth century to centralize and control animal killing and meat processing, activities that had traditionally taken place in private slaughterhouses. The modern idea of the abattoir, however, is more than a place where animals are killed for human consumption. Designed to optimize a disassembling process that efficiently took apart the livestock into small pieces, the modern abattoir is one of the earliest building types where the production line was incorporated into the spatial layout. Modern abattoirs also separated livestock from people, and production from consumption, into special places removed from public view.

This paper is concerned with the production of a public abattoir in 1930s colonial Shanghai. The Shanghai Municipal Abattoir, completed in 1933, was deliberately designed as a ‘machine for killing’, which applied production-line principles to the efficient slaughter of animals. The result of this functionalism was an extraordinary series of multi-storey concrete structures, dictated by the bloody business of slaughtering animals and processing their carcasses, set behind an art deco façade. In this paper we seek to tell the story of the production of a building that has previously been little researched, with most of the archival material in Shanghai Municipal Archives (SMA) and the limited published material available only in Mandarin.

Chinese architecture was for a long time ignored because it was not produced by architects and because it did not follow Western classical expectations, and vernacular architecture was little discussed until the 1960s, and only recently embraced by its own encyclopaedia. Yet the division of labour between drawing architect and practical builder was never wholly advantageous or inevitable, for specialisation of roles can lead to differentiation, inequality, and division, as well as constructional efficiency. Only in the last century has the division between office work and construction site become so complete, resulting in losses as well as gains. Most obviously it has removed design from making, the person with the drawing pen no longer obliged to experience the materials in their weight and texture, or to discover by handling them the best ways to work them. The designer who has never picked up a brick or wielded a chisel can possess little sensibility for the material, but as long as their duties are fulfilled on paper with apparent competence, the process is carried through. On the receiving end, bricklayer or carpenter must produce what drawings demand even when good sense seems lacking, so they carry the work through grumpily without conviction instead of participating in the creative process. This paper looks at oral architecture in the Dong culture, and the way in which buildings have traditionally been produced by carpenters along with the local community, accompanied by shared rituals which reinforce their significance.

The intention of this essay is to examine the intrinsic visual-spatial characteristics of the church of the Monastery of La Tourette, and understand their mechanisms, gestation and meaning.

The context for the work is the prevailing insentience at the heart of architectural culture, the systemic denial of the intrinsic visual-spatial sphere and the lack of foundation skills to inform its appreciation.

The fieldwork has consisted of observing and recording the La Tourette church, especially its lighting regimes, through all seasons, weather conditions and usages, and simulating key manifestations through spatial sculpture.

Six characteristics of the church are identified, drawing on the yardstick of Le Corbusier's notion of poetic architecture as ‘plastic happenings’. Its essence is defined as constrained and specific light within penumbra, overlying dynamically juxtaposed heterogeneous spatial forms. The harmony of the church is fragile because it is vulnerable to injudicious lighting, resulting in a duality of transcendence and earthliness. The essay speculates on the cause of the transfiguration from harmony into discord, through analysis of the surviving photographs of the design models.

The presentation is designed to infer enclosed space and minimise imagery, and consists of standard plans and sections including sun-paths, based on the author's measured and heliodon survey, amplified by a number of annotated thumbnail photo-sketches.

The empirical judgements are distilled from the teaching of two masters of the past half century, both working within established traditions, Michael H. Chilton's discourse on basic colour and form, and Geoffrey H. Baker's schematic discourse on form in architecture.

The work concludes that the meaning of the La Tourette church lies in a paradox of transcendent harmony and tragic discord.