Atlantis Magazine 34.1 Atopia by ATLANTIS

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Atopia

Atlantis Magazine

Atlantis is an explorative magazine for urbanism and landscape architecture from the POLIS student association at TU Delft. This year, we dedicate our 34th volume to the exploration of -topias. While the word itself refers to a physical place (Greek τόπος) it has since evolved to encompass the imaginative constructs that different thinkers have formulated by theoretically shaping and reshaping ideas of place and society. Expressions like utopia, dystopia, ecotopia, and digitopia have long been a part of the lexicon of social philosophy, but are also commonly used as critical methods within design theory. Choosing the theme of -topias as the foundational framework for the discussions in this year’s issues, we aim to explore the different perspectives on space through the lense of three -topias:

Atopia

Heterotopia

Utopia

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The cover graphic for this booklet was created thanks to courtesy of the talented architect, artist and researcher Lesia Topolnyk with adjustments from the editorial team.

Image on the right: Octobre (2023) by Jean Jacques Balzac

Contents

Editorial foreword p. 4-5 Jean Jacques Balzac

Wrong Architecture Illustration p. 6-11

In conversation with Lesia Topolnyk

Navigating the intersection of Architecture, Global Crises, and Innovative Perspectives p. 32-41

Giorgos Xanthopoulos

The Land of Chabot p. 58-63

Wei Lei

Nostalgia p. 64-65

Alberta Piselli, Lisbet Alessandra Ahon Vasquez & Giuseppe Geraci

Di Fang

Atopia in Celleno Ghost Town p. 12-19

Whose utopia, whose atopia? p. 66-73

Giuseppe Geraci Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni

Fascist Atopias p. 20-21 Vassiliki Lianou

Stephan Hosie

Lost in translation p. 22-27

Bachelard’s Concept of “Curling up” p. 42-49

Feike Smithuis

Teadiotopia p. 50-55 Caitlin Jakusz Paridy

Triptych of Permafrost Landscapes p. 28-31

The Sea as Island p. 74-81

Andrej Radman, Katerina Pavlou, Saskia de Wit & Marah Echtai

Finding atopia p. 82-89

Thomas Essex-Plath

House - Fence - Steel p. 56-57

Author biographies p. 90-91

Dear Readers, Welcome to the inauguration of the annual issue of Atlantis Magazine, where we embark on a captivating exploration of atopias – enigmatic non-places that defy conventional understanding. These spaces exist beyond the confines of known and identifiable locations, devoid of recognizable culture or society, challenging our instinctive need for ownership, labeling, and territorial delineation. Atopias challenge the conventions of space and ignite our imaginations, inviting us to ponder the possibilities that lie beyond the confines of established norms. We approached the issue of atopias with the intention of avoiding a single rigid definition. Unlike the other better known “-topias,” atopia is a less defined and less commonly used term. Instead, we wanted the work of all the authors in this magazine to reflect or react to the diverse ways in which one can disembed identity from a particular space.

We open the doors to our exploration with the visual world of Jean Jacques Balzac and his “Wrong Architecture Illustration”. Using AI to juxtapose unexpected architectural and spatial elements in thought-provoking ways, he makes us question their identity and symbolism. The selection of his work is meant to reflect the different topics explored further in this issue. Sometimes, we find the placelessness through the disintegration and destruction of places which once held strong identities. In “Atopia in Celleno Ghost Town,” Alberta Piselli, Lisbet Allasandra Ahon Vasquez, and Giuseppe Geraci delve into the transformation of a town from its Etruscan foundation to a ghost town, examining the role of identity in heritage and abandoned places. Expanding on this topic, Giuseppe Geraci, in his work “Fascist Atopias”, employs a selection of collages to tell the story of how Fascism in Sicily initiated a policy of territorial transformation, turning once-celebrated villages into atopias of failure and suspended life. Looking almost at the inverse scenario, Stephan Hosie’s piece, “Lost in Translation”, explores how the first colonizers of South America grappled with an unfamiliar space, leading to descriptions of fantastical things that did not exist, emphasizing the challenge of ascribing meaning to spaces devoid of preconceived understanding. Our inquiry continues as we delve into contested, fragile, and extractive spaces, exploring how their multifacetedness can only be understood by stripping away our preconditioned notions of them. “Triptych of Permafrost Landscapes” by Caitlin Jakusz Paridy presents a visual journey through the ever-changing world of permafrost in Svalbard, prompting us to reconsider our perceptions of permanently frozen ground. In “Navigating the intersection of Architecture, Global Crisis, and Innovative Perspectives”, an enlightening interview with the Rotterdam based Ukranian architect and recent Prixde-Rome winner Lesia Topolnyk we look at her work on examining the com-

plex sites and situations in Ukraine, particularly the invisible relationships such as the those between identity, geopolitical forces, infrastructure and natural processes. Posing the big questions about the meaning of humans within the spaces they inhabit takes us to Vassiliki Lianou’s investigation in “Bachelard’s Concept of ‘Curling up’”, which delves into the dynamic interplay between nature and human intervention, challenging our perceptions of the coastal realm. Feike Smithuis explores the relationship between atopia and everyday boring places in “Teadiotopia”, inviting us to contemplate the mundane places we create and inhabit, as well as our agency in escaping them. Continuing the question of banality in everyday places is Thomas Essex-Plath’s piece, “House-FenceSteel”, reflecting on the role of corrugated steel in shaping suburban living. Extending our exploration beyond the typical boundaries of a city, Giorgos Xanthopoulos’s work, “The Land of Chabot”, uncovers the layers of history and meaning within an unassuming piece of pre-urbanized landscape in Rotterdam. The powerful impact of human intervention in transforming the natural world into infrastructural jungles is reflected in Wei Lei’s visual piece, “Nostalgia”, still highlighting the persistence of nature within these man-made environments. Our journey into atopias culminates with two pieces that take us to the world of marine atopias. In “Whose Utopia, Whose Atopia?”, Di Fang introduces the concept of “habitant-centered design” to analyze the ecological implications of human interventions on the North Sea, emphasizing the importance of considering ecological factors alongside human activities. For our thesis highlight we look at the captivating work of Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni, “The Sea as Island”, which explores the Mediterranean Basin as a complex interplay of human and more-than-human entities, ultimately proposing a counter paradigm for the worlding of the sea. To conclude this issue, we invited different voices from the Architecture and the Built Environment Faculty of TU Delft to share their thoughts on “Atopias of Today”, shaped by their personal and professional experiences. We hope that this diverse collection of works will expand your understanding of atopias and inspire you to reflect on the complexities of identity, space, and placelessness. We invite you to join us on this journey through the non-places!

Atlantis Editorial Team

Wrong Architecture Illustration A Journey into Hyper-real Atopia

In the recent years, AI-generated images have emerged as a new frontier, offering a limitless canvas for creative expression, as well as opening a debate about authorship, value and meaning of art. Exploring architectural gestures, intertwined with nature and human intervention, the anonymous author Jean Jacques Balzac seeks beauty in both decay and the construction process. Social, economic, and environmental elements are explored, often infused with humor and irony. At times, it’s simply an ode to sheer aesthetic delight. Originally exhibited on the authors’ Instagram profile, the images are available to a wide audience which is able to directly interact with the works. The line is blurred between what is a description of the post and what is an actual title of the image, often opening a conversation with the viewers which continues in the comments. Thus, these visuals open new realms of artistic operation as well as virtual non-places we might only ever see on screens, where creativity and technology converge to tell stories and provoke thought.

Where to now? (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Jean Jacques Balzac

Beach is ready for summer season (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Oh no, I forgot my sunscreen in the car (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Arabian Diptych Series (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Hm, let’s draw 4 walls around something, it should be enough for a theory (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Bourse de commerce outtake (2023), Jean Jacques Balzac

Fig. 1: Celleno Ghost Town. The Manifesto (2023) Made by authors.

Atopia in Celleno Ghost Town Phenomenology in Three Acts Alberta Piselli Lisbet Alessandra Ahon Vasquez Giuseppe Geraci

A town of Etruscan foundation located in the center of Italy, a fortified citadel in the Middle Ages, a noble residence and ecclesiastical possession in the 16th century. Today Celleno is called ‘Celleno ghost town’. This new toponym is the result of depopulation that began in the 1930s due to the numerous earthquakes and landslides that over time have damaged the cliff on which the village stands. The climax of this diaspora was reached in 1951 when the authorities ordered to abandon the village.

Borgo Celleno, usually defined as ‘ghost village’, lies in the heart of the Tiber valley, in the Tuscan Viterbese region and is the result of a process of depopulation due to numerous landslides and earthquakes. The climax of this abandonment occurred in 1951 when the President of the Republic defined “the village of Celleno canceled”. From that moment, the old village became a waiting heritage, a place deliberately removed on paper, but in reality still tangible, partially intact, half the subject of a redevelopment project and half a ruin. It looks like an archaeological remnant, timeless and anemic, where wild nature attempts to fill the void that the exodus of its inhabitants has caused. The landscape-atopia of Celleno is described through a phenomenology divided into three acts[1]. This is an atopia in three meanings that correspond to three spatial moments-situations. Through the first gaze, linked to aesthetics, we make ingression into another dimension; through the second we unfold its historical memory; finally, through the third we experience the wild nature that inhabits a landscape in ruins, halfway between what it was and what is being transformed, according to the metamorphosis of all things. Ours is a story that is the fruit of a journey through Celleno, a journey on foot because “walking today becomes an ethical imperative and an exercise of cultural protection for those who remain, for those who await not only those who return, but also those who arrive, the new travelers, the new guests”[2].

Act 1: Ingression The visitor to Celleno arrives from the new town, at the slopes of the fortifications. A significant jump in altitude heralds a passage of state: the entrance into another dimension. The philosopher Böhme (2010) describes atmospheres by means of the phenomenon of ingression: entering a room where a specific climate reigns, perceiving the shadow of a large tree upon entering, etc. Likewise, the morphology of the old village marks an invitation, but also a distance: it is the everyday life and ordinary occupations of those who enter outside that remain outside. Time is suspended. In the past instead, it was the vast and boundless countryside that remained outside: the wilderness, which today stubbornly inhabits the ruins. [fig.2]

Fig. 2: Ingression. The ascent to the town (2023) Made by authors.

The ghost town stands perched on a tuffasceous spur, from which it dominates the valley and the surrounding rural landscape, in a position as privileged as fragile. From a distance, the sight of the citadel’s skyline anticipates its use. This view recalls the typical iconography of medieval villages, of which the Italian territory is scattered. Think, again in Lazio, for analogy and geographical proximity, of Calcata, Orvieto and Civita di Bagnoregio [3]. These villages, fortified, often perched on high ground for defensive reasons, are characterised by scenic bridges that separate them from the surrounding countryside. According to Simmel (2006), the ‘landscape’ is identified precisely by its separate and limited character, as opposed to the idea of infinity of ‘nature’. It would be no coincidence, therefore, that the origin of the idea of landscape is generally associated with the image of a landscape view: a Flemish window framing a portion of nature [4]. While conventionally, however, the concept of landscape has been linked to a contemplative paradigm, associated with vision, for more than a century now, studies in aesthetics have been suggesting a phenomenological approach linked to immersive and corporeal perception. Merleau-Ponty (1962), speaks of an “indivisible whole” [5] with respect to a broader sensory involvement that goes beyond the domain of the image and occulocentrism. In opposition to the visual consumption of places, for example of the circuits linked to mass tourism, the landscape inhabited by ruins is able to predispose the body in an attitude of global sensorial listening [6]. In crossing the entrance threshold to the ghost town, the body abandons the ordinary dimension and is free in its movements, exposed to the possibility of improvisation. For those who experience old Celleno, there are no noises or smells of everyday life, which is also why, one

guesses, this place is atopia. Apart from sporadic visitors, the setting is rarely borrowed and adapted for the setting of some film [7]. Between tourist artifacts and film-like fiction, one wonders where the remnants of the authentic life of this lived space are. The synaesthetic and kinesthetic perception of the environment, in fact, is not reduced to a mere mechanical fact; rather, it is also capable of capturing the atmosphere of places. “Inhabiting space means being animated by this inextricable correlation between movement, perception and emotion” [8]. There is an emotional content incorporated in the environment, and this is particularly evident in the case of the atmospheric space of wounded cities, of places deprived of their memory. The atopia Celleno is a space of affection, an atmosphere of destruction and disuse hovers among its alleys: it is a ghost town because its relationship with the place, with its history, which is also the history of its inhabitants, has been taken away from it. “What strikes us most is not what we find, as much as what we no longer find, but which in its disappearance has left evident traces. Firstly, the abandonment of an inhabited space shows the symptoms of a history that has passed, no longer physically present - but sometimes precisely because of this - all the more powerful in its manifestation in lived space. What we encounter is not the phenomenon of human life in its current contingency, but rather its ghost, which ‘haunts’ our experience, making it (sinisterly) animated, in an unresolved dialectic between presence and absence” [9].

Act 2: Recollection Having crossed the threshold marked by the surviving walls, the passage through a tuff arch leads to the ‘Castle’. The main square, keeper of the village’s memory, was formerly Piazza del Comune, then Piazza Maggiore, and finally Piazza del Municipio. With its changing odonymy, like a stone anthology, today it protects the centre of atopia. Here the setting is that of a living room, even the neat stone paving alludes to a protected, domestic dimension. The urban fronts are compact and suggest an echo of Celleno’s history. [fig.3] The heart of the village contains ancient memories and stories rooted in Etruscan civilisation and Greek mythology. The etymology of the name probably derives from ‘Celeno’ - one of the three harpy daughters of Thaumante and Electra: a harpy, in fact, became the symbol of the castrum [10]. The ‘castle’, as the village has always been called, stands on an Etruscan-Roman settlement. The soil on which it stands already tells the first act of Celleno’s history. This, in fact, consists of a tuff cliff whose walls originated from the continuous erosion of two rivers and has a plateau shape, typical of Etruscan settlements in lower Etruria [11], which allowed visual control over the surrounding territory.

The same material that constituted suitable soil for the foundation of the city, however, was later the cause of its own ruin throughout the 20th century. The fronts of the buildings on the main square narrate the town’s medieval past, when Celleno was one of the area’s strategic outposts. Prominent among these is the Orsini Castle, with its severe facade recalling its austere defensive vocation, appreciable in the essentialness of its masonry. On the one hand, the moat that surrounds it and the scarp masonry make it even more imposing, on the other, the tuff ashlar with which it is clad makes it appear as a secretion of the rock on which it rests, more akin to a sculpture carved from the tuffaceous bank than to architecture. The watchtower soars high, from one corner, like a guardian awaiting life and new battles. “The secret of the Italian miracle has been the ability to produce things in the shadow of bell towers that the world likes” [12], and Celleno is an example of this. The skyline of the town is, in fact, dominated by the bell towers of the various churches, built between the 16th and 17th centuries. At that time, under the domination of the Papal State, which had control of central Italy,

Fig. 3 (left): Recollection. The main square and the castle (2023) Made by authors. Fig. 4 (right): Ghost. The wilderness and the memory’s ruins (2023) Made by authors.

the village began to lose its strategic importance, initiating a process towards an inexorable decline, which reaches its climax today. The small church dedicated to San Carlo represents another front of the square. This one, built on medieval pre-existences on the occasion of the Jubilee, makes explicit through the inscription “ANO IUBILEI MDCXXV”, the year of construction (1625). The facade is simple and reflects the modest dimensions of the church, also built in tuff. The slender bell gable is grafted onto it. From the square is visible another bell tower, that of the church of San Donato, the patron saint of Celleno. This now appears as a ruin, without a roof, although it still retains its Gothic-Roman portal, bell tower and some parts of the masonry. What remains, however, testifies not only to its noble past, but even more, to the sad epilogue of its history. The ruins, in fact, are “what merges the present and the past into a complex set of signs [...], the traces of something that has been and will be no more”[13]. As early as the 16th century there is evidence of the fragility of the foundation rock and multiple geological instabilities, up to the news of the 1695 earthquake (Crocoli, 1989). However, this was not an isolated case - think of the 1931 earthquake - so much so that in 1951, the President of the Republic was forced to decree the definitive abandonment of the village. This has triggered a process of impoverishment of the landscape,

a simplification of it, since it is deprived of the anthropic component. In this way diminishes the consciousness of the place, the awareness of the territorial heritage, that is “the set of natural, material and immaterial components, the result of long-term interactions between man and nature” [14]. The history of Celleno, although unique, is not unique to Italian territory. The entire peninsula, from north to south, is dotted with atopias due to abandonment, the result of a process of internal migration that began after the Second World War. Today there are almost 6.000 Italian ‘ghost villages’ and this built heritage represents the historical memory of an Italy that no longer exists (Postiglione, 2019). The history of Celleno and this particular kind of atopia can perhaps be stitched together through memory and in the crystallization of its inhabitants’ stories. The sense of places and the feeling of places, in fact, are constructed in the emotional oversense that we attribute to them. In the case of the atopias of abandonment, ruins play the role of protectors of memory and promoters of new semantic values, as if they were the remains of a decomposition process, becoming “a constitutive element of beauty, an integral part of the landscape, a cultural, artistic but also tourist resource” [15].

Act 3: Ghosts From the scenes of the castle, the eye sweeps towards open horizons, through empty frames and ghostly presences. The church, half ruin and half nature, has blurred its boundaries anthropic artefact to wild product: its nave is an assemblage of essences, its roof is now the high blue sky. Emptiness runs through it. The same void that leads to a series of other ghostly buildings. On closer inspection, under the touristy reproductions of ancient furnishings, under a thick turf sloping towards the landscape, tuff appears again. Organic and inorganic material merge into a decaying landscape, containing the ghosts of past lives. The guardian, the donkey, a few cats and sporadic visitors are its vestals. Who knows if Celleno can still be a place. Who knows if it can still exist. Walking through its ruins is an act of resistance [fig.4].

The gradual abandonment of Celleno by its inhabitants has accompanied its loss of meaning, turning it into atopia: a non-place that is difficult to define. This, from an anthropic place, has become a wreck made of stones and bricks, where wild nature thrives, trying to fill the void that the exodus of its inhabitants has caused. Walking through the alleys of this ghost town, one comes across the living green of ivy (Hedera helix) clinging to the walls of abandoned buildings and a few shy flowers growing solitary. Arriving at the northern end of the town, outside its walls, where the ancient church of San Donato stands, one is faced with the spectacle of the yellow carpet of white mustard (Sinapis alba) in flower. All around, in the most open and free areas, expanses of green leaves streaked with white of the Marian thistle (Silybum marianum), which in the spring months release their characteristic purple flowers. The village of Celleno is now inhabited by a number of Mediterranean herbaceous species that tend to grow spontaneously in ruderal environments like this.

When one finds oneself in the circumscribed environment of the church, one seems to be inside a garden, which represents both enclosure [16] and refuge. It is precisely the garden “the one and only territory of encounter between man and nature where dreams are authorised” [17]. It is here that the initial surprise at the setting of the enclosure, formed by the high walls of the nave of the church that shelters wild nature, gives way to wonder. Time slows down and “draws us away [...] making us assume new positions and new gazes, changing balances and centres of gravity” [18]. The wonder we experience is the result of “an awareness of the limit and, at the same time, a reflection of the fear of not yet grasping the boundaries of a new phenomenon, which terrifies us and takes us out of our reality, rendering most of the tools and narratives we have at our disposal useless” [19]. In this place, wonder is profoundly linked to the feeling of indeterminacy, of disorientation in not knowing how to give a name to what is in front of you: this is the effect of Celleno’s atopy. However, the enclosure of the church of San Donato is also a “refugium for other species, a dynamic and autonomous space” where biodiversity is free to develop and where man is

only one of many living visitors, now only an occasional observer (Gentili & Giardini, 2020). Beyond the walls of the nave, one’s gaze wanders to the vacant areas, where the ruins of ancient Celleno are insufficient to reconstruct the image of what it must have looked like in the past, before earthquakes and continuous collapse led to its abandonment. If every place is “the product of a slow temporal stratification” [20] , what defines the identity of this village today? Is it the wilderness, which has taken the place of Celleno’s inhabitants, the new signifier between the village and its environmental components? The process of recolonisation of the wild nature has contributed to the transformation of Celleno itself and its meaning, and perhaps it is possible to define it by walking among its ruins: retracing “the physical memory” [21] of this place. In this way the living bodies, our own, and the stone and mineral bodies, the ruins and remains of the village, “react and dialogue involuntarily, activating relations and reactions” [22] that can help clarify the sense of indeterminacy of this village, left available “to the possible and the eventual” [23].

Notes: 1. The drafting of the text is the result of a collaborative effort by Lisbet A. Ahon Vasquez, Giuseppe Geraci and Alberta Piselli. The introductory paragraph and the accompanying graphic work, in fact, are the outcome of these shared reflections. The writing and considerations for Act 1 are attributed to Piselli, those for Act 2 to Geraci, and those for Act 3 to Ahon Vasquez. 2. “camminare diventa oggi un imperativo etico e un esercizio di tutela culturale per chi resta, per chi attende non solo quelli che tornano, ma anche quelli che arrivano, i nuovi viandanti, i nuovi ospiti”, Teti V., La restanza, Einaudi, Turin, 2022, p. 115 (translation by the authors) 3. The latter, in particular, known as the ‘dying city’, shares the same uncertain fate with Celleno: at the mercy of a slow and progressive erosion of the tuffaceous material of which it is built. 4. In this regard, Alan Roger explains that the origin of landscape is linked to painting, and that an area does not become landscape until it is represented artistically. Roger A., Breve trattato sul paesaggio, Palermo 2009, (Paris 1997). 5. “My perception is not a sum of visual, tactile, auditory data, I perceive undividedly with my total being, I perceive a unique structure of things, a unique way of existing, which speaks simultaneously to all my senses”. M. Merleau-Ponty, Senso e non senso, Il Saggiatore, Milan 1962, p. 70-71 (translation by the authors). 6. See Tim Edensor’s essay for more details: Walking Through Ruins in Ingold T., Vergunst J.L., Ways of Walking. Ethnography and Practice on Foot, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2008, pp. 123-141. 7. Among the most recent are Joachim and the Apocalypse (2022) by Jordan River, 2022 and the Fandango TV series Luna Nera (2023), distributed by Netflix. 8. “Abitare lo spazio significa essere animati da questa inestricabile correlazione tra movimento, percezione ed emozione”, Catucci S., De Matteis F. (a cura di), The affective city vol. II: abitare il terremoto, LetteraVentidue, Syracuse 2022, p. 56 (translation by the authors). 9. “Ciò che ci colpisce di più non è ciò che troviamo, quanto quello che non troviamo più, ma che nel suo sparire ha lasciato tracce evidenti. In primo luogo, l’abbandono di uno spazio abitato mostra i sintomi di una storia trascorsa, non più fisicamente presente – ma a volte proprio per questo – tanto più poderosa nel suo manifestarsi nello spazio vissuto. Ciò che incontriamo non è il fenomeno della vita umana nella sua contingenza

attuale, semmai il suo fantasma, che “infesta” la nostra esperienza, rendendola (sinistramente) animata, in una dialettica non risolta tra presenza e assenza”, Ivi, p. 12 (translation by the authors). 10. The symbol was adopted around the time of the Unification of Italy, based on the hypothesis that the name derives from Greek mythology. 11. By ‘Lower Etruria’ we mean that portion of the Italian peninsula that was occupied by the Etruscan civilization between 750 B.C. and 500 B.C. and that corresponds to today’s regions of northern Latium and Umbria. 12. “Il segreto del miracolo italiano è stata la capacità di produrre all’ombra dei campanili cose che piacciono al mondo”, De Benedetti C., Postfazione, in Cianciullo A., Realacci E. (a cura di), Soft Economy, Bur, Milan, 2005 (translation by the authors). 13. “ciò che fonde in un complesso corredo segnico il presente e il passato [...], le tracce di qualcosa che è stato e che non sarà più”, Teti V., La restanza, cit., p. 119 (translation by the authors). 14. “l’insieme delle componenti naturali, materiali e immateriali, frutto delle interazioni di lungo periodo tra uomo e natura”, Pazzagli R., Paesaggio dell’osso. Le aree interne italiane tra abbandono e rinascita, in Nigrelli F. C. (a cura di), Paesaggi scartati, Manifestolibri, Castel S. Pietro (RM), 2020, p. 61 (translation by the authors). 15. “elemento costitutivo di bellezza, parte integrante del paesaggio, risorsa culturale, artistica ma anche turistica”, Teti V., Il senso dei luoghi. Memoria e storia dei paesi abbandonati, Donzelli, Rome, 2004 (translation by the authors). 16. “the term ‘garden’ comes from the German garten, meaning ‘enclosure’”, Clément G., Giardini, paesaggio e genio naturale, Quodlibet, Macerata 2013, p. 15 (translation by the authors). 17. il solo e unico territorio d’incontro tra l’uomo e la natura ove il sogno sia autorizzato”, Ivi, p. 15-16 (translation by the authors)

La meraviglia è di tutti. Corpi, città, architetture, Einaudi, Turin, 2023, p. 54-55 (translation by the authors). 20. “il prodotto di una lenta stratificazione temporale”, Molinari L., op. cit., p. 56 (translation by the authors). 21. “la memoria fisica”, Ivi, p. 45 (translation by the authors) 22. “reagiscono e dialogano involontariamente, attivando relazioni e reazioni”, ibidem (translation by the authors). 23. “al possibile e all’eventuale”, Metta A., op. cit., p. 170 (translation by the author. References: Böhme, G. (2010). Atmosfere, estasi, messe in scena: L’estetica come teoria generale della percezione. Marinotti Edizioni. Milano . Catucci, S. & De Matteis, F. (a cura di) (2022). The affective city vol. II: abitare il terremoto. LetteraVentidue. Siracusa. Clément, G (2013). Giardini, paesaggio e genio naturale. Quodlibet. Macerata. Crocoli, G. B. (1989). Celleno: dalle origini al 1870 (con cenni storici sui castelli vicini). Tip. Ambrosini. Bolsena. De Benedetti C, Postfazione, in Cianciullo A., Realacci E. (a cura di). (2005). Soft Economy Bur. Milano. Gentili, D., Giardini, F. (2020). Sylva and State of Nature: Kinesthetic Variations for the Contemporary. in Vesper. n. 3, p. 76-95. 92. Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962). Senso e non senso. Il Saggiatore. Milano. Metta, A. (2022), Il paesaggio è un mostro. Città selvatiche e nature ibride. DeriveApprodi. Roma. (Habitus). Molinari, L. (2009). La meraviglia è di tutti. Corpi, città, architetture. Einaudi. Torino. 2023. Roger, A. (2009). Breve trattato sul paesaggio. Palermo. (Paris 1997).

18. “ci trae via [...] facendoci assumere nuove posizioni e nuovi sguardi, cambiando equilibri e baricentri”, Metta A., Il paesaggio è un mostro. Città selvatiche e nature ibride, DeriveApprodi, Rome, 2022, p. 169 (translation by the authors).

Teti, V. (2022). La restanza. Einaudi. Torino.

19. “consapevolezza del limite e, insieme, riflesso della paura di non cogliere, ancora, i confini di un fenomeno nuovo, che ci atterrisce e ci porta fuori dalla nostra realtà, rendendo inutile la maggior parte degli strumenti e delle narrazioni che abbiamo a disposizione”, Molinari L.,

Pazzagli, R. (2020). Paesaggio dell’osso. Le aree interne italiane tra abbandono e rinascita. in Nigrelli F. C. (a cura di). Paesaggi scartati. Manifestolibri. Castel S. Pietro (RM).

Teti, V. (2004). Il senso dei luoghi. Memoria e storia dei paesi abbandonati. Donzelli. Roma.

Postiglione, G. (2019). Geografie dell’abbandono. La dismissione dei borghi in Italia. 2019.

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Fascist Atopias Giuseppe Geraci

In 1930, Mussolini launched “the battle of wheat” in Italy, intending to enhance food self-sufficiency through increased cereal cultivation. However, much of Italy’s territory was not cultivatable due to marshes and inaccessibility. To combat this, a process known as “complete reclamation” or “internal colonization,” especially in Sicily, was initiated to expand agricultural land and production. Consequently, rural houses and small villages were built since 1940 to support farmers and colonists cultivating nearby lands. Some of these settlements were never occupied, while others were inhabited briefly and now stand as ruins. These sites represent failed attempts at rural transformation, mainly due to the disruption caused by World War II, becoming stagnant outposts of unrealized colonization. These places, frozen in time and crystallized, were created abruptly under centralized power, not through natural community growth. Fascist propaganda used photographs to portray change and success. This photography project aims to compare historical images with contemporary recreations, capturing the legacy, changes, and resilience of these locations. By juxtaposing past and present, the collection communicates the atopia’s evolution, recounting its history from the past to the present, showing what these places were and what they have become.

References: Fig. 1a Geraci, G.(2023). Church di San Francesco e Santa Caterina. Borgo Cascino, Sicilia, Italia. Fig. 2a Geraci, G.(2023). Plaza of Borgo Lupo, Sicilia, Italia. Fig. 3a Geraci, G.(2023). Ex Town Hall of Borgo Lupo, Sicilia, Italia. Fig. 4a Geraci, G.(2023). A street Borgo Gattuso, Sicilia, Italia. Fig. 1b, 2b, 3b, 4b Unknown(1940). MINISTERO DELL’AGRICOLTURA E DELLE FORESTE E L’ENTE DI COLONIZZAZIONE DELLATIFONDO SICILIANO, La colonizzazione del latifondo siciliano. Primo anno. Raccolta fotografica, documenti e leggi, 1940.”

Lost in Translation Defining Atopia through the Fantastical Imagery of Las Crónicas de Indias Stephan Hosie

Atopias, the intriguing spaces emerging at the crossroads of the unknown and the human desire to make sense of it, often find their roots in the world of exploration. As European explorers and conquistadors delved into the uncharted terrain of the South American continent, they faced never before seen lands, cultures and creatures. How do you describe and imagine a space which is still not understood, mapped or otherwise represented? This article embarks on a journey into these uncharted territories, where the act of exploration brings forth the fascinating tales that arise when different worlds collide.

I guess atopias tend to exist in a kind of knowledge gap, an interstice if you’d like, between the unknown space and the necessity of making sense out of it. As an inherent reaction to every space, never previously experienced when logic is not enough to accurately describe what lies before our eyes, imagination takes over and tries to make sense of the landscapes and their contents, strange in relation to realities that we have previously experienced. Deeply rooted in storytelling and the intrinsic imperfections of language and communication, atopias can be found in the attempts of explorers to describe a previously unknown space to others who have yet to encounter it. Lacking the appropriate terminology to convey their experiences, miscommunication unfolds. There, in that act of miscommunication, imagination sparks and fires up everything it has in its arsenal to build up somewhat of a complete image, though usually it’s not a coherent or cohesive one. In this juxtaposition between objective reality (the space) and subjective interpretation (representation/imagination), is the realm of atopias. These unique spaces seldom align with the actual nature of the uncharted territories they reference. Moreover, they vary from one individual to another, embodying a fluid

Fig. 1: South America (1596), Jan Huygen van Linschoten

quality that eludes precise mapping. What is the validity of a space that is yet to be mapped or represented? Can we trust the authenticity of the stories we tell and the communal imagination that flourishes when we permit the world to be perceived through others’ eyes? Such was the case of a previously unknown land, which was unexpectedly discovered in an expedition led by Cristobal Colón in 1492 while looking for new trading routes to reach India. Upon his arrival, Colón started writing a series of documents, letters and entries in his diary depicting what at the time he described as “Las Indias”, thinking he had managed to circumnavigate the globe. It wasn’t until later on that Colón realized he had in fact discovered a new continent instead of reaching India, but the name “Indias” had already taken hold in Europe, where word of the new western trade route had begun to spread. To understand this story, one must consider the temporal context. In Colón’s era, the voyage across the Atlantic took almost two months, and receiving news from the new land entailed a five-month wait (round trip) plus additional time for exploration. In that timeframe, 25

Europeans had t already began crafting their stories, tweaking and refining details in the narrative of the far-off world. By the time Colón and subsequent explorers, such as Francisco de Orellana, Alonso de Ojeda, Hernán Cortés, Antonio Pigafetta, and Pedro de las Casas, returned from their expeditions and spoke about cannibal savages who don’t understand Spanish, pigs with wings and bellybuttons on their backs, snakes the length of a ship, men eating plants that had never been seen before, mountains as high as the sky and indigenous folks covered in gold and more, “Las Indias” was already this mysterious land that lurked in Europe’s imagination. It was this need for getting to know the unexplored world (as well as the urge for gold and other resources) what fueled future expeditions which then contributed to the picturing of the New world. The “Las Crónicas de Indias”, as these documents would come to be known,became a common practice among conquistadors, driven by the Spanish crown’s mandate to dispatch detailed accounts of their expeditions.

Fig. 2: Map of Americas (1561), Sebastian Münster

These documents aimed to offer the monarchs an understanding of their new territories, which neither they or most European people would ever personally witness.

Amidst the gold, silver, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, sugar, salt, corn, potatoes, cotton, and chocolate sent back to Spain, the most eagerly awaited treasures were the colorful and fantastical letters describing the wonders of the New World. Hernán Cortés wrote several letters portrayingthe markets and squares of Tenochtitlan, the floating capital of the Aztec empire constructed atop a lake. Here, millions of indigenous people congregated daily to exchange goods never

Fig. 3: Map of Tenochtitlan (1524), Friedrich Peypus, probably after drawing made by one of Cortez’ men

before seen by Europeans. Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, en route through Panama, learned from an Indigena under his command, of a mysterious land the indigenous people referred to as “Tumanamá,” reputedly abundant in gold and other riches. Intrigued by this account, he embarked on an expedition that would lead to his discovery of the Pacific Ocean, which he named “el mar del Sur” (the South Sea). In Europe, maps started appearing depicting The New World like an “unfinished” piece of land, where illustrations of strange beasts and meandering rivers could be found in the middle of this imprecise representation. Initially created independently of each other, these maps exhibited different shapes and sizes for the continent, varying in the presence of islands and mountains. Yet, they all highlighted the same enigmatic elements, albeit in different locations. El Dorado was believed to exist across vast regions of the Americas, from La Florida to high in the folds of the Peruvian mountains or concealed in the middle of the impenetrable Amazon rain forest. The Amazon, much like the Andes, remained unfathomable regions whose full scope still

nowadays eludes modern representation and clear delineation of their boundaries. Describing mythical locations within such an extensive region and attempting to guide others to find them is akin to directing a newcomer in a new city to a local café using only a novel set in that city as a reference. Even though the café might still be discovered, it would probably not be due to the skill of the guide. All those descriptions shared a common trait: they described places that were inaccessible or very hard to locate. Nevertheless, they fostered the perception of America as a fluctuant, magical territory where any marvel could be found. During the initial years, and perhaps even the first few decades following the discovery of the American Continent, Europe regarded it as a land plagued with mythical creatures and impossible cities full of riches and the promise of eternal youth. In this light, “Las Indias” embodied the quintessential atopia, surpassing any seen before. But another characteristic of atopias is that they tend to fade away once we try to define them and fix them into place. This

temporal condition speaks to their fantastic side, where the pressure of the graspable reality becomes such, that sustaining a fantasy is no longer possible. It’s like building a city out of smoke, it vanishes into thin air. As subsequent expeditions unfolded, and as our means to map the terrain grew increasingly precise, the subtle enchantment and enigma enveloping the American Continent began to dissipate. Expeditions like the one of Alexander von Humboldt told a completely different story from the one that the Chronicles where depicting. His work aimed to classify every plant species in the New World, providing an authentic account of the American flora. While most of these plants were previously unknown to the European con-

tinent, they were far less fantastical than initially believed. Expeditions like this one gradually clarified the reality of the new continent and distinguished fact from fiction, building up a much more accurate image and in greater detail than before. Over time, maps transitioned from vague approximations to detailed renderings that delineated every river, ridge, forest, and bay in the land. Ultimately, “Las Indias” were translated into America. Although the Chronicles occasionally contained exaggerations and fabrications in their descriptions of the American Continent, they significantly shaped Europe’s, and by extension, the world’s collective imagination. This portrayal depicted America as a place filled with wonders and mystical places.

Fig. 4: Carte du monde Universalis Cosmographia (1507), Martin Waldseemüller - America as Terra Incognita

Latin American literature was profoundly influenced by the magical and fantastical character imparted by the Chronicles. This influence culminated in the 20th century with the emergence of the “Magical Realism” movement in literature and art, with the renowned novelist and Nobel prize winner Gabriel García Márquez standing as one of its leading figures.. Although no pigs with wings were ever found in the Amazon, it is the sole habitat of the Amazonian pink dolphins; El Dorado was not found, despite thousands of people who died in attempt to find it, but the magnificence of Machu Picchu and Mayan ruins are rediscovered and amazed at by millions of people every year. The initial images infused with magic and fantasy indelibly imprinted elements of the American identity.

References: Colón, C. (1492) Relación del primer viaje para el descubrimiento de las indias (Chronicles of the Indies) Cortés, H. (1866) Cartas y Relaciones (Compilation of Documents) García Marquez, G. (1982) La soledad de America Latina (Acceptance speech for the Nobel price) Stockholm, Sweden Nuñez de Balboa, V. (1513) Cartas Von Humboldt, A. (1810) Views from Cordilleras and Monuments of the Indigenous People of the Andes.

Triptych of Permafrost Landscapes Caitlin Jakusz Paridy

A video of the Triptych of Permafrost Landscapes can be viewed by scanning the QR Code.

These images capture the materials and processes of three underground environments created as humans have buried, carved, and built within the permafrost landscape of Longyearbyen, Svalbard. While seemingly “wild” when viewed from above or artificial when viewed from within, these drawings reveal the dynamic and blurred condition of human and non-human materials occurring around and between these landscapes. It is in between these spaces that the fluidity of permafrost is understood as the materials are modified and influenced by Arctic processes such as melt, erosion, and freeze; thus expanding our perception of permanently frozen ground.

Fig. 1 - 3: Triptych of Permafrost Landscapes (2023), Caitlin Jakusz Paridy

The graveyard

Fig. 1

The Mine

Fig. 2

The Seed Vault

Fig. 3

Navigating the Intersection of Architecture, Global Crises, and Innovative Perspectives A Conversation with Lesia Topolnyk Interview conducted by Vera Vince, Johanna Zehntner and Greta Samulionyte

In recent years, our world has grappled with a multitude of crises, spanning the spectrum from the looming threat of climate change to the harrowing conflicts witnessed in regions like Syria and Ukraine. As architects, urbanists and individuals immersed in related fields, we’re driven by a profound desire to contribute positively to these pressing issues, yet frequently find ourselves grappling with a sense of powerlessness. The ongoing conflict in Ukraine serves as a testament to the intricate interplay of fragility and resilience among nations, exposing a web of social, environmental, and political connections within the European context. Lesia Topolnyk offers a unique perspective through her approach. With a distinctive touch, she skillfully deconstructs physical spaces, bringing forth fresh insights and narratives that transcend conventional boundaries, thereby enabling us to perceive the world in a profoundly new light.

Educated in both Ukraine and the Netherlands, Lesia Topolnyk, the founder of Studio Space Station, possesses a diverse background that enriches her exploration of urgent societal and planetary issues through architecture, politics, and art. Her achievements include winning the Archiprix (National and International) for her graduation project focused on the Crimean peninsula, showcasing her ability to delve into complex geopolitical subjects. This expertise, coupled with her 2022 Prix de Rome Architecture win for “No Innocent Landscape,” underscores her unique capacity to shed light on both visible and invisible aspects of local and global concerns. Through this work, she dissects the MH17 airplane catastrophe near the eastern Ukrainian village of Hrabove, exposing how this human-engineered catastrophe has reshaped her once-familiar homeland into an atopia – an ethereal non-place.

Fig. 1: “The Radar”, Prix De Rome, Lesia Topolnyk

Having received education in diverse cultural contexts, how did your experiences shape the development of your architectural approach? Architecture is just a profession that educates about space and how you use the tools that are given are up to you. When I started to work, I saw that the offices focus mainly on adding things, like building up, but this doesn’t address the issues that are important within the current arena of the world. I saw that many offices are irrelevant to the urgent issues and for me that wasn’t what I wanted to spend my time on. I felt like as an architect you have the ability to bring more to the table, and I think there are more architects in the world who feel like that. While graduating from the Academie van Bouwkunst in Amsterdam, how was your project shaped, and how was your approach perceived among your peers and within the architectural profession?

I chose the Crimean peninsula for my graduation project, which was ridiculous for everyone at the Academie due to the scale and scope, so people didn’t believe I could finish the project, but I did it anyway because I felt I have something to say about it within the ongoing crisis between Ukraine and Russia, so I finally felt inspired. I came from this place where I saw that our larger problems, such as political turmoil, economic and societal problems, are clearly represented in physical space. So I was looking for this kind of education, something that would

address these issues. When I was studying in the Academie van Bouwkunst, Floris Alkemade came there and I think that was the moment when I felt I relate to his kind of teaching. It was a combination of bringing larger problems and explaining them in a physical environment, but at the same time linking them with philosophy and I think it had a much broader view of the issues. Floris was also my mentor for my graduation project, as well as my teacher. I knew that I needed to choose him because I felt we relate in terms of looking at how architecture can be done. The graduation turned out well, I won the Archiprix National and International for that. People still think about architecture in very traditional terms, I still face it within the profession within the Prix de Rome and after, this idea of: “this is the building”. The profession of an architect to stay relevant needs to change. We will have more and more wars related to conflicts over natural resources, since there is more and more resource scarcity. We already know that soon there will not be enough water, and it is escalating more and more. As an architect, when our whole profession is mainly based on adding something, like growth, it definitely needs to change into something that addresses this urgency. I hope we’re going to fight that.

Fig. 2 (left): Site Image, Prix De Rome, by Lesia Topolnyk. Fig. 3 (right): Diagram of the different actors in play, Prix De Rome, by Lesia Topolnyk.

No Innocent Landscapes On July 17, 2014, a Malaysia Airlines plane took off from Schiphol Airport. The plane fell from the sky, crashing into the mining village of Hrabove in eastern Ukraine. Hrabove, part of the Donetsk region near Luhansk, grappled with issues like rights violations, disputes, economic troubles, and environmental harm. Amidst the wreckage over 50 square kilometers, a surprising transformation unfolded. The plane, unwittingly, became a lens exposing hidden connections among seemingly unrelated events. This event also became the focus point for Lesia Topolnyks’ Prix De Rome project “No Innocent Landscapes”. In the case of Hrabove, the village affected by the MH17 crash, she unveils a complex interplay between global and local histories, including the detrimental impact of illicit mining on the region’s environment. Using narrative and construction techniques, Lesia deconstructs these interconnected histories, immersing viewers in a somber and oppressive design.

What led you to undertake this project, and what motivated your initial interest in it? Previously I did research on architecture on perpetual instability, which was an exploration on how our political institutions and politics in general are represented within a physical space. It was about different crises. In the end, I came to the conclusion that our politics are not made within the buildings but constituted and produced through the spaces around, so it’s represented through the landscape and the physical environment. For the Prix De Rome, when they announced a call for “Healing Sites”, you could choose a location close to your own practice. This was still before the full invasion of Ukraine by the Russian Federation. I chose the location of Donetsk and Luhansk in Ukraine, which also was the MH17 shooting site. This is a political arena that also represented international issues – illegal mining,

colonialism, different forces of power, Europe, European Union, Russian Federation and America as well. It is a place close to me personally, as I saw how it was changing throughout the years – from the landscape I remembered through my childhood to the war that happened in Ukraine from 2014 and all the events that followed after. I looked how through this location you could build new pieces together, and rebuild a new narrative. A location which suffered so much trauma, but is still there, and how to give a new perspective. The project turned into something more personally emotional, personal healing but also addressed international issues, like European energy transition due to the war in Ukraine and questioned our healing way forward as a humanity.

What broader objectives did you aim to achieve with this project? I wanted to position the project more internationally and show the people that are living in The Netherlands, or anywhere in the world, how despite where you live, that you are still responsible for certain things that are happening elsewhere. Not to say that anyone is responsible for war, but to say that we are making these narratives together.

In the end, I wanted to show how the small scale is linked with large global processes, and how much more complex the issues are then when we perceive them on the surface. I also wanted to show how the borders of the nation, like the ones between the Netherlands and the surrounding countries, with events like MH17 and the experience of trauma and grief, are then removed. This location, all of a sudden, in Ukraine became very important for many Dutch people, and it showed that nations are not just represented where their government is situated and where their borders lie. We are still very much interconnected with other global affairs and you can’t really separate a nation from its global geopolitics. In the Prix de Rome, design was a tool for deconstruction and reconstruction of new narratives. The deconstruction was also a way for me to understand what is going on in that area, because before, no one really knew what the crash site of MH17 looked like. It was just a field of sunflowers, and there were small isolated villages. At the same time, you think of it as this innocent green area, remote and with a bad internet connection. But when you start to really examine it, more carefully, you all of a sudden come to all these other layers of what is happening there – underground, on the surface and in the air. The usual stratification of these layers was unsettled by the crashed plane and mining. Could you explain the significance behind your graphical depiction of an iceberg as a representation of the situation? Through the scheme I always wanted to show that our politics are based on a human needs pyramid. The conflicts we are facing now, war, viruses, climate change and so on, are impossible to solve looking from the perspective of a human eye. It is difficult to resolve

these problems, because there is always a good and a bad side. But nature, or another physical environment, is objective. The physical environments are represented without borders, races or politics. So examining physical space we can see a representation of what really happened. In the project I wanted to shift the perception from the human needs to what our actual physical environment is. So the iceberg shows the invisible underneath, which then, as an axiom to bypass unresolvable disputes, is turned upside down and focuses on making it visible. Our planet always has a reaction to what we are doing, so the idea was to think differently on these reactions and see how we could structure our system differently, politically.

Fig. 4: Axiom, Prix De Rome, by Lesia Topolnyk.

The axiom also shows the deconstruction of the traditional horizontal border plane, and shows it from a vertical perspective, which you also show in other drawings from the project. However, you do also deconstruct and examine the physical horizontal border, can you expand a little on that? Yes, it is about looking at things all together. Resource economy and politics of the region happening in the background of the war, can be an example of seeing space in a more complete way. Ukraine has a lot of critical mineral resources which are important for the energy transition, as well as very rich soil where a lot of the world’s food comes from. In the project, I showed the river which flows from the Russian Federation, bringing pollution

Fig. 5: Borders and their relationship, Prix De Rome, by Lesia Topolnyk.

to Ukraine, and getting further polluted in the Donetsk and Luhansk region due to the war and extensive lithium mining which is happening there. The river then returns back to Russia, bringing more pollution to Russia, and then finally merging into the Black Sea and polluting a body of water which connects many countries. So the pollution of illegal mining and the war is brought towards the international scale. Also, of course, the soil is now very polluted, and it is estimated that it will take at least 70 years to clean the soil. I think that is also an important topic when talking about reconstruction of Ukraine – besides just rebuilding the houses, we will need to look at reestablishing things such as these natural resources.

Fig. 6: Prix De Rome, by Lesia Topolnyk.

While you were working on the “No Innocent Landscape” project, Russia invaded Ukraine. How did the war affect your work and the project? I felt that everything fell apart. In February 2022 I woke up with messages from friends that the war really began. And you couldn’t believe it. You realize that all your dreams about the future and that of your families can be erased in one moment. All the airports were bombed. Ukraine is a really big country, so an invasion on such a scale is really difficult to describe. In order to come back to a more adequate state, I understood that I need to gather these broken pieces of mine and make something better of that. You can either go down with your trauma and stay there, or you can make something different out of it. I recognized how many things in my life are irrelevant, once I felt I might lose my family the next day. The trauma was also an opportunity for a kind of liberation from certain constraints that our society puts on us. I think it’s good when you can clearly focus on your experience and what exactly matters to you. In our world nowadays we have a lot of buzz and you are always in a rush, but when all of a sudden you have the recognition that you can die the next day, many

things just fall apart and you realize what you stand for, and you can remove everything that is unnecessary. I decided I wanted to use this moment to see if I can make myself better, or to try to really see what I was afraid of doing. So for the project, I was able to do the same and not think about the outcome of the Prix de Rome, but really focus on what I wanted to say with my work. Of course, conflict is always present for me, I’m never going to become a person that is in a very safe place, I think. Therefore, when I look at any situation or location or project, anything now, it’s definitely a part of my subconscious filter, how I look at things, what I recognize there. It becomes a part of your identity.

Constructing future narratives During a duo lecture at The Independent School for the City, you presented your Prix de Rome project, “No Innocent Landscape, alongside Floris Alkemade, the former Rijksbouwmeester and your former graduation mentor whose presentation introduced the Panorama Netherlands project. This visionary project presented a future perspective on spatial planning in the country, as well as an optimistic and attractive vision for a nation grappling with complex challenges such as climate change, an aging population, sustainable energy transition, and a housing shortage, among others. It demonstrated that sometimes a new design narrative is necessary to regain control and envision positive change for a country. During the lecture, there was also a discussion about “Panorama Ukraine,” a translation of that strategy into Ukraine as a vision for post-war reconstruction. What is your view on the reconstruction initiatives such as “Panorama Ukraine”? As the historian Yuval Noah Harari says – nations are built on stories. He specifically emphasized the current Ukrainian situation in this regard, but he also says it for the rest of the world. This is clearly seen, for example in the Russian Federation where people are telling a different story, they are living in a different reality from what we have. I think that in the case of “Panorama Ukraine” or the reconstruction plans in general, what is needed to start with, is to visualize the direction in which everyone wants to go. To imagine something, so you can act on it.

Both in the case of “Panorama Ukraine”, as well as “No Innocent Landscapes”, what is important is that those short stories or narratives, which are based on the existing facts of the location based on the deconstructed knowledge, are there to try to reconstruct the story in a different way. Of course, within the reconstruction of Ukraine, the methodology of something like “Panorama Ukraine” is more realistic, so people can propose their vision first. Like how they want it to be and to stimulate the imaginations, which is really important before starting to build, build and build… How do you see the role of the Ukrainian state, and also the international community in this regard? Of course, Ukrainians themselves should reconstruct their home and I would say many Ukranians already know what they need. There are many small scale initiatives where people are already working together to rebuild neighborhoods. However, on the government level, which should provide the commission and the necessary level of control, right now all the money and the focus is going towards the war, and there is also a presence of corruption. There are many broken links within the political system of Ukraine. For example how to connect the government to environmental studies, which is something that there is a lot of knowledge about in the West. In that sense, I think what the Netherlands or other countries can provide for Ukraine is a certain knowledge and support. For Ukrainians to know that someone stands with them, and to know that they are not left alone. But it is a pity that many initiatives and studies about reconstruction of Ukraine which are happening in the European Union are not landing there. I think there is not enough direct connection with Ukrainian people.

Fig. 7: Photograph from exhibition at The Nieuwe Instituut of Lesia Topolnyks’ Prix de Rome, by Aad Hoogednoorn.

How would you yourself define an atopia? I do not know exactly the definition of this word, but maybe I could say that in reverse to utopia, atopia for me embodies the problem, which can open a window towards the future, if we will be bold enough not to avoid but to discover it. Also, I don’t think of problems as simply dead ends, but I like to see them also in terms of hope and possible future, I think it’s something that is very interesting and also what ties together several multi-crisis. Coming back to my Prix de Rome – maybe an atopia is also a place where there are no clear boundaries, or the specific locations are less important. Thinking of a place in different terms, if you know what I mean?

It’s maybe a different conceptualization of how we treat a certain problematic location. Certainly, these are the locations which embody a certain problem, such as conflict or scarcity, but at the same time they are very interesting locations because they show us something about how we do things and give us clues about the future. And they have a huge potential in terms of moving from the problems towards further steps. So for me, atopia and these kinds of places simultaneously embody this type of trauma and at the same time give a lot of hints towards the future. There are more and more issues like that, and that is also my interest to work on frictions and clashes between different forces, not only war but also climate change, within the physical space, so for me that is atopia.

Fig. 8: Still image from film on Lesia Topolnyk, co-directed with Dorothee Meddens.

Fig. 1: ‘Spaggia’, by Vassiliki Lianou

Bachelard’s Concept of “Curling up” a Symbiotic Scenario of Inhabiting the Landscape Vassiliki Lianou

“To curl up belongs to the phenomenology of the verb to inhabit, and only those who have learned to do so can inhabit with intensity”, says Gaston Bachelard in “The Poetics of Space”. The landscape of Kaiafas in Greece remains untouched by human intervention, serving as a crucial migratory station for numerous birds. The pinewood, lake, beach, sea, and sand dunes invite exploration, while the constant chirping of birds, reminding us of our inseparable relationship with nature. This investigation delves into the dynamic interplay between nature and human intervention, revealing the inherent rules governing the coastal realm. Interacting with collected data prompts a reevaluation of the coastal paradigm, urging a redefinition of the symbiotic relationship between the natural and the artificial. Through an architectural small-scale program, the research confronts issues of embodiment and enjoyment, strategically managing the liminal boundary between land and water. A research is being carried out on how the birds inhabit the landscape. Translating Bachelard’s concept of “curling up” into tangible architectural elements presents a challenge. The research is translated into an architectural proposal envisioning ephemeral inhabitation. Specially designed structures are placed within the different landscapes of the lake, carefully selected based on bird nesting behaviors and “curling up” areas. The primary aim is to immerse visitors in the natural environment, experiencing various lake landscapes through interactions with these structures. These structures seamlessly blend into the natural landscape, harmlessly coexisting with it and allowing nature to inhabit and bond with them when humans depart in autumn.

The landscape of Kaiafas along the Kyparissiakos Gulf in Greece remains untouched by human intervention, serving as a crucial migratory station for numerous birds. The pine forest, lake, beach, sea, and sand dunes invite exploration, while the constant chirping of birds, reminds us of our inseparable relationship with nature. A visit to the lake during autumn, when the holidaymakers of the landscape have made way for migratory birds and the opportunity to interact with magnificent feathered creatures and their nests in the surroundings, ignited the idea and the form of this proposal. The natural environment, alongside the coexistence of the natural and artificial elements, has always intrigued me throughout my architectural researches. It’s a quality that particularly charmed me in this specific location. While pursuing my studies in architecture, my research focused on Spiantza, a coastal site situated along the Kyparissiakos Gulf. This location boasted an intriguing feature: an arbitrary settlement constructed upon the sea, slowly succumbing to the relentless forces of nature’s erosion and decay. This extensive investigation into Spiantza’s transformation played a pivotal role in shaping the direction of this project. I consistently kept in

mind the idea that nature and the water reclaims and reoccupies these structures, asserting its dominion over them. Consequently, right from the beginning, I distanced myself from constructions that erect barriers between humanity and nature examining new symbiotic relationships between people and their environment. Through an architectural small-scale program, my aim is to redefine the dynamic interplay between humanity and nature, revealing the inherent rules governing the coastal realm. The lake’s significance as a crucial migratory station and a birds’ habitat played a significant role in shaping and developing this idea. The architectural program confronts issues of embodiment and enjoyment, strategically managing the liminal boundary between land and water. The research is translated into an architectural proposal envisioning ephemeral inhabitation, serving as a reminder of the impermanence of our presence at the lake. The primary aim of the design is for the structures not to remain vacant or abandoned over time, when humans depart in autumn, but rather to be easily reclaimed by nature, to harmonize with it, to become “one” with it, and to transform into accommodation units for the wild bird population.

Fig. 2: Kaiafas, Greece, Vassiliki Lianou

Translating Bachelard’s concept of “curling up” into tangible architectural elements presents a challenge.

The concept of ‘curling up’ acts as the link between humans and nature. The project is based on the interplay between nature and humans and how different forms of human and non-human beings can occupy and inhabit the same space through time. Bodies and their movements are in constant interaction with the environment, constantly redefining each other. The human body becomes a fundamental factor in design, impacting not only dimensions but also the bodily experience each created space is intended to offer. Similarly, birds use their bodies as a unit to design and as a tool to construct their own spaces, their own homes, the nests. Jules Michelet, in his book “L’oiseau” (1858), describes birds as workers who lack tools. It has “neither the hand of the squirrel, nor the teeth of the beaver.” “In reality,” he writes, “a bird’s tool is its own body, that is, its breast, with which it presses and tightens its materials until they have become absolutely pliant, well-blended and adapted to the general plan”, and, Michelet suggests “a house built by and for the body, taking form from the inside, like a shell, in an intimacy that works physically”. In my research, I sought references on how structures can be occupied by nature, serving as habitats for birds, incorporating water elements and seamlessly integrated with vegetation. I also delved into the concept of ‘curling up’ and how it can be transcribed into design, influencing the construction and the assemblage of its individual components. The objective is to create a simple and functional architecture that integrates into the landscape, an architecture that is distinct yet simultaneously environmentally benign, with a particular emphasis on designing structures that have the ability to support various forms of “curling up” for humans, birds, and vegetation. Two types of constructions are suggested: simple, small-scale structures and larger ones, all guided by a cohesive architectural philosophy. The diversity among the larger structures depends on their specific locations on the map,

the terrain, soil characteristics, the presence of water, and the surrounding plant life. The proposed constructions are intended to be situated within the pine forest, along the lakeside, amidst the sand dunes, and amid the reeds encircling Lake Kaiafa. These sites were chosen based on observations of bird nesting behaviors and “curling up” areas. Envisioned as retreats for hikers, explorers, walkers, and nature enthusiasts, these structures also serve as sanctuaries for migratory birds, just as they do for hikers and explorers. In this architectural venture, the human and non-human user becomes a part of the composition. The architecture deliberately challenges individuals to perform, to curl up, to lie down, to climb, and stay in continuous motion. The body, bodily experiences, and acts are integral elements of the structure. Therefore, I maintain an active connection with the body in the design process. The human body serves as the benchmark for the design, evoking the way birds inhabit their nests. Consequently, a minimum living space is created in relation with the human form. Constructions without body presence feel incomplete, as the human and non-human body is necessary to give them life. At the same time, a unique dynamic emerges where the architecture shapes the human body, and the users, through their bodily acts, reciprocally shape the constructions. As Gaston Bachelard (1994) states, “ To curl up belongs to the phenomenology of the verb to inhabit, and only those who have learned to do so can inhabit with intensity. (…) Thus, well-being takes us back to the primitiveness of the refuge. Physically, the creature endowed with a sense of refuge, huddles up to itself, takes to cover, hides away, lies snug, concealed”. The minimalistic structure and the primal nature of the shelter provide a sense of well-being, in line with Bachelard’s philosophy. This allows users to experience instinctive behaviors, much like birds, in a straightforward, instinctual environment. These constructions tap into instinctual and imaginative sensibilities, echoing the essence of a child’s secret hideaway—the “nest.” A construction philosophy is carefully selected, along with materials that allow adaptability to changing conditions. The structures are easily assembled and their components can be easily replaced if damaged by water, moisture or occupied by nature.

Fig. 3. “Curling up Birds”, Vassiliki Lianou

Fig. 4. “Curling up Human body”, Vassiliki Lianou

The selected materials are lightweight. Each main structure covers an area of approximately 2750 x 2750 mm and consists of a wooden frame supported by wooden columns (dimensions 80 x 80 mm), spaced 800 mm apart. In addition, the beams have dimensions of 50 x 120 mm. To minimize disturbance to the lake’s natural environment, the foundations are based on wooden piles. The ascent is achieved in a vertical and perpendicular manner to the ground using a ladder that requires climbing. Ceilings and floors, whether solid or not, adhere to different filling logics such as decking, and some constructions incorporate nets. This is because the logic of distinct utilization of the structure from the body is a desired aspect. The sides are primarily open, although wooden slats and climbing nets for plants can also be found. Further more, users are provided with kits that can be assembled into versatile equipment, such as chairs or loungers, which can be placed within dedicated slots in the larger constructions.

The aim is to completely immerse visitors in the natural environment, achieved through the bodily act of curling up within these structures and experiencing the diverse lake landscapes through interactions with them. Inspired by Gaston Bachelard’s concept of ‘Topoanalysis,’ this architectural endeavor centers on creating spaces that etch indelible imprints on the dreams and memories of visitors.

In this architectural venture, atopianism prevails as structures transcend conventional boundaries, transforming from human retreats into bird nesting spaces while fostering a fluid coexistence between humans and nature.

As Bachelard states, ‘Topoanalysis’ constitutes the systematic psychological exploration of sites of our intimate lives. In the theater of memory, where the past unfolds, architecture serves as the stage setting, preserving the roles of our experiences. The construction of structures enriched with nooks and corners represents a pivotal strategy in this endeavor, enabling architectural compositions to deeply resonate with the individuals who engage with them. The ultimate objective is to give life to Bachelard’s vision by crafting spaces that invite visitors to ‘curl up’ within them, fostering a profound connection between architectural elements and the human psyche. These architectural forms create environments where time becomes compressed, offering visitors a sanctuary for immersion in memories and dreams.

These structures offer the flexibility to be situated in various locations around the lake, adapting to the surrounding vegetation and evolving to meet changing needs. Instead of proposing a quantity of constructions, I advocate for a flexible approach where initially 10 to 15 structures are introduced, with their numbers increasing based on the responses of nature and the bird population. Over time, new structures will be integrated as the old ones are fully embraced by nature, serving both humans and wildlife, ultimately achieving a harmonious coexistence of the natural and the artificial. Τhe selected points of interest also represent different types of vegetation. Therefore, this proposal could serve as a strategic design approach for other Greek lakes – migratory stations, based on the shared Greek flora that thrives in them. References: 1. Bachelard, G. (1994). The poetics of space. Beakon Press, Boston. 2. Michelet, J. (1858). L’oiseau (2nd ed.). Librairie de l. Hachette et Cie., Paris.

51 Fig. 5 & 6. “Curling up reeds”, Vassiliki Lianou

Fig. 1: The Twilight Zone (1959) Rod Serling

Teadiotopia Feike Smithuis

You’re travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead, your next stop—the Teaditopia!

Think about the space and places we pass through everyday. Do they stick out? Interest or inspire you? Or does your mind immediately dismiss them? If so, you might have just passed through the Teadiotopia. The teadio, boring (teadiosus) place (topia). So much of our surroundings are filled with boredom, uninterest and non-interaction. These spaces are as Kierkegaard (1844) describes it; “...demonic is the contentless, the boring [...] a continuity in nothingness”. This paper unveils the concept of teadiotopia and the ways in which boredom holds the potential of transforming these mundane spaces into atopias, and possibly something more.

In the content call for this issue of Atlantis magazine it is stated that “man-made atopias challenge the convention of space and ignite our imaginations”. Barthes (1979), in his work, also remarks that atopos is “unclassifiable” and continually offers unexpected originality. At first glance, the Teadiotopia appears to be the antithesis of the atopia. It seems to erode the individual’s imagination, inviting dismissal, distraction, and destruction. The Teadiotopia, therefore, stands in stark contrast to the atopia, which is known for its unclassifiable and original qualities. However, in this essay, I posit that the seemingly burdensome nature of boredom can be harnessed to transform Teadiotopia into an atopia, or even a utopia.

Boredom is a qualitative aversive state characterised by dissatisfaction, restlessness, and weariness, draining our mental capacities and leaving us feeling frustrated, alienated, and disengaged from the world around us (Elpidorou, 2014). But why explore the concept of boredom and of Teadiotopia? Firstly, one can not find the Teadiotopia. The act of searching for it is inherently interesting, as it involves a process of uncovering the new. Boredom emerges from the absence of stimulation, and the pursuit of Teadiotopia serves

to repress it. The Teadiotopia can only find us slowly and when we least expect it. Just as one’s own shadow it cannot be caught while always being with us hiding in wait. Boredom is not merely negative; it pushes us out of its emotional or physical space, revealing our inner and outer worlds by motivating us to escape it (Elpidorou, 2014). Go somewhere, feel emotion, do anything, but please DO something. Before we explore the Teadiotopia, I need to state that boredom is naturally a subjective experience. How often have you been at a party where everybody is seemingly enjoying themselves except you? Teadiotopia is, therefore, a physical space, but its actualization depends on our conscious engagement, or in the case of boredom, the lack thereof. Space here is defined as the generic repetition devoid of characterisation of what would make it place (Morton, 2016). This distinction is important because within the field of urbanism and architecture space is created more often than place. Repetition in an industrialised world is the norm, which can be seen in industry, new developments, agriculture, mining, etc. These spaces are replicated all over the world often in formerly unique places. They are fertile ground for the creation of the Teadiotopia.

Fig. 2: Parasite (2019) Directed by Bong Joon Ho

Fig. 3: Eraserhead (1977), Directed by David Lynch

I propose that there are four categories of actions that you can undertake within a Teadiotopia. The first group is that of acceptance. Meaning that when you are confronted with the Teadiopic space, you do not reject it but stay or move through it. Acceptance here means non-interaction, you can be bored in a space and choose from between two modes of being: distraction or flight. Distraction, especially now in our modern time, might be the easiest way to escape. Grabbing your phone and scrolling on, anything not to be there. An example of this is depicted in the film “Parasite” (figure 3), where the characters resort to distraction to cope with the mundane. Here they are shown in the bathroom, the only room in the house with a decent internet connection. The boring space is accepted through the distraction from it. When immediate distraction is unavailable, people may opt for physical flight, leaving the uninspiring space in search of a more engaging one. They might decide to visit a friend rather than staying at home, or, conversely, return home after a monotonous day of repetitive labour.

The film “Eraserhead” portrays such a scenario, where the protagonist, Henry, seeks some enjoyment in various spaces but fails to escape the Teadiotopia. As shown in Figure 3, Henry is on his way home to prepare himself to go to his girlfriend. First he tries to find enjoyment at home by putting on music while he prepares himself to go to dinner at his girlfriend’s parents. He leaves from one Teadiotopia to the next hoping to break out but being unable to do so. The second group involves the rejection of Teadiotopia. Confrontation with the Teadiotopic space generates frustration, motivating us to transform it rather than passively accepting it. Not to be pushed out but to push the boredom out. Transformation within the physical context can be achieved through two categories: destruction and creation. These two categories, while seemingly distinct, are deeply interconnected and could be seen as two sides of the same coin. They both play a pivotal role in reshaping and evolving the space. However, they apply differently in spatial contexts. Destruction is by far the most negative form of response, but also the most immediately satisfying. The rejection of the boring makes us an active subject in the space.

Raveging it to make it go away, pushing it out by force. Recalling back to the subjectivity of boredom this comes most to the forefront. The boring space that is destroyed might have been an interesting place for someone else. Destruction allows us to make place for change but at the same time removes an interesting place.

in front of your door is barred by our systems of government. The state not only holds a monopoly on violence but also on change itself. For individuals or groups outside the state or corporate apparatus, change has been made difficult by lack of capital, regulatory mechanisms and by the elimination of thinking about change itself.

Take the example of the Tweebosbuurt in Rotterdam. A working class neighbourhood that has been torn down due to lack of maintenance by the housing corporation. Just another neighbourhood to exist and be removed for something new, which is interesting to their subjective notion. The municipality’s decision to destroy the neighbourhood was based on their perception that it held no interesting value. For the original population, however, this act left nothing but boredom. The landscape lost what had once made it meaningful to them.

Recognizing the potential for change within the Teadiotopia requires tapping into your inner spirit to foster creativity (Bertman, 1990). If our inability to interact is rooted in a disconnect from our natural condition, it prevents us from realising our innate creative potential and restricts our capacity for change. While this may seem bleak, the spark for change persists and must be ignited for self-actualization. However, we must avoid falling into the trap of nostalgia and pastiche (Fisher, 2009). these are only frozen moments (Haraway, 2016). Letting go of this urge for authenticity of yesterday’s forms can create new meanings but only if we sit with and embrace the Teadiotopia when we happen to be in such space.

Finally, creation, the last and most difficult category. Similar to a blank canvas, it is the absence of content that can serve as an inspiration. Yet, starting the creative process can be challenging, and regulations often discourage or restrict changes in physical space. Discouraged, in a sense, that imagining a future or change has gotten more and more difficult in our society. “There is no alternative” as Fisher says. The space as it exists has reached its finality where a grey curtain is pulled over the horizons of possibility (Fisher, 2009). Restricted by regulation also stifles creation. Changing your city, street or even the square metre

Now that we are in the Teadiotopia, it is time for change - but how? Begin by contemplating what you find interesting, inspiring, or what you speculate about in your daily life. In doing so, you engage in what Bloch refers to as the ‘Not-Yet.’ Boredom slows down time and provides space for thoughts on unfolding processes through time, leading to a speculative and materialistic utopia (Bloch, 2000). Bloch uses the ‘Not-Yet’ in “the sense

Fig. 4: Tweebosbuurt (2022), Photo by Otto Snoek

Fig. 5: Two groups, four categories, by author.

of actual, but not yet having reached a future determination” (Hudson, 1982). So not giving into the reactions to boredom of distraction, flight or destruction confronts us with the ‘Not-Yet’ Consciousness to envision the objective-real possible in the now. As Bloch states: “We live surrounded by possibility, not merely by presence. In the prison of mere presence we could not even move nor even breathe” (Bloch, 2000). To think of action, of change, of a future is inherently to shape the future mentally and physically. We don’t get to choose many of the spaces we pass through. We inherit them in our movement, and thinking about them in a revolu-

tionary way activates their potential (Hudson, 1982), allowing us to reinterpret them into something new and distinct from their past (Haraway, 2016). Bloch speaks about how the ‘Not-Yet’ consciousness can create a concrete utopia. However, in a spatial context that is a societal project. The enabling of a ‘Not-Yet’ consciousness within yourself and the groups surrounding you allows the creation of atopias in small pockets, growing and evolving based on different subjectivities. In time, the merging of these atopias may give rise to an actual, real utopia.

References: Bertman, M. A. (1988). Kierkegaard and/or philosophy. History of European Ideas, Vol 12.(No.1), 117–126.

Fisher, M. (2009). Capitalist realism: Is there no alternative?

Bloch, E. (2000). The spirit of utopia. In Stanford University Press eBooks.

Haraway, D. (2016). A Cyborg manifesto. In University of Minnesota Press eBooks (pp. 3–90).

Elpidorou, A. (2014). The bright side of boredom. Frontiers in Psychology, 5.

Hudson, W. (1982). The Marxist

Philosophy of Ernst Bloch. In Palgrave Macmillan UK eBooks. Kierkegaard, S. (1844). The concept of anxiety. Morton, T. (2016). Dark Ecology. In Columbia University Press eBooks.

House - Fence - Steel Thomas Essex-Plath

The following fencing standard is required: Be constructed of 1.8m high pre-coated metal sheeting panels (eg. Colorbond®) in ‘Grey Ridge’ colour or coloured to match Acceptable fencing profiles include Lysaght’s® ‘Neetascreen’ or Stratco’s® ‘Superdek’ range, or similar profiles approved in writing by Stockland’s Architect” - Extract from “Mernda Villages” suburban subdivision design standards 59

Once, corrugated steel in Australia was an index of industrialisation and colonisation; it was the ideal material for resilient and rapidly erected dwellings in an environment that could often return the hostility shown to it. Now, it may be more appropriate to understand it as a silent instrument of financialisation - as the strictly prescribed dividing material between suburban lots. Its standardisation, durability, transportability, relative thinness, speed of erection, and uncontentious familiarity have made it the most direct and obdurate way to concretise the abstractions of suburban land parcelisation that, in turn, underpin the financing and ownership of single, detached houses. Its banal ubiquity is a pervasive, tacit reminder that behind the appearances of an apparently neutral ‘non-place’ is the hegemonic confluence of financial, political, and social institutions that perpetuate this form of housing, and of the pervasiveness of obstacles to other modes of living together.

Fig. 1: House - Fence - Steel (2023). By Thomas Essex-Plath

Fig. 1: Project exhibition (2023) Land van Chabot Team

The Land of Chabot An Existent Atopia with Tangible Challenges Giorgos Xanthopoulos

Atopos (Άτοπος) is to be against reason, but also placeless - a non-place. Such a term is often used within mathematics and philosophy, but extends to the fields of architecture and urbanism due to its spatiality. Beyond theory, there are many real-life places that could only be described by their placelessness - real-life atopias. Created through the various processes of intense urbanisation that has characterised the past century, many places like this have emerged, mostly in close relations to urban centres. These are places in-between, belonging to nothing particular, with no distinct characteristics of their own. How can they be examined through the lens of urban planning? Even further, how could a planning service deal with an Atopia?

Land of Chabot Team TU Delft Students Denise Braz Del Giglio Giorgos Xanthopoulos Junjian Yu Katerina Pavlou Małgorzata Rybak Timon Kuiters Wessel Koolhaas Jonas Stappers Maarten Verheij TU Delft Tutors Dr. ir. Saskia de Wit ir. Monica Veras Morais

In order to study such a non-place, a unique, one-time-only studio took place during the spring of 2023, bringing together an interdisciplinary group of architecture, landscape architecture and urbanism students. A little further away from the centre of Rotterdam, the artist Henk Chabot (1894-1949) used to live in a small two-story house next to the river Rotte. Chabot depicted the extensiveness of the Dutch polderscape, with evocative skies and a distinctive low horizon. The most famous among his paintings is The Fire of Rotterdam, 1940, depicting the aftermath of the bombardment and destruction of the city from the German fleet. Today, however, the majority of the polderscape has been urbanised. Miraculously, the area adjacent to his residence remains as the single open farmland landscape at the peri-urban territory of Rotterdam. For decades it remained untouched because it was reserved for the construction of the A16 highway, and thus slowly metastasized into an Atopia.

It does not have a distinct program, character or form of its own, “borrowing its boundaries” instead from the surrounding physical elements, as Saskia de Wit and Andre Dekker have described. The Ommoord residential neighbourhood and the Heemtuin park define the edges of the area, while inside the land one can find an unapproachable forest patch, a small farmer community and a spill-over of residential programs. However, the construction of the highway started in 2019, urging for hard decisions to be taken. In an effort to bring its endangered cultural identity to the forefront, the area was named the Land of Chabot a few years ago. Within this context, the studio’s goal was to re-imagine what this peculiar Atopia could be.

Dealing with the Atopia

The first and most important step was to get acquainted with the site. To make sense of the placelessness we conducted numerous site visits - spending more time on-site than off-site. Observing, exploring, sketching, photographing, writing, laying down, sleeping, running, collecting - we immersed ourselves in the landscape in order to understand it. No strict masterplans or rigid decisions were drawn up for the area, reflecting the Dutch soft-planning approach. Instead, the municipality has been curating a long process of discussions between residents, municipal bodies and the highway construction company. A part of one of those meetings, we presented our initial ideas to the local residents and were surprisingly dealt with great opposition and distrust. A resident fretted over the lack of biodiversity since the construction started, while another reminisced of their youth, laying in the grassy slope of the dike and cloudgazing. One of the farmers exited the meeting dissatisfied with our defiant attitude towards borders and property rights.

Fig. 2: Project exhibition (2023) Land van Chabot Team

Fig. 3: On site process (2023) Land van Chabot Team

Almost all of them were suspicious of any design or change. Instead, the emptiness and quietness are what they want to ensure: the preservation of the Atopia. However, to paraphrase Inge Bobbink’s quote during our meeting, in planning “we have to do something in the end”. The complexity then became apparent: How small and gentle can this something be, in order to preserve the nothing - to keep this Atopia an Atopia? With this goal in mind, we set out to envision a future for the Land of Chabot. Designing a future for an Atopia Currently, the construction of the highway has severed the land into two distinct halves. At the South-Western side of the highway, the existing character and program of the land are preserved and intensified. The allotment of the polderscape is extended towards the construction site, creating an orchard that could serve both as a productive landscape and a public garden for the residents. Maintained collaboratively, it would engage farmers and community members alike, nurturing a sense of shared belonging and active engagement. At the North-Eastern side, the triangle-shaped space that now serves as the depot of the construction site for sand is re-imagined as a dynamic wet-scape. A subtle slope forms interconnected ponds that merge into a larger basin, providing crucial water retention space during the rainy periods for Rotterdam. During dry periods, this area is open to the public, devoid of any constructed pathways,

fostering instead a connection to the landscape. The existing forest is extended, giving more undisturbed space to nature, with only a small path and entrance to the residential area. At the edge of the forest, a patch of poplar trees serve as a focal point, commanding attention from the surrounding dike. Central to our project stands the Amphitheatre: the Northernmost boundary is the linear dike along the Rotte. Descending the dike exemplifies the qualities of the Land of Chabot, viewing the landscape from different eye-levels. At the top you can have an overview of the whole site, looking far towards the highway, while at the bottom a sense of enclosure emerges. Abducted suddenly from the noisy street, you can focus on the landscape as if a play will happen in front of you - a landscape theatre. To exemplify these qualities, linear sitting arrangements are placed along the dike, connected with loosely defined paths through the natural grass.

This space allows for envisioning of all the upcoming changes of the Land, while reminiscing of the past heritage. Where once one could see far away and feel the vast flatness of the Dutch landscape, today it oversees mounds of sand deposits and an array of cranes. In the future, perhaps a flooded landscape is teeming with life.

As the initiator of the project, it is there that we conducted an on-site exhibition of our vision for the Land of Chabot and a short performance, in a temporary “Theatre of Sky”. We hand-mowed the grass to create concentric rings and connecting paths, around a small circular stage serving as the main gathering space. Scattered around the paths were 30 hand-made wood stools, reminiscent of the simple painter’s stool. We invited all visitors to take one with them, as a keepsake of the Land of Chabot. This temporary event functioned as an act of engagement, bringing the local residents, the construction company and representatives from the municipality in a dialogue on-site, where the implications or benefits of the vision are laid in front of them.

In conclusion, the experience garnered from this studio profoundly challenges both the role of the planner, but also of the planning process itself. Particularly in cases of intricate places such as Atopias, true comprehension can only be achieved through direct immersion - they need to be lived to be understood. This necessitates a synesthetic approach to planning - a stark contrast to the prevailing voyeuristic and distant attitude. Instead, planners ought to delve deep into the essence of the place before making any design decisions. This principle applies to various levels and entities engaged in spatial planning, including independent practices, universities, and municipalities.

Ultimately, this experience underscores the inadequacy of mischaracterizing Atopias and brushing them off as inherently problematic spaces, as such a categorization hinders our ability to address them through contextual, site-specific design. When faced with these remarkably complex locations, it is wiser to adopt a minimalist approach, focusing on discovering and accentuating the inherent qualities and values of the place, rather than imposing extrinsic ideas upon it. The act of restraint is challenging yet imperative, when confronted with an Atopia.

Fig. 4: Proposal for Land of Chabot (2023) Land van Chabot Team

References: 1. Augé, M. (1995). Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity. Verso 2. de Wit, S. I., & Dekker, A. (2020). Land of Chabot: A Highway Landscape as a Monument to a Painter. Spool. Journal of Architecture and the Built Environment, 7(1 #6), 95-112. https://doi.org/10.7480/ spool.2020.1.5483 3. All images are credited equally to the members of the Land van Chabot team.

Nostalgia Wei Lei

Human beings have changed the natural world so powerfully, creating mass concrete-steel jungles. However, nature doesn’t disappear in the man-made nature, weak indeed. Rainwater, wind (air), and sunlight bring life to moss-fungi-bacteria communities and altogether corrode the strong concrete structure, biologically and chemically. The collaged photos were collected in Singapore, a so-called garden city, and a country of immigrants. Such patterns of the bio communities created patterns like traditional Chinese ink paintings. I appreciate them as nostalgic nature in a graceful and artful way. The mimic landscape recalls the memory of the my homeland’s landscape.

Fig. 1: Nostalgia. Wei Lei.

Whose utopia, whose atopia? Analysing the Environmental Impact of Marine Development from a Habitant-centred Perspective Di Fang

Human-centred design is a problem-solving technique that puts people at the center of the development process, enabling you to create products and services that resonate and are tailored to your audience’s needs. To adapt this concept to the ecological context and include other species, the author proposes ‘habitant-centred design.’ This approach intends to analyse the impact of human interventions on the North Sea, focusing on ecological implications. By prioritsing the needs and values of habitats and species, the ‘habitant-centred design’ encourages a more synergistic interaction between land and sea planning. It highlights the importance of considering ecological factors alongside human activities, fostering sustainable and balanced development in the North Sea region.

Fig. 1: North Sea: Man’s utopia, Nature’s atopia (2023) Di Fang.

“When you go to the seaside in Hoek van Holland or Scheveningen, what do you see? Kite surfing people, huge ships in the distance, maybe windmills on the horizon. We see things above the surface, and they are what we care for. Everything revolves around us, does it not? Our recreation, our shipping goods, our energy. Not many people get the chance to see what is beneath the surface. When we do not see, we forget the existence of a whole underwater world, serving its own habitants. It is a strange world; it is like being on another planet, I thought. Look at the fish, how free and elegant. They swim against the stream, they turn in any directions within a split second, they remain still as a group, effortlessly. I want to be one of them. Let’s follow them, see what they see, hear what they hear, and feel what they feel. I see colors differently, with less red and yellow; I hear mixed sounds of clicks, snapping, and crunching; I feel nice and warm wherever the sun shines on, and get a cold shivering body in a shady and deeper place the very next second. But in the end, I don’t see what they see, hear what they hear, or feel what they feel. It is all just a human’s assumption. And what do humans know, about a world that does not belong to them.” - author

Fig. 2: The Underwater world (2023) Di Fang.

The territorial waters and exclusive economic zone (EEZ) of the Netherlands in the North Sea cover an area of more than 57,000 km2, approximately 1.5 times the surface area of its total land mass. Despite the monochromatic look of the sea that disappears into the horizon, where it appears nothing is happening; it is the home for rich marine life and where enormous economic and recreational human activities take place. Contrary to its significance, the general public knows little about the sea compared to how much they know about the land. It is understandable, as land is tangible and where human beings settle to live. Whereas the ocean is deep, far, and unknown. Last year, I became a certified advanced open-water diver. Since then, I have had the privilege to dive in many different places. It is a privilege, as not many people get to experience the connection that I had with the underwater world. This sensual connection triggered my interest in marine spatial planning as an urban designer. With the current pressing climate issues and rising sea levels, now is a moment when the interconnection between land and sea needs to be acknowledged and studied more than ever. This is in-line with the National Spatial Planning Policy Document and North Sea 2050 Spatial Agenda: “…the land and sea were considered no longer separate entities in spatial planning terms…”

“…Connection between land and sea - connecting challenges and developments on land and at sea will bolster the identity and economy of coastal areas.” Human-Centric, Not Habitant-Centric Comparing traditional urban planning to marine spatial planning (MSP), it’s important to note that MSP is a relatively new field that emerged in 2006 and is still in its developmental phase. It wasn’t until as recently as 2014 that MSP became a regulatory requirement within the European Union (EU). Historically, the process has typically involved negotiations among different parities, driven by industrial and economic interests, with little regard for the marine environment and its inhabitants. In the face of the urgent climate crisis, there is a growing movement that calls for greater attention to ecological value. Nevertheless, determining how to designate and ensure the rights of marine inhabitant within a

power structure rooted in human interests can be extremely challenging. The grand tapestry of the North Sea’s evolving infrastructure serves as a prime illustration. The rise of oil derricks, the sinuous pipelines, and the fast-growing meadows of wind turbines, have profoundly and continuously reshaped the landscape and ecology of the North Sea. All too often, these changes happen so rapidly that there is insufficient time for comprehensive ecological investigations to fully envision the long-term impact. I perceive the ambition of humanity as driven by the pursuit of a utopian vision where abundant energy sustains our living standards and productivity. However, I also see the long-term risks posed to a safe and habitable marine environment for its own inhabitants due to our limited understanding of the consequences. This utopia, though centered around humans, can inadvertently become an ‘atopia’ for other species. Unfortunately, this human-centric perspective has deep historical roots, with numerous examples throughout our past. The Ocean Living as Utopia ‘[Maritime mythologies] show us… that the 19th century was an epoch of great speculations about the elements,’ German theorist Peter Sloterdijk writes in Neither Sun nor Death (2011). He points to the expansion of colonialism and the technologisation of shipbuilding for the era’s changing relationships to the sea, in which ‘the sublime was remodeled into the Titanesque… [A] n ocean… appears as a giant matrix, an immense test tube, as an immeasurable incubator.’ It is this contest between Titanic mastery and dissolution that characterized a Romantic poetics of water, or what cultural historian Howard Isham (2004) calls ‘oceanic consciousness’ (Mores, 2022). In the 1960s, the burgeoning technologies and economic growth fueled the pursuit of new, spectacular utopian cities. Kyonori Kikutake’s Marine City concept was one of the most influential proposals from that era. In his manifesto, ‘Marine City’ was envisioned as a ‘unit’ for a new human community at sea—a response to declining living standards and the unstable political, and social situations stemming from land limitations. The challenges of creating self-sustaining communities or advanced civilizations on the ocean, including technical, environmental, and logistical issues, have proven to be significant hurdles.

Kikutake’s only realized floating city, The Aquapolis, in contrast to its 180-billion-yen cost, had a short-lived role as Japan’s pavilion for Ocean Expo ‘75. Over the next 20 years following its retirement, numerous attempts to repurpose it went in vain. Ultimately, in the year of 2000, it was towed to Shanghai for disassembly. (Koolhaas, R., 2011) Since Kikutake’s Marine City projects, the pursuits of building human settlement in and on the sea have persisted. Advancements in technology have even led to the realization of floating cities worldwide. While these examples may be less radical compared to Kikutake’s bold proposals, it’s crucial not to underestimate the scale of intervention and the substantial environmental impacts they entail. The motivation of most of the pioneering projects is, in some ways, not so different from Kikutake’s: seek alternative habitats for humans in the face of potential apocalyptic scenarios or declining living conditions on land. In all these cases, there has been little or no consideration for the rights of nature, particularly the rights of marine creatures, to a healthy and undisturbed marine environment. With human beings expanding their settlement to the sea, it means that the living environment of the original habitants - marine creatures, has been compromised. These endeavors often represent a utopia exclusively designed for human beings, with the well-being of other species and the marine ecosystem taking a back seat.

Fig. 3: Marine City (1958) & Aquapolis (1972) Kiyonori Kikutake

Utopia for All? Our dream of utopia continues. This time maybe a more inclusive one? It was the year 2022. A movie called Wild port in Europe came out and triggered a lot of interests towards its shooting location: the Port of Rotterdam. It surprised many people by featuring nature in the largest and busiest contiguous transport and industrial area of Europe. It presented a scene where nature and economic activities coexist. It soothes some people’s anxiety in a time when you have to choose side between preserving nature or continue our march towards the horizon of modernization.

“To modernize or to ecologise: this has become the crucial choice. Everyone agrees about this. And yet, ecology has failed. Everyone agrees about this too.” (Latour, 2018) However, there is another side to this story. In the same year, legal action was taken against Dutch ministries regarding the unfulfilled nature compensation for the construction of Maasvlakte II, an expansion of the Port of Rotterdam. This expansion led to the loss of 2,455 hectares of natural areas in the Voordelta, a designated Natura 2000 area. Consequently, it was necessary to compensate by enhancing 10% of the 24,550 hectares of underwater nature in the region. Shockingly, this compensation has not materialized even after 14 years, as revealed in the official report ‘Doc 3 Biogene riffen in de Voordelta – eindversie – rapport 19-052’. The film Wild Port in Europe may have nurtured the dreams of some, envisioning a utopia where humans make room for nature, and all species coexist harmoniously. However, this reality serves as a stark wake-up call: the nature in the port is not a miracle resulting from our hospitality but rather what remains after we claimed the original habitat of its inhabitants to expand anthropogenic activities. We have, in essence, painted an image of utopia that is, in truth, an atopia. “In the area of Voordelta, almost twice as many benthic organisms are found … than elsewhere in the North Sea. … Over 150 species live permanently in the bottom.

… Study shows that the shrimp fishing in the Voordelta area has increased four times more since 2008, which can prove that the nature compensation of MVII has not been living up to the promise.” (Natuurcompensatie Voordelta, 2023) Van Oord (2013) stated in their promotion video about Maasvlakte II expansion: “Today the realisation of 700 hectares of new industrial sites, 11 kilometers of seawall, 3.5 kilometers of quay wall, 24 kilometers of roads, 14 kilometers of rail and 560 hectares of port basin is a fact.” This case reflects several significant struggles in our society. The enthusiasm stirred by the movie Wild Port of Europe highlights the deep-seated desire of many to believe in the existence of a utopia where we don’t have to make a stark choice between ecology and modernization. The once-promised ‘American dream’ for all is unable to sustain itself, given that we simply don’t have the resources of 5.1 planet Earths to support endless growth and consumption. (Global Footprint Network, 2023) The limited awareness of the ongoing fight for the biodiversity of the Voordelta highlights the challenges of informing and engaging the public in matters of public concern. While data is available, the complexity of the subject matter requires expertise and dedication to access, compile, and comprehend the extensive information. The case of nature compensation reflects a challenging period in our society—a transitional phase between the traditional ego-centric perspective and the emerging eco-centric perspective. While a portion of our society recognizes the urgency of this transition, the foundation for it remains fragile. The rights of nature are often overlooked when economic interests hold away.

“As a diver, I have had the opportunity to explore the underwater world firsthand. It’s no coincidence that the diving community is renowned for its dedication to marine conservation. The immersive experience of diving, as illustrated in the opening poem, is profoundly powerful. In the water, we, as powerful humans, become fragile and dependent on our cumbersome equipment. We are taught not to disturb the inhabitants and to respect every inch of their homeland. This unique experience, where the roles of power are flipped, obviously leaves a lasting impact effortlessly.“ - author

Fig. 4: Development of Maasvlakte II (2023) Di Fang

What can we do? Promote a shift in values: From ‘Human-centric perspective’ to ‘Habitant-centric perspective’: The conventional perspective often perceives the sea as a mere reservoir of resources meant solely to serve human society, disregarding the profound impact of human activities on the marine environment and its original inhabitants. In a power structure heavily influenced by private stakeholders and economic interests, designating nature’s rights is always a struggle. To counter this, the author seeks to instigate a shift in the narrative towards a habitant-centric approach that prioritizes the well-being of all species and ecosystems within the marine environment. This perspective recognizes the intrinsic value of each habitat and creature.

In contemporary urbanism, a relatively mature planning system (but also debatably obsolete) has been established to safeguard the rights of urban habitants—primarily human beings. As the focus shifts from land to sea, it will be cynical to not follow the same principle of placing habitants at the center of our planning efforts. And if we are authentic regarding the term ‘habitants’, then humans should not always be the point-of-focus. The author aims to challenge existing systems with this shift from ubiquitous human-centered perspective to an actual habitant-centered perspective. It will be an experiment that reveals myriads of new questions that emerge when we steadfastly adhere to the obligations imposed by this new starting point.

“Have you noticed that the emotions involved are not the same when you are asked to defend nature - you yawn, you’re bored - as when you’re asked to defend your territory - now you’re wide awake, suddenly mobilized?” (Latour, 2018) Foster cross-disciplinary collaboration: The subject under discussion lies at the intersection of multiple disciplines: urban planning, marine spatial planning, port planning & policy, marine biodiversity and ecology. To address the challenges in our society, it’s imperative to engage stakeholders and experts from these diverse fields. I strongly believe that breaking down the barriers between these disciplines is essential to formulating a holistic strategy. Tell a story with designers’ imagination: Designers possess a unique talent for engaging the public through creative channels. While there is a wealth of data available on port development and marine ecology, much of it is dense and intended for professionals in specific fields. Transforming this complex information into an accessible format demands careful analysis. However, even when simplified, it can remain dry and uninteresting to the general public. This is where the power of design comes into play. Designers are skilled in turning information into a compelling story to make a lasting impact on the public. The diverse formats of storytelling offers endless possibilities to achieve the goal.

75 References: Dutch Ministry of Infrastructure and Environment, (2014). North Sea Spatial Agenda 2050, https://maritime-spatial-planning.ec.europa.eu/practices/ north-sea-2050-spatial-agend Mores, E. (2022). Water, Water, Everywhere. Why is the age-old practice of oceanic thinking once again rising to the surface? Art Review. Koolhaas, R., & Obrist, H. (2011). Project Japan. TASCHEN. Latour, B. (2018). Down to earth Politics in the new climate regime. Polity Press. Natuurcompensatie Voordelta, (2023). Natuurmonumenten. https://www. natuurmonumenten.nl/grote-wateren/ natuurcompensatie-voordelta Van Oord, (2013). Maasvlakte 2 expansion project Port of Rotterdam [Video]. Vimeo. https://vimeo.com/82379896 Global Footprint Network’s National Footprint and Biocapacity Accounts, (2023). https://www.overshootday.org/ how-many-earths-or-countries-do-weneed/

Fig. 1: The Sea as an Island (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni adapted from Imran Mir

The Sea as Island Borderscaping the Mediterranean Basin Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni

‘The Sea as Island’ adopts the notion of Atopia to critique the inherent condition of placelessness that accompanies urbanization patterns in the oceanic space to locate neglected or forgotten traces of immanence and resistance emerging in conditions of liminality, and to experiment with sites of transgressive speculation defining a counter-paradigm for the design practice of the 21st century so-called Critical Zones.

Sea Urbanization and Planetary Hegemonies The ecological crisis of the 21st century shifts the focus from the land to the sea making it the new frontier for human occupation and activity (Gutierrez & Portefaix, 2016). As urbanized entities – occupied, imagined, and produced through a long process of negotiation between geological, climatic, and geopolitical forces – the oceanic territories embody and exhibit all the practices of territorialisation, mechanization, expulsion and colonization associated with planetary hegemonic systems and global networks

of production and consumption. (Schmid,2020) In this embodiment, the sea as a complex thick space characterised by depth, movement, and continuous change, remains rendered in a convenient state of blankness (Couling & Hein, 2020) which directs its inherent comprehension as a non-place.

Fig. 2 (left): The Oceanic Territories as Urbanized Entities, (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni. Fig. 3 (right): Fragmentary Portrait of the Mediterranean Basin as Interplay of Conflicting Forces, (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni

Neglected or Forgotten Traces of immanence and Resistance

The Mediterranean Basin as Mesocosm The Mediterranean Basin, – defined and restricted by its own watery boundness – constitutes a primal space of historically overlapping and conflicting (re)territorialization processes associated with the patterns of crossover urbanization in the sea. Acting as a mesocosm for the 21st century so-called Critical Zones (Latour, 2014), it simultaneously revokes diachronic imaginations and narratives directing its commodification and conceals the most orchestrated legalization of practices of expulsion and exploitation

towards its complex human and more-than-human assemblages. In this absurd coexistence between violence and leisure (Lahoud, 2013), the Mediterranean transitional territories emerge, relate and overlap through a process of constant conflict (Braudel, 1990) which results in the accumulation of borderscapes (Kumar Rajaram & Grundy-Warr, 2007) – understood here primarily as embodiments of global power dynamics.

Counter-reading of the Mediterranean through its Borderscapes Reading the Mediterranean through its borderscapes not only allows the unpacking of its territorial construction but also interprets its consequential condition (Mubi Brighenti, 2010) of placelessness; inextricably linked to the modernistic correspondence between power and space (Bauman, 2003). Moving borders, conflicting claims, subnational and supranational jurisdiction patterns, overlapping territorial formats, completed or disrupted migration routes, daily shipwrecks that turn the sea into a necropolis, multileveled infrastructural networks, permanent shipping lanes, extensive underwater exploration, or mining areas, sea temperature increase or acidification processes, frequent

oil spills and microplastics clusters, borderless vulnerable ecosystems, ambiguous edges between land and water, sedimentation and erosion concentrations or increased volcanic formations are only but a few of the layers that paint the fragmentary portrait of the Mediterranean Basin as an interplay of conflicting forces; as an Atopia composed of overlapping densities, scars, and transformable relations.

Fig. 4 (left): The Constitution of the Mediterranean Sediment, (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni Fig. 5 (right): The Ephemeral Graham Island as Atopia, (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni

Neglected or Forgotten Traces of immanence and Resistance In it, the effects of territorial acts are permanent even if the territories they produce are ephemeral. Every boundary-drawing act and every passing (Paasi, 2003) of the Mediterranean Basin are irreversibly inscribed in its material and expressive history preserving residual forms of proximities and traces of immanence and resistance (Boano, 2020) in a space of constant movement and viscosity. This inscription – materialised in the constitution of its very sediment – is directed through the in-between conditions of intensities, negotiations, and assimilations among not only diverse living systems but also prevailing contextual and conceptual dichotomies that shift the focus towards the very

quality of transgression as foundational for a conscious act of clearance against solidified power structures (Bauman, 2003). The figure of the migrant, the figure of the Caretta Caretta sea turtle – acting as a representative of all the endangered species found in the IUCN Red List – or the figure of the ephemeral island constitute exemplary cases of neglected, forgotten, and even sacrificed stories, worlds, and things that retain in their liminal real-world conditions (Hanna & Auger, 2022) the capacity to challenge the current state of accumulation and direct agential cuts of clearance (Barad, 2003).

The Ephemeral Island as Site of Transgressive Speculation Among them, the ephemeral formation of the Empedocles seamount – known as Graham Island – embodies a site of transgressive speculation (Hanna & Auger, 2022) that bridges the material and the discursive through the archetype and the matter of the island disrupting in its rhythmic appearance and disappearance the established order of things. As a Mediterranean island, Graham in its terra nulla legal status claims geopolitical agency containing and magnifying all the conflicting processes, conditions, relations, and things that characterise the entire basin, while participating in the territorialisation of the sea – even through its scientification (Latour, 2013). As a deserted island, it holds the

promise of a re-beginning, of a second origin that gestates an alternative trajectory of living (Deleuze, 2014) centred around the neglected or forgotten traces of immanence and resistance. As an Atopia defined by the finitude of its matter, it entails in its inherent conditions of ephemerality, liminality and hyperreality the possibility to act as the conceptual and contextual ground for critical confrontation with hegemonic systems and their practices of knowledge and geoengineering (Hanna & Auger, 2022).

Fig. 6: The Ephemeral Graham Island as Speculative (Re)Fabulation, (2023), Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni

Terraforming of the Ephemeral Graham Island Acting, thus, as a Speculative (Re)Fabulation (Haraway, 2016) for the thick surfaces of the Mediterranean Basin, Graham encompasses heterogeneous spatialities and temporalities that make unexpected interactions, entanglements, or arrangements possible and essential for a paradigm of terraforming which extends towards the molding of relations, processes, conditions, and things (Bratton, 2019). Without removing the ephemerality and indeterminacy that accompany acts of soft territoriality, the island as a shared project develops as a spatial software of active forms (Easterling, 2014) capable of retaining a transgressive relationship between potential while consciously cultivating an extended condition of placelessness in its different stages, phase and trajectories of co-existence between human and more-than-human holobionts. These different stages, phases, and trajectories evolve not as a timeline of projections that describe the predetermined reterritorialisation of the island and its surrounding space – its extended continental shelf in the Strait of Sicily – but as a series of figurations that speculate upon Graham’s hylozoic capacity to host new – and often surprising – patterns of inhabitation, co-evolution and living-dying entanglements (Beesley, 2010). The situated speculation arises from the interactive material processes and the fluctuating

carbon-calcium densities to give form to the geoengineered Graham ephemeral island(s) which remains an active de-territorialising and re-territorialising agent. The Possibility of Atopia for a ‘Damaged’ Planet As such an active de-territorialising and re-territorialising agent, then, the possibility of Atopia – describing the spatial end-products of planetary hegemonies, containing alternative modes of agency, immanence, resistance and minority and gestating reinvigorated creative though (Hanna & Auger, 2022) – direct living on a ‘damaged’ planet (Lowenhaupt Tsing, 2015). Using Graham as a synecdoche for the whole Mediterranean Basin, the project of Clearance attempted here operates in a space of continuous defamiliarization and understands design not merely as spatial production but as multiplication of appearances as introduction of more agents in existing living systems triggering mutations, entanglements, assimilations or even conflicts that allow these systems to co-evolve. In this process, knowing by speculation isn’t just a tool of representation but develops active figurations which, to quote Haraway (1997) in The Virtual Speculum in the New World Order ‘are performative images that can be inhabited; are condensed maps of whole worlds’.

References: Barad, K. (2003). Posthumanist Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How Matter Comes to Matter. Signs , 28 (3), pp. 801-831. Bauman, Z. (2003). Utopia with no topos. History of the Human Sciences, 16:1, 11-25. Boano, C. (2020) Progetto minore: Alla ricerca della minorità nel progetto urbanistico. Lettera Ventidue. Beesley, P. (2010). Hylozoic Ground: Liminal Responsive Architecture. Riverside Architetural Press Bratton, B. (2019). The Terraforming. Strelka Braudel, F., Coarelli, F., & Aymard, M. (1990). The Mediterranean: Space and history, Champs Flammarion Couling, N., & Hein, C. (2020) Viscosity, In Couling, N. & Hein, C.(editors). The Urbanization of the Sea: from Concepts and Analysis to Design. Nai010 publishers. Deleuze, G. (2014). Desert Islands and Other Texts: 1953-1974. MIT Press

Easterling, K. (2014). Extrastatecraft : the power of infrastructure space. Verso. Hanna, J., & Auger, J. (2022). The Possibility of Atopia: An Unmanifesto. Perspecta: The Yale Architectural Journal, 54, 7-22. Haraway, D. (2016). Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Duke University Press Haraway, D. J. (1997). The Virtual Speculum in the New World Order. Feminist Review, 55, 22–72. Gutierrez, L. & Portefaix, V. (2016). Desert Island: An Atlas of Archipelagic Laboratories. In Daou, D., & Pérez-Ramos. P. (editors). New Geographies: Island, (pp. 72-74) Harvard University Press Kumar Rajaram, P. & C. Grundy-Warr (eds.) (2007) Borderscapes: Hidden Geographies and Politics at Territory’s Edge. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press Lahoud, A. (2013). The Mediterranean, A new Imaginary. In Petrov A. (editor). New Geographies: Mediterranean, (pp. 81-100). Harvard University Press

Latour, B. (2013). An Inquiry into Modes of Existence: An Anthropology of the Moderns. Harvard University Press Latour, B. (2015). Waiting for Gaia: Composing the Common World through Arts and Politics. In Yaneva, A. & Zaera-Polo, A. (editors). What Is Cosmopolitical Design?Design, Nature and the Built Environment, (pp. 1-2-0). ASHGATE Lowenhaupt Tsing, A. (2015). The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton University Press Mubi Brighenti, A. (2010). On Territorology: Towards a General Science of Territory. Theory, Culture & Society, 27:1, 27-52. Paasi, A. (2003). Territory. In Agnew, J., Mitchell, K., & Gerard T. (editors 2003). A Companion to Political Geography, (pp.109-122). Blackwell. Schmid, C. (2020). Analyzing Extended Urbanization: A Territorial Approach. In Couling, N. & Hein, C.(editors). The Urbanization of the Sea: from Concepts and Analysis to Design. (pp. 93-106) Nai010 publishers.

Finding Atopia Four Perspectives on the Non-places of Today

In the format of a round-table discussion, we bring together voices from different department, sections and roles within TU Delft to explore questions arising from the current issue of the magazine. Unlike the more familiar ‘topias’ like utopia and dystopia, atopia eludes clear definition and challenges conventional understandings of space in our rapidly changing environments. As we delve into this multifaceted theme, each participant has provided their unique perspective, creating a mosaic of insights and examples that shed light on the ever-shifting landscapes of non-places.

Katerina Pavlou

Landscape Architecture MSc Student

The terms atopia and placelessness capture the essence of the observed trend where rapid urbanization, commercial interests, and other factors contribute to landscapes that may, intentionally or unintentionally, strip away the unique qualities that define a place and contribute to a sense of belonging and community. In the realm of landscape design, the integration of existential space and the concept of genius loci holds profound implications for fostering a deeper connection between individuals and their surroundings to fight atopias. Existential space, within a design-oriented context, is not a logico-mathematical term, but transcends into realms that evoke the basic relationships between humans and their environment. Therefore, these designed spaces become more than aesthetic landscapes; they become environments that prompt individuals to grapple with essential questions of purpose, identity, and the human condition. The notion of an existential foothold, synonymous with dwelling, as mentioned in the book ‘Genius Loci: Towards A Phenomenology of Architecture’ by Christian Norberg-Schulz, becomes paramount. Humans truly dwell when they find orientation and meaning within an environment. Moreover, the incorporation of genius loci, or the spirit of the place, emphasizes the significance of visualizing and manifesting the unique essence inherent in a specific location. Landscape architecture, in the context of the genius of the space, becomes a means to

create meaningful places that facilitate human dwelling. Acknowledging that a person’s identity is complicatedly tied to their belonging to places, the design process gains a profound purpose to craft landscapes that not only enhance the aesthetic appeal but also contribute to a sense of identity, purpose, and a profound connection to the human condition. In a less philosophical way, atopias of today arise when the repeated relationships, patterns, and processes characterizing a specific region are ignored. In her essay ‘Signature-Based Landscape Design,’ Joan Woodward reflects on the significance of recognizing connections in the landscape, both natural and cultural, to ground oneself in a sense of place. In countering atopia, it is essential to observe and identify relationships and formative processes in the landscape, such as geomorphic, climatic, biotic, and cultural processes, and apply them to design and planning. These signatures, whether of nature or culture, contribute to a region’s identity and are essential in deriving patterns of a place References: Norberg-Schulz, C. (1980) Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture. Rizzoli. Woodward, J. (1997) Signature-Based Landscape Design, in Theory in Landscape Design: A Reader. UPenn Press.

Dr.Ir. Andrej Radman

Architecture Philosophy and Theory Assistant Professor

The question of metaphysics has always revolved around the concept of ‘topos’. According to the architectural theorist Mark Wigley, its historical evolution involves a succession of various names for the ground – such as ‘logos’, ‘ratio’, ‘archē’, and more (Wigley, 1993) Each of these terms – not excluding the escapist ‘utopia’ and nihilist ‘dystopia’ – designates being, understood as the foundation for whatever stands as an edifice. Regrettably, before any inquiry even commences, the architectural subject is inherently determined as enduring above and beyond its transitory predicates. As such, it is prevented from affirming the very movement of affection. An alternative approach is to set aside natural perception, where every individual entity, attribute, or action is perceived as already constituted. In the words of the philosopher of difference, Gilles Deleuze: “To make the body a power which is not reducible to the organism, to make thought a power which is not reducible to consciousness” (Deleuze and Parnet, 1987). Embracing such a constructivist perspective leads us into the realm of ‘atopia’ defined as “that which opposes the principle of Identity” (Deleuze, 1981).

References: Caldeira, Marta “Notes on Architecture and Atopia”, in Perspecta 54: Atopia, eds. Melinda Argon, Timon Covelli, Alexis Kandal and David Langdon (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2022), 23–37. Deleuze, Gilles and Claire Parnet, Dialogues, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Barbera Habberjam (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987 [1977]). Deleuze, Gilles, Cours Vincennes, “Sur Spinoza: The Actual Infinite-Eternal, the Logic of Relations” (10 March 1981), trans. Simon Duffy, <www.webdeleuze. com/textes/42> (accessed 6 October 2023). Eisenman, Peter “The Blueline Text” in Eisenman Inside Out: Selected Writings 1963-1988 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 235–237. Neyrat, Frédéric, Atopias: Manifesto for a Radical Existentialism, trans. Walt Hunter and Lindsay Turner (New York: Fordham University Press, 2018). Wigley, Mark, The Architecture of Deconstruction: Derrida’s Haunt (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1993).

Departing from the logic of discreteness and its principle of non-contradiction, ‘atopia’ adopts the logic of continuity. The finite could be said to consists of an infinity under a certain relation (Neyrat, 2018). The discrete and the continuous – digital and analogue – are not mutually exclusive, but rather co-determining, albeit asymmetrically. This viewpoint resonates with the architect Peter Eisenman, who has consistently rejected the idea of creating a place as an architectural objective. In his 1987 manuscript, he asserted that “if architecture traditionally has been about ‘topos’, that is, an idea of place, then to be ‘between’, is to search for ‘atopos’, the atopia within topos” (Eisenman, 2004). Crucially, to fully embrace the speculative pragmatist concept of ‘in-betweenness’, it is imperative to recognise the real virtuality that surpasses the phenomenal and dispenses with disciplinary boundaries (Caldeira, 2022).

Marah Echtai Urbanism MSc Student

However, the growing momentum of the revolution encountered a chilling response—an organized and systematic obliteration of entire neighborhoods. This act was carefully calculated, intending to extinguish the flame of opposition and protest. The devastation was surgical, aiming not only at homes and infrastructure but also at erasing the shared memory of communities, acting as a form of collective punishment. These neighborhoods, once bustling with life, transformed into atopias—places devoid of the familiarity and history that once defined them. Syrians were forcibly detached from the very spaces that had been an intrinsic part of their identities and collective experiences. The coerced displacement of residents served as the initial sign of placelessness. Following that, the deliberate erasure unfolded, morphing these localities into cities of ghosts, further cementing their evolution into undesirable and desolate places, lacking any allure. The war’s turmoil in Syria, sparked by a cry for societal change and justice, wrought immense devastation and disarray. The origin of the revolution lay deep within the informal settlements, where marginalized communities grappled with persistent injustices, economic imbalances, and a lack of fundamental necessities. These areas, frequently neglected and denied essential services, emerged as the hub of discontent, prompting a profound transformation. Lefebvre’s ideology of the right to the city resonated powerfully as individuals commenced reclaiming their rights through grassroots movements, chiefly by taking to the streets in protest. The streets, previously mere passageways, metamorphosed into symbolic spaces where people reclaimed their rights and vocalized their collective frustrations, envisioning a city that was more equitable and just.

In this challenging scenario, academics and thinkers hold a weighty responsibility. It extends beyond acknowledging the magnitude of these injustices, encompassing the task of bringing obscured narratives to light and ensuring their thorough documentation and dissemination. This comprehensive documentation is pivotal in constructing frameworks aimed at resurrecting these atopias. The objective is to envision and advocate for the revitalization of these spaces, reinstating familiarity and cultural identity for the impacted communities. It’s a multidimensional endeavor, necessitating interdisciplinary collaboration, innovative urban planning, and policies prioritizing the restoration of dignity. Through collective efforts, we endeavor to contribute to the healing and resurgence of Syria, envisioning a future where these atopias thrive once more, resonating profoundly with the hearts of its people.

Dr.Ir. Saskia de Wit

Landscape Architecture Assistant Professor

Other than utopia and dystopia, atopias can be real spaces (although the word non-place implies they are not). There are different ways in which these locations are considered not to be a place. One end of the spectre describes anonymous spaces that are generic and interchangeable, like airports, as in the original definition by Marc Augé (1992, 122). On the other end are there are those leftover, undefined spaces that that are hard to read and have no clear meaning or use. These spaces are a consequence of the transition from clearly defined cities surrounded by open landscape into the contemporary metropolitan landscape, which is a contiguity of urban and landscape fragments, networks, programs that are ill-connected, leading to all sorts of gaps, chinks, margins and residues. Such atopias are also often inaccessible and unwelcoming. What if we could transform these atopias into heterotopias, or other places, sheltered places that are contrary to their surroundings, and at the same time mirroring, reflecting them, as Michel Foucault wrote (1997, 352). Such a place is the Essenburgpark in Rotterdam. This once inaccessible, neglected fringe where the railway cuts through the centre of Rotterdam, has been claimed by the local residents, who added subtle elements such as an entrance, a narrow bridge and stepping stone, just enough to give a hint to the passers-by that they are allowed to enter and explore this wild place, transforming

the atopia into a heterotopia. Whereas in the metropolitan landscape, ‘outside’ - in the sense of outside the landscape which is regulated, accessed and controlled by humans - is rapidly disappearing, in the interstices between the urban fabric a new form of ‘outside’ can be found: in the holes and interstices of the metropolitan landscape itself. These gaps between urban tissues allow us glimpse of the landscape underneath and make it possible to appreciate the landscape space by bringing it within the visual, physical and conceptual reach of the city dweller, face to face with natural processes, the longue durée of evolution and natural growth, with silence and emptiness. As much as such locations are expressions of the metropolitan landscape, at the same time they provide an escape from it. They are disconnected from the regulated spaces of society and as such, they allow for the unexpected and the unregulated, for alternative and surprising uses and meaning. Thus, these spaces also become spaces of coexistence where people ‘encounter people like themselves and others who are extremely different, activities they may expect and ones unanticipated’ (Franck and Stevens, 2006, 19), as well as unexpected encounters with non-humans, realizing a cosmopolitics ‘without recourse to old binaries of nature and society’ (Hinchliffe, 2005,643).

References: Augé, M. Non-places: introduction to an anthropology of supermodernity. (Le Seuil: Verso, 1992). Franck, K. &amp; Stevens, Q. Loose space: possibility and diversity in urban life (Routledge, 2006).

Foucault, M. ‘Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias,’ in: Rethinking Architecture; A Reader in Cultural Theory, ed. N. Leach (London: Routledge, 1997).

Hinchliffe, S., Kearnes, M. Degen, M. &amp; Whatmore, S., ‘Urban wild things: A cosmopolitical experiment,’ Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 23 (2005), 643–658.

Departing the non-place, boarding Heterotopia (2022) Vera Vince

Author Biographies Andrej Radman is an Assistant Professor of Architecture Philosophy and Theory at Delft University of Technology. With two decades of research on the intersection of Architecture and Radical Empiricism, he’s an esteemed member of the National Committee on Deleuze and Guattari Scholarship. Radman serves as a production editor and board member for the architecture theory journal Footprint. His extensive publications include co-edited works like Critical and Clinical Cartographies and The Space of Technicity along with Gibsonism and Ecologies of Architecture: Essays on Territorialisation. He is also a licensed architect with a strong portfolio and accolades, including the Croatian Association of Architects annual award. In 2023, he was honored with the Mark Cousins Theory Award from DigitalFUTURES for his contributions to the field.

Alberta Piselli obtained her bachelor degree in Philosophy and then graduated with honors in Architecture at la Sapienza University of Rome with a thesis in Architectural Design titled “Abitare l’incompiuto”. She then achieved a master’s degree in Architecture and Restoration with a final thesis in Aesthetics titled “Corpo, movimento, frames, atmosfere”. She currently is a PhD candidate in Landscape and Environment at la Sapienza, School of Architecture, and her research focuses on the theme of the body in space, starting from an aesthetic and social perspective related to the act of walking in the landscape as an aesthetic and anarchic practice. Caitlin Jakusz Paridy is a landscape architect and researcher residing in London, UK. Her design research focuses on our relationships to and understanding of Arctic/Sub-Arctic landscapes and processes through material studies, sound recording and temporal-material mapping. Di Fang, an urban and architectural designer with a master’s in Urbanism from TU Delft (2013), works as a designer and independent researcher. She focuses on the intersection of ecology and design, particularly human interventions in the North Sea. Collaborating with institutions like Wageningen University and EcoShape, she emphasizes ecological preservation in coastal planning.

Feike Smithuis is an MSc Urbanism graduate student at TU Delft. His journey started with aesthetics in architecture, but his interests shifted to the social, environmental, and theoretical underpinnings of human landscapes. His mission is to enhance accessibility in architecture and urbanism through clear communication. Giorgos Xanthopoulos is currently doing his second year at the Master programme at TU Delft, Urbanism track. He obtained his Diploma from the Department of Architecture of the University of Patras. Working as an architect in Athens for 3 years, he has gained experience in residential and hospitality architecture. Giuseppe Geraci Giuseppe Geraci is a young Sicilian architect, graduated in Palermo in 2018 with a thesis on architectural and urban design. In the academic year 2019/2020 he attended the P.A.R.E.S. Master Programme at Sapienza University of Rome. Since 2021 he has been a PhD student in Landscape and Environment at the Department of Architecture and Design of the Sapienza, pursuing his research thesis From interrupted landscapes to new ruralities. Jean Jacques Balzac, an anonymous artist and architect, operates under this pseudonym on Instagram, exploring novel forms of expression. His work revolves around the use of AI to communicate through images, by looking at the allure of decay and construction, architectural gestures, the interplay between nature and human intervention, as well as social, economic, and environmental aspects of architecture, often with a touch of humor or irony. Beauty is also a frequent focus of his work. Katerina Pavlou is a Master’s student of Landscape Architecture and an HPM research team member at TU Delft’s Delta Futures Lab. Her current focus lies in her graduation project, addressing the intricate issues surrounding river watersheds and cultural heritage in Japan. With a background in Architecture and a diverse professional journey, she explores innovative landscape solutions that align with sustainability goals. She has a penchant for cutting-edge technologies and a passion for impactful design, all enjoyed with a good cup of coffee.

Lisbet A. Ahon Vasquez graduated cum laude at Faculty of Architecture (Sapienza University of Rome), and is currently a PhD student of the PhD in Landscape and Environment at the Department of Architecture and Design of the Sapienza University of Rome. The scope of her research focuses on the strand of studies and traditions that have addressed the theme of spontaneous nature in landscape design and on investigating the usefulness of “spontaneity” in the contemporary city.

Stephan Hosie is a Colombian-German architect from Bogotá where he graduated from architecture at the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana. Later, he gained experience working on projects specializing in health architecture in Germany. Currently pursuing a master’s in urbanism at TU Delft, he explores the dichotomy between European and Latin American contexts. He is also passionate about art, particularly graphic and plastic art, where he combines painting with urban themes in his work.

Marah Echtai is an architecture graduate from Damascus University, now an MSc Urbanism graduation student at TU Delft. Her research explores the spatial dynamics behind the 2011 Syrian uprising, with a focus on how social institutions are translated spatially and how they can be used as a tool to overcome socio-economic injustices in the post-conflict recovery process.

Thomas Essex-Plath is an architecture and sociology graduate, living and working on Wurundjeri and Boon Wurrung Country in Melbourne, Australia. He divides his working hours between architectural practice, teaching, and writing. Thomas’ past research has examined how knowledge is constituted in architectural labour, and currently he is predominantly concerned with the many dimensions of housing and the ‘everydayness’ of built fabric.

Myrto Karampela-Makrygianni has graduated cum laude from the MSc at the Faculty of Architecture and the Built Environment, TU-Delft. Her areas of expertise are guided by her research on more-than-city — especially ocean — urbanization, and on critical cartographies as a medium of new materialism worlding practices. She is interested in the viscous interrelations between natural processes, societal practices and (geo)political frameworks, as well as in the role of boundary-making acts for processes of deterritorialization and reterritorialization that can direct alternative forms of coexistence and care within time-space continuums characterized by criticality, vulnerability and liminality. Saskia de Wit is Assistant Professor at the Section of Landscape Architecture, at TU Delft. She combines teaching and research with practice at her own firm, Saskia de Wit tuin en landschap. Her research focuses on the garden as a core concept of the field of landscape architecture, as expressed in her publication Hidden Landscapes. The metropolitan garden as a multisensory expression of place (2018) which ties the concept of the enclosed garden as an articulation of landscape to contemporary metropolitan developments. The concept of the garden is used as a lens for further research into site-specificity, the sensory perception of place, urban landscape, leftover spaces and urban forestry.

Vassiliki Lianou, an architect and multidisciplinary artist, completed her Master’s in “Post-industrial design” at the University of Thessaly in 2021. Her work merges architecture with diverse art forms, with a strong emphasis on performance. She designs performances and spaces that coalesce with adaptable objects, blending digital technology with traditional craftsmanship. With a background in theater set design, her work has been showcased at events like the Archaeological Dialogues Conference and Thessaloniki Design Week. Currently, she practices as a freelance professional in Athens, Greece. Wei Lei is a landscape architect by training and a PhD candidate in OSA (Research Group Urbanism and Architecture), in the Department of Architecture, Faculty of Engineering Science, KU Leuven. Prior to the doctoral program, he obtained an academic degree of Master of Landscape Architecture from Tianjin University in 2020. Getting inspired by the notion of Landscape Urbanism in his graduate program, he started his doctoral research in 2021 funded by the China Scholarship Council. The research studies water-based urbanism in China’s Yangtze River Delta, supervised by Professor Kelly Shannon and Professor Bruno De Meulder.

ATLANTIS

Explorative magazine on urbanism and landscape architecture Faculty of Architecture, TU Delft Volume 34, Issue 1, November 2023.

Editors-in-Chief

Greta Samulionyte & Vera Vince

Public Relations Johanna Zehntner

Editorial Team

Anmol Bhargava, Emese Nagy, Feike Smithuis, Frithasya Jeniardina Purba, Gillian Weber, Gosia Rybak, Johanna Zehntner, Kirthan Shekar, Melanie Mary Marshal, Wiebke Stadtlander, Yuwei Zhao, Ziyun Zhou and Timon Kuiters

Cover Design

Gosia Rybak, Gillian Weber and Lesia Topolnyk

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Atlantis Atopia Editorial Team

Editorial Contacts

Polis, Platform for Urbanism Julianalaan 134, 2628 BL Delft Office: 01 West 350 TEL: +31 (0)15-2784093 WEB: www.polistudelft.nl/atlantis INSTAGRAM: @atlantis.magazine E-MAIL: atlantismagazinetudelft@gmail.com This issue has been made with care; authors and redaction hold no liability for incorrect/incomplete information. All images are the property of their respective owners. We have tried as hard as we can to honour their copyrights. The views and opinions expressed in this magazine are those of their respective authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Editorial team of Atlantis Magazine or Polis. ISSN 1387-3679

From the Board The yearly topic, -topias, was chosen as a platform for discussing themes which encourage critical thinking in addressing the multiple global crises we are currently facing. It’s a testament to the board’s commitment to fostering engagement and raising awareness about the complexities of our world. This issue comes out during the unfolding conflict between Hamas and Israel on the Gaza territory. The board would like to extend their condolences to everyone affected and support calls for ceasefire and respecting the human rights of Palestinian people.

POLIS Board 2023-24 CHAIRPERSON

Anmol Bhargava

SECRETARY

Claudia Engel

TREASURY

Nathan Smithers

EDUCATION

Kirthan Shekar

ATLANTIS

Greta Samulionyte & Vera Vince

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Divya Agarwal

U&L WEEK

Harini Sivakumar

BIG TRIP

Kim Schneider

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