Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 2003, volume 21, pages 47 ^ 65

DOI:10.1068/d271t

Architects' conceptions of the human body

Rob Imrie
Department of Geography, Royal Holloway University of London, Egham, Surrey, TW20 0EX,
England; e-mail: r.imrie@rhul.ac.uk
Received 23 August 2001; in revised form 15 January 2002

Abstract. In this paper I develop the contention that architects rarely relate their design conceptions
to the human body and its multiple forms of embodiment. Where the body is conceived of, it is
usually in terms of a conception of the `normal body', or a body characterised by geometrical
proportions arranged around precise Cartesian dimensions. I describe and evaluate the content and
implications of architects' conceptions of the body and embodiment, and consider the possibilities for,
and problems in, challenging the dominance of bodily reductive conceptions in architecture.

1 Introduction
``I think it's one of the things that is part of the criticism about the way that
architects are trained ö they don't have a complex body in mind when they're
designing.''
From an interview with an architect
In referring to architecture as a field of study, Bloomer and Moore (1977, page ix)
note that ``reference was seldom made to the unique perceptual and emotional
capacities of the human being''. As they suggest, the human subject, or the user of
buildings and the wider built environment, has often been reduced to a specific type
or even ignored in Western (or modern) architectural theories and practices (also, see
Marble, 1988; Tschumi, 1996). The most influential architectural theories and prac-
tices fail to recognise bodily and physiological diversity, and there is a tendency for
architects to design to specific technical standards and dimensions which revolve
around a conception of the `normal' body (see, for example, the arguments of
Colomina, 1992; Grosz, 1992; 1994; Scott, 1914; Vidler, 1999). For most architects,
this is based on classical conceptions of the fit and able body, on the body ``as
embodying harmonic order of a divinely inspired network of Euclidean geometry''
(McAnulty, 1992, page 182).
These conceptions of the body have their roots in the post-Galilean view, which
conceives of the physical body as a machine and as a subject of mechanical laws.
The body, in this view, is little more than an object with fixed measurable parts; it
is neutered and neutral, that is, without sex, gender, race, or physical difference. It is
residual and subordinate to the mind, or that realm of existence that is characterised
by what the body is not, such as self, thought, and reason. By implication, the body is
devalued; in Fausch's (1996, page 4) terms, scholarship propagates ``abstraction,
mistreatment, even banishment of the body''. In turn, this encourages architects to
conceive of the body, as Grosz (1994, pages 3 ^ 4) suggests, as natural and passive, or
``as an intrusion on or interference with the operation of the mind, a brute givenness
which requires overcoming''. Not surprisingly, modernist architects, such as Le Corbusier
(1925), regarded the human body as a contaminant that countered the ideal of geometrical
purity, with the capacity to destroy the visual quality and intrinsic meaning of the
architecture.
48 R Imrie

Here I seek to evaluate how far, and with what implications, the post-Galilean
conception of the body underpins contemporary architectural theory in practice. In
doing so, I divide the paper into three. First, I describe, in brief, the broader value
systems that influence architects' conceptions of the human body. Second, with refer-
ence to interviews with practising architects and with course tutors in architectural
schools in the United Kingdom, I describe and discuss the content and implications of
architects' conceptions of the body and embodiment. As the evidence indicates,
although there are some variations in conceptions of the body, most architects either
have no conception of the human body or conceive of it in reductive terms: that is, the
body is either reduced to a mirror or self-referential image of the architect's body or, as
McAnulty (1992, page 180) notes, is `normalised' as ``a statistically balanced symmetrical
figure''. I conclude by considering some of the possibilities for, and problems in,
challenging the dominance of bodily reductive conceptions in architecture.

2 Architecture and the body as an object

Relating design parameters to the proportions of the human body has been core to
Western architectural ideas and practices (Ostwald and Moore, 1998; Scott, 1914;
Vidler, 1999). As figure 1 illustrates, such ideas revolved around the interrelationships
between the body and geometric form, or involved Euclidean circles and squares that
sought ``to position humankind at the centre of a regular or ordered geometry''
(Ostwald and Moore, 1998, page 1). Pythagoras's dictum, ``that man is the measure
of all things'', for instance, was an indication of the potency of the proportions of the
body as the basis of design. Others concurred, with the 16th-century mathematician

Figure 1. Modular man (reprinted by permission of Keith Lilley). Le Corbusier's modular man
is inscribed onto a habitation de grand hateur (high-rise building) in the town of Firminy in
France. It is part of a Unite d'habitation complex designed by Le Corbusier. The modular man
reflects Le Corbusier's (1925) understanding that the proportions of architecture can be
derived from the (standard) measures of the (uniform) human body.
Architects' conceptions of the human body 49

Luca Paccioli noting that: ``first we shall talk of the proportions of man, because from
the human body derive all measures and their denominations and in it is to be found
all and every ratio and proportion by which God reveals the innermost secrets of
nature.'' Through these ideas, buildings were conceived of as the embodiment of the
human body, an approach which Vidler (1999, page 69) refers to as ``the reliance on
the anthropomorphic analogy for proportional and figurative authority''. (1)
Such authority was related to the proportions of the classical Vitruvian body,
which, as de Sola©-Morales (1997) describes it, was an ideal of which real bodies were
no more than mere shadows. For Vitruvius (1960), the scale and proportion of the
human body were the embodiment of God (also, see Vidler, 1999).(2) Thus, the body
was conceived of as a perfect microcosm, or as the figural basis by which to design with
compositional, proportional, and harmonic authority. It was a device that, in Vidler's
(1999, page 70) terms, was used ``to center, to fix, or to stabilise'' architectural form, and
an approach in which, as Scott (1914, page 210) suggests, ``architectural art is the
transcription of the body's states into forms of building''. This transcription, however,
was premised upon an essentialised body of geometric proportion and symmetry, or,
in this instance, upon a body seemingly able-bodied, taut, upright, male öan image
projected as self-evidently invariable, normal, vigorous, and healthy. The body was
also conceived of as being constituted prior to its projection into the world, as pre-fixed.
Such a treatment of the body McAnulty (1992) refers to as a `figural self-sufficiency'.
Indeed, for some commentators, classical and, later, Renaissance conceptions of
the human body tended to treat it as an inanimate determinant of architectural form
(Ellis and Cuff, 1989; Hatch, 1984). As Ellis and Cuff (1989, page 21) comment,
``Vitruvius peoples architecture only when classifying the configuration of a building
type or when describing a variation''. Thus, the human body was important only
insofar that it provided the dimensions for deriving aspects of architectural style and
form; the human use of buildings was seen as a secondary concern. `High art' and pure
design, in which the raison d'eªtre of the architect was ``the design of aesthetically
pleasing forms of poetic spaces'', became, and remain, paramount (Ghirardo, 1991,
page 9; also, see Prak, 1984). Here, the human body is, in Tschumi's (1996, page 123)
terms, a threat to the aesthetic process, or ``equivalent to a dangerous prohibition''
with the means to disturb ``the purity of architectural order''. For Tschumi (page 123)
the body, and its impurities, is suspect in architecture or is something, as Grosz
(1992, page 245) suggests, to be subordinated to, and be seen as a tool of, self-given
consciousness.
These abstractions (from the body) were carried further by the rise of scientific,
post-Galilean, rationality in architecture and, in particular, by Cartesian conceptions
of the `body as object' (also, see Bloomer and Moore, 1977; Grosz, 1992; 1994). Here,
the body was reduced to physical matter, subsumed by the rationality of geometry and
mathematics, or by instruments for the technical control of practical operations. The
human subject became divided into mind and body, with the body cast as the sub-
ordinate and negative counterpart of the mind. Knowledge and knowing were elevated
to a conceptual level, beyond the realm of the material, the practical, or the domain

(1) The importance of the interrelationships between design and the body was recognised by

Michelangelo, who suggested that ``he that hath not mastered, or doth not master the human
figure, and in especial its anatomy, may never comprehend it'' (quoted in Scott, 1914, page 44).
(2) For Vitruvius, ideal systems of proportion were to be found in the perfect proportions of the

human body. Such ideas influenced generations of architects and were particularly to the fore
during the period of the Renaissance. For instance, the humanist scholar, Alberti (1988, page 3)
noted that: ``beauty is that reasoned harmony of all the parts within the body, so that nothing can
be added, taken way or altered, but for the worse.''
50 R Imrie

of unruly bodies. Thus, the body was decorporealised, divided into organic and
medicalised components; it became, as Foucault (1977, page 211) suggests, ``residual
dead matter containing only the potential to be described, organised, and disciplined''.
In turn, bodies, as fragments, became amenable to measurement, and, as Ostwald and
Moore (1998, page 2) note, the implication was that the body, in becoming the
geometry, loses its original meaning and significance.
This, then, was a process of the geometrisation of lived space, in which things
became numbers to be understood as objective and intelligible forms. Increasingly,
the task of architecture was the creation of a spatial order and the search for a
universal theory of standards. As Perez-Gomez (1983) suggests, design was seen as
no more than a process seeking to solve algebraic equations. In this schema, space
was reduced to a series of (fixed) points that were rendered socially and morally
neutral, or devoid of what Bloomer and Moore (1977, page 1) refer to as a ``value-
charged sense of space'' (also, see Lefebvre, 1991). Cartesian coordinates revolved
around measurement, quantity, and lines, and a conception of space that was alterable
through the application of rational prescriptive rules. Thus, spatial practices, such as
architecture, were conceived of as involving less interest in meaning than in material
efficiency in relation to design and construction (Perez-Gomez, 1983). As Perez-Gomez
(page 4) notes, practice was being ``transformed into a process of production without
existential meaning, clearly defined aims, or reference to human values''.
However, such ideas have not gone uncontested and in developing a critical
evaluation of the rationality of Cartesian space the writings and ideas of Lefebvre
(1991) are instructive. Foremost, Lefebvre (page 200) rejects Cartesian rationality as
``narrow and desiccated'', as overlooking ``the core and foundation of space, the total
body, the brain, gesture, and so forth''. For Lefebvre, Cartesian conceptions conjure
up the sterile spaces ``of blank sheets of paper, drawing boards, plans, sections,
elevations, scale models, geometrical projections, and the like'' (page 200). Such
spaces are, for Lefebvre, `depeopled' or without human, social, and political content.
Instead, as Lefebvre (page 194) suggests, the prognosis is ``an uprising of the body, in
short, against the signs of non body''. For Lefebvre, Cartesian conceptions reduce
bodies to a singular type, in which spaces, and the bodies that populate them, are
neither sexed nor gendered, nor racialised or inscribed by class.(3) Rather, as Lefebvre
(page 194) notes, ``bodies resemble each other, but the differences between them are
more striking than the similarities.''
Such differences conjure up conceptions of the body as less than a unified or
bounded organism, but as something that is characterised by amorphousness, fluidity,
and physical leakage (see Grosz, 2001; Lynn, 1998). However, post-Galilean bodies are
abstractions from vital matter and fluids because, as Irigaray (1985, page 38) notes,
their exact measure is ``precluded by their mobility, fluidity and mutability''. Likewise,
feminist scholars note the plethora of architectural representations that are no more
than the functioning male body (Colomina, 1992; Grosz, 2001). In particular, Grosz
(2001), Irigaray (1993), and other poststructuralist commentators refer to the absence
of representations of sexual difference in dominant discourses of architecture (also,
see Ingraham, 1992). For Grosz, the phallocentric nature of architecture is a disavowal
of the `feminine' and a discounting of the female body as a realm of experience. Its
post-Galilean erasure does not signify the architect's disinterest in corporeal matters;
(3) Forsome commentators, bodies are far from neutral or universal, but are partial in perpetuating
particular body images, types, and ideals (Ahrentzen, 1996; Colomina, 1992; McAnulty, 1992).
Feminist scholars, for example, note that such ideals of the body are based on, as Ahrentzen
(1996, page 74) suggests, ``the unacknowledged use of the male and the masculine to represent
the human and physical environment''.
Architects' conceptions of the human body 51

rather, it reaffirms the dominance of patriarchal representations and systems of

signification.
Others note that Cartesian conceptions of space direct architects' attention to
building form rather than content, and to the symbolic and representational nature of
architecture (Hill, 1998; Lynn, 1998). This has the potential effect of minimising archi-
tects' engagement with corporeal substance, and with the affective desires, emotions,
and needs of people. How, then, given architects' predisposition to the representa-
tional and presentational, or aesthetic, aspects of architecture, can architects learn
about interactions between bodies and buildings and about the corporealised nature of
the built environment? For some, such as Lees (2001) and Thrift (1997a), it is important
to encourage architects' engagement with the nonrepresentational and practical impact
of architecture. As Thrift (1997a, page 127) implies, nonrepresentational theory is
concerned less with the symbolic nature of architecture, and more with the everyday
practices ``that shape the conduct of human beings towards each other''. It regards the
subject as embodied and people as fleshy, corporeal matter.
Aspects of nonrepresentational theory provide a potential counterweight to
Cartesian conceptions of the body. In nonrepresentational theory particular places,
such as buildings, are regarded as being ``there as part of us'', or as material matter
that is being constantly produced in the course of its (bodily) use (Thrift, 1997b,
pages 196 ^ 197). It is implied that a bodily sensitised architecture can, potentially,
be crafted through what Thrift (1997a) refers to as the manifestations of everyday life.
As Lees (2001) suggests, architecture is a material connection between people and
places, or between contexts where racial, gender, sexed, and other, bodily identities
intersect to produce lived and practical experiences of the built environment. For
instance, Borden (1998, page 198) refers to architecture as indissoluble from the body,
describing the grains, colours, and textures of surfaces as generating a ``sensuous
geography created by a phenomenal experience of architecture''. In short, the (diverse)
bodily form is not independent of the architecture, nor is the architecture independent
of the body; they are mutually constitutive.
While these, and related, insights are suggestive of ways in which architectural
theory and practice might be able to transcend the limitations of Cartesian conceptions
of the body, there is limited knowledge and understanding of contemporary architects'
conceptions of the human body and how these influence the design process. This is a
situation that I seek, in part, to redress in the rest of the paper.

3 Towards an understanding of architects' conceptions of the human body

In exploring architects' conceptions of the human body, interviews were carried out
with architectural course leaders and practising architects. The research objective was
to document the contrasting ways in which Western (or modern) architectural theories,
traditions, and practices conceive of the human body and of its multiple differences,
and with what implications for the design and use of buildings and the wider built
environment. In particular, the following research questions were posed. First, in what
contexts do architects learn about the human body and its interactions with architecture,
and what forms of knowledge about corporeality are conveyed to them? Second, how
far, and in what ways, do architects seek to understand interactions between bodies and
architectural forms, and with what implications for the nature of the design process?
A steering group, comprising six architects, was formed at the beginning of
the project and an initial, one-day workshop was held in London on 1 July 1999. The
workshop was a mechanism to enable the development of the research objectives and
to gain advice and direction about research design and methods. It also provided the
project with a point of entry into the architectural profession and with key contacts for
52 R Imrie

future interview-based research. The discussions in this first meeting ranged widely,
from architects' conceptions of the human body, to the role and relevance of drawing
as a medium for representing the interrelationships between design and the diverse
physiological, and other, needs of the body. The outcomes of the workshop, combined
with referees' advice about the original research application, were used to refocus the
project's objectives and research methods (Kumar, 1999).
Subsequently, a twofold research design was developed and implemented in the
period from August 1999 to May 2000. First, a sample of architectural schools was
chosen as a basis for investigating how, when, and where issues relating to the body are
addressed in architects' educational training. On the advice of the steering group, an
initial sample of twelve architectural schools, derived from British universities, was
contacted for course and curricula details. This documentation was scrutinised and
used as a basis for choosing five schools for a more detailed investigation, involving a
mixture of methods including interviews with course directors, tutors, and the inspec-
tion of a range of course materials. The schools were chosen to reflect a mixture of
course structures, teaching and learning methods, and contrasting attitudes towards
architectural education.(4)
The second stage of research involved interviews with a sample of practising
architects. Using a Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA) database a sample of
architectural practices, primarily based in London, was chosen as a basis for investiga-
tion. In total, forty-one interviews were conducted with architectural firms, by using a
semistructured interview schedule. Interviews varied in length between one and three
hours and were usually conducted with a senior architect in the chosen architectural
practices. The interviews were taped and transcribed. Supporting documentation, such
as drawings, architectural plans, and photographs, was also acquired where relevant. In
addition, interviews were conducted with a range of key actors in institutions such as
the RIBA, Habinteg Housing Association, and the Building Research Establishment.
In discussing the research evidence, I divide the rest of the section into three. First,
I consider some of the formative influences on architects' conceptions of the human
body.(5) In particular, architects' education and training is a potential source of knowl-
edge of the interrelationships between design and the human body. However, as the
data show, little or nothing is taught about the body beyond a reaffirmation of bodily
reductive concepts. Second, I provide an insight into the `bodies in mind' conveyed by
architects' self-testimonies. As the evidence indicates, most architects rarely think
about the human body as an explicit, or even implicit, point of reference in their
work.(6) When the body is referred to by architects, it is generally conceived of in terms

(4) One of the anonymous reviewers of the paper commented that this situation is more than likely

to be exacerbated. As he or she helpfully said, the Royal Institute of British Architects is demand-
ing that architectural education responds more closely to the perceived needs of the architectural
profession and the broader development industry. Such needs are defined by a range of functional
objectives concerned with project costs, design standardisation, etc. Thus, critical debates are
subsumed by the functionally driven demands of the development process, and this makes it
difficult to raise issues such as the place of the body in architecture.
(5) My intention in this paper is only to document some of the formative ideas espoused by

architects about design and the human body, rather than to trace through how such ideas take
shape in the nexus of architectural production. Undoubtedly, this broader process will modify
formative ideas.
(6) Architectural theory tends to take the body for granted, and there is little engagement with the

sociology of the body or ideas from cultural studies (although, for exceptions, see Colomina, 1992;
Grosz, 1992; 1994). Indeed, many architectural writings are curiously devoid of references to human
beings or human activity; rather, they tend to reflect architects' preoccupation with building form
and aesthetics.
Architects' conceptions of the human body 53

of ``precise Cartesian coordinates'' (Bloomer and Moore, 1977, page 1; also, see Imrie,
1999). Third, I discuss how far the architects' main mode of communication, the
drawing, is implicated in (re)producing bodily reductive representations in the design
process.
3.1 Formative experiences
Bloomer and Moore (1977, page ix) note that ``the human body, which is our most
fundamental three-dimensional possession, has not itself been a central concern in the
understanding of architectural form.'' Likewise, Marble et al (1988, page 1), suggest
that ``critical discussion of the body is tangential to the major concerns of architectural
education.'' Such sentiments are reaffirmed by the research findings that indicate that
architectural schools devote little or no time or instruction to matters concerning the
human body. As a course director noted, ``I've been thinking about what do we do
about the body here and I guess we don't do a great deal practically, perhaps not
enough.'' Another director concurred in commenting on the development of body
awareness amongst students. As he said, ``we rarely talk about the human form here
except in fairly abstract terms.'' Similarly, in terms of teaching students about bodily
differences, a director noted that, ``it's not a dictate. It's not something we set as a
standard but I think it just comes through ... maybe because it's not a dictate it's not
as diverse or as wide-ranging as it should be.''
Course tutors indicated that there was little tuition about designing for the multi-
plicity of needs of the human body. As one director said, ``I think that they [the
students] probably don't learn a huge amount actually ... there isn't a course that
specifically deals with that.'' Most course directors assume that tuition about the
human body is covered, in some form or other, in the degree programme. As one
director said, ``I think it's implicit and it's probably implicit in the first-year pro-
gramme''. Thus, for one school, an acknowledgment of the body is no more explicit
than the statement that its course, on `Experiencing Architecture and Design', seeks to
develop ``an understanding of the relationship between people and buildings, and
between buildings and the wider environment''. Similar responses were given by other
interviewees and convey the sense that the body, as a fleshy and corporeal entity, is not,
in Vidler's (1999, page 99) terms, an authoritative foundation for architecture (also, see
Lynn, 1998).
Architects in practice, in recollecting their educational experiences, reinforced such
views. Thus, for one respondent, ``the emphasis on the human form would have been
primarily to do with understanding of dimensional requirements.'' For another, ``in
terms of the way a body functions and moves I probably learnt more from `A' level
art classes that I did either in interior design or architecture courses.'' Likewise,
another commented that, ``I don't think there was any particular emphasis on the
body, not in my day, my day is two generations ago as a student so it was not thought
of.'' However, as a course tutor suggested, ``little has changed over the years and you'll
find it hard to detect much teaching here [about the human body] that goes beyond the
odd lecture or so.'' This, then, is a situation not dissimilar to that recalled by a
practitioner who left architectural school in 1970. As he commented, ``I don't recall
any form of tuition in any of that apart from probably one lecture on modular man.''
Not much more than the technical dimensions of the body were taught, as he said,
``part of my basic architectural training was on the anthropometric basis of the body''.
The main approach to teaching students about the body is `self-referential', whereby
students refer to their own bodies as the dominant point of reference. Thus, at one
architectural school, a series of `body techniques' are encouraged through the context
of project work. One such technique requires students ``to use their body to measure
54 R Imrie

their own bedroom''. In another school an exploration of interrelationships between

the body and the environment is encouraged. As the course director explained: ``The
first-year student activity is very much based on the notion of the body in the sense
that it goes through a series of generic questions, if you like, which is formed in
verbs: to mask, to shelter, to dwell, to settle, and to build. So it takes them through
this journey of the relationship between the body and environment and between
society and the environment.'' For another director, however, such techniques are
flawed and problematic. As he suggested, ``you could say this is narcissistic on a
certain level because it is centred on the person's own body, and it is also related to
work in the art world, which has quite a strong tradition.''
Such techniques also reaffirm the importance of geometrical and technical dis-
courses in defining the nature of the human body. As a course director said: ``we use
the body as a tool for measurement and gauging proportion ... it's no more than an
object for this.'' One school's course documentation describes a first-year project as
``an anthropometric study [which] will be undertaken in groups of two involving
measuring and representing the human body. You will then produce a half-sized
template of your partner.'' For another, the body is no more than a tool to enable
students to grasp the nature of spatial relations. Thus, the measurement of the body is,
as he suggested, an exercise for students ``to measure and define their own living
space ... about trying to fix space in the mind''. This, though, for Bloomer and Moore
(1977) (re)produces design that has limited empathy with, or understanding of, the
sensuous nature of the body, of memory, touch, sight, and smell. It is, as they suggest,
the basis for an architecture which fails to ``consider the emotional experiences of
human beings'' (page 21).
However, there was evidence of some resistance by course tutors and students to
the use of standard measurements of the human body as the basis for design. As course
tutors noted, most degree schemes use a range of textbooks, such as the Metric Hand-
book (Adler, 1999) and Neufert and Neufert's (2000) Architects' Data, that do little to
challenge the dominance of geometrical discourses. As a tutor noted, ``the Metric
Handbook is about standard man, a norm, and it gives definite measurements for
building.'' It is, in Bloomer and Moore's (1977, page ix) terms, a text that lays ``more
stress on the quantifiable features of building organisation than on the polychromatic
and three-dimensional qualities of the whole architectural experience.'' Some course
tutors concurred, as one said, ``if you were to take something like the Metric Hand-
book, that, for me, is probably one of the most dangerous documents for architects to
consult because it actually sets a standard before they really challenge the very
fundamentals of what they're designing.'' Others felt likewise, with another director
commenting that, ``I'm not trying to reinvent the wheel but I think to tell somebody
that a certain size limit is available or a certain restriction is available with which
you've got to work then that limits their design.''
Some tutors noted that the complexity of the human body's interactions with
architecture was rarely documented in any depth in their degree schemes. As a course
tutor said, ``it sounds pathetic really but we encourage them to make models of
figures ... it's a most difficult area to handle, this business of how big you and the
space and the building are and how surfaces and spaces and human beings actually
relate.'' For another, little was being done to challenge bodily stereotypes. As he said,
``I mean doors, they're all standard widths and when you think about some of these
issues you could have a whole design exercise looking again at elements that we take
for granted in relationship to human size. I must admit that we don't do that.'' Some
were also aware that not much was taught about space and sexuality, ethnicity, dis-
ability, or about bodily diversity and difference. Thus, as a course director commented,
Architects' conceptions of the human body 55

``if there's been any understanding of the body that's really been dominant then
I think it's probably to do with gender and not much else ... it tends to be more in
theory courses than in design classes, so unfortunately it's never related that closely
to practice.''
These findings concur with those of others who note that trainee architects tend to
have limited exposure to broader issues about the social and human content of
architecture (Hatch, 1984; Sommer, 1983). For instance, in a survey by Symes and
Seidel (1999), of 610 architects who had attended architectural schools, respondents
were asked about how far the sociological side of their work had been addressed by
course tutors. For most, little or nothing had been taught about the sociology of the
built environment and related matters, and, as Symes and Seidel (page 11) conclude,
``the survey showed that the lack of training ... has been seen as a serious failing of the
educational system''. Course directors and tutors in the sample schools felt that tuition
about the social and emotive aspect of users' interactions with buildings was missing.
Thus, for one tutor, ``the sensual and human aspect of architecture is something that
I keep trying to talk aboutöwhich is difficult to maintain in a school of architecture
because it's all done on bits of paper.''
3.2 The body in mind
For most practising architects, thinking about the human body is not an explicit or
even a regular feature of the design process. As a respondent said, ``from a design point
of view, from the concept stage I don't think it enters into it ... it doesn't happen with
an image of the body.'' In relation to variations in bodily shape and sizes, another
architect said, ``well I can tell you that I've never had that issue raised in this office.
I don't think people consider the size of the body because they accept that most people
are either short or thin, or short or tall, or fat or thin, but how this way or that way
I don't think really comes into it.'' Others concurred, as one architect suggested, ``do we
think about bodies at all? Well, good question. I don't think we do you see''. Such
views, as the following exchanges reveal, were more common than not in interviews:
Interviewer: ``When you think of the body you seek to design for what sort of body is
that?''
Respondent: ``You mean a human body?''
Interviewer: ``Yes.''
Respondent: ``That is an obscure question. Gosh.''
Likewise, in another interview:
Interviewer: ``Is there such a thing as body sensitive or sensitised design or architecture?''
Respondent: ``[laughs and thinks] Oh, I'm not sure how to react to that question.''
Most architects' reactions were similar or revolved around identifying proportional
or anthropometric measures as the basis for defining the body. As another respondent
said, ``I suspect that the general image of the body is what might be thought of as the
normal figure, as in ambulant and roughly the size of yourself or those around you,
and that's the general perception.'' This is the paradigmatic docile and static body
referred to by Lynn (1998) and indicated by another of the architects interviewed: ``we
would sort of use a norm in the sense of working on a person being about 1.8 metres
high, and then sight lines and visions and opening lights and what have you. I suppose
we do work on a, well, what we would call a norm.'' Such norms tend to (re)produce
bodily conceptions which revolve around the (Vitruvian) proportional body, or, as
Lynn (page, 37) suggests, the ``alignment of the body with measure''.
56 R Imrie

Others went further in reducing bodily conceptions to the `fit and healthy' body,
as one respondent commented: ``the proportions of a body are always importantö
heights, reach, being able to operate windowsöbut my concept of a body is the
standard and, frankly, healthy body.'' No one mentioned diseased, impaired, or ill
bodies as core to bodily identity, experience, and performance. Some were aware of
the interrelationships between colour and texture, and of the need to understand the
body as, necessarily, entwined in, and defined by, sensory experiences. Thus, as a
respondent said, ``You know you can create a different feeling by just changing the
surface, and so you know you can do that with carpets, or stone, or have hollow
sounds. It's an opportunity but it's not one that's thought about very much.'' Others
recognised the need to sensitise architecture to much more than a singular conception
of the human body, but often felt unable to do a lot more than reproduce bodily
conceptions devoid of sex, gender, or sensory capacities. A typical reaction by one
respondent summed this up: ``you need to be aware of different people, people with
different capabilities and attributes. I can't say that so far I've ever tried to do that very
much but one should.''
Invariably, practising architects, like the students, define the human body in rela-
tion to their self-image. The self-referentiality of architects, in relation to the human
body, has been highlighted by others, notably Maxwell (quoted in Penn, 1970, page 116),
who notes that architects ``assess the performance which we would expect, imaging the
building built and us in it''. This view was commonplace. As one architect noted, ``well,
I think the first thing you inevitably do when you're designing is you think about
yourself and the way you want things to be, but also how things would feel comfort-
able, or wouldn't feel comfortable, inevitably relates first of all to self.'' For another,
``the natural thing to do is probably to think about how you would use it [the building]
yourself, so your body becomes the kind of norm and as long as you're roughly average
than I think that's probably what most people would do.'' The `self-imaging' of archi-
tecture has the potential to develop a heterogeneity of bodily images and knowledges,
based on architects' experiential understanding of their bodily interactions with(in)
diverse built environments.
However, experiential knowledge may well be compromised; architects tend to
supplement self-images with ergonomic data and information contained in a number
of design manuals. As one architect said, ``what we like to do is to be able to pin our
decisions on recommendations in books.'' Others concurred, with another respondent
noting that, ``I just think there is a dimension, there is a recommended dimension. If
you go to the right book I suppose I would tend to design to that.'' Some architects felt
that recourse to the design manuals was the `fail-safe' option. As a respondent said,
``I think that architects feel that as long as they can say `oh well, I looked it up in the
book and that's what it recommended' and they put that dimension on their drawing
and once they've done that they feel that they've done their bit.'' This, though, is a recipe
for a prescriptive architecture that can do no more than (re)produce fixed and static
measures. In Lynn's (1998, page 145) terms, it ``lacks the clarity for the measurement
and behaviour of diverse bodily matters.''
Publications such as the Metric Handbook (Adler, 1999) are problematical for
(re)producing (pre)conceptions of the human body which are ahistorical and lifeless
(also, see Bloomer and Moore, 1977; Scott, 1914). As one of the respondents acknowl-
edged, the dimensions presented in the handbook are sometimes so far removed from
reality as to be worthless. As he said, ``increasingly, people don't use it because they
recognise that it produces daft answers and can't capture all possible human move-
ments or possibilities ... it's a useful benchmark, that's all.'' For others, the handbook
is a practical tool that enables the designer to satisfy the technical requirements of
Architects' conceptions of the human body 57

the building regulations. Thus, as an architect commented, ``one uses certain space
and ergonomic standards which are normal, you know, whether it's doorways, allow-
ances for furniture, functional things like kitchens or bathrooms or the way a staircase
is laid out. One's meeting certain preset standards that are related to the building
regulations rather than thinking it back to first principles.''
The use of such standards involves conceiving of the human body as noncorporeal
or as an object that serves to highlight the qualities of architectural space. Thus, as a
respondent commented, ``You don't see individuals, and you don't envisage shapes or
types of people. You design according to more of an intuitive notion of what the space
is required for the passage of a person or the experience of a person being in that
space ... . So, yeah, I haven't thought about that before.'' The body, then, is without
form or substance; it is subsumed within thinking about the quality of space as wholly
decorporealised. As one architect said, ``I don't know that it's necessary to perceive the
body.'' More often than not, bodies and the spaces they inhabit are not conceived of by
architects as mutually constitutive, in the sense that bodies occupy space but do not
define it or give it intrinsic (architectural) meaning. A typical response was given by
one interviewee: ``the body is something which I don't think about a huge amount; it's
the spaces that you create for the body ... I always think of spaces as being used by
bodies ... it's always about occupying that space at the end of the day, it's the space
which is important.''
Thus, for most respondents, the body, if thought about at all, is abstracted from its
corporeal context(s) and is rarely conceived of as an organic, fleshy entity. More often
than not, the human body is defined as `people' who populate designs, or as collectives
or categories of users predetermined by the function of the building being designed.
One respondent argued that the RIBA encourage a functionalist conception of the
body. As he said, ``the perception of the body in an organisation like the RIBA is
very much to do with the idea of the user as a functioning person working somewhere.''
For another, ``I think one of the obvious places you think about the human body is
when you think about bathrooms, sleeping rooms ... where the room has got a specific
bodily function to deal with.'' In this sense, architects design for stereotypical people
who, it is anticipated, will utilise space in a predetermined way. As one respondent
said, ``I don't think much about individual human bodies, but I do think about groups
moving around the building or about categories of users.'' Thus, `people' are shoppers,
cinemagoers, schoolchildren, patients, and pedestrians. `The body' is plural öa crowd
with a unified purpose and a conformist mode of behaviour öand a concept of the
individual body plays little or no part.
In turn, the dominance of geometrical discourses rarely permits architects to think
beyond the size and dimensions of the body. As an architect noted, ``I don't think of a
particular body or any sort of figurative body at all, I think one sort of has an
awareness of the space a body will occupy and a feeling as to whether the spaces are
too narrow, or too big.'' For many respondents the representation of the human body
in the design process is either nonexistent or of a particular type. As one person noted,
``well we don't represent the body ... there are ergonomic standards and that's always
the starting point.'' For another respondent the physical body was rejected as a term of
reference; as he said, ``we probably don't think actually too much about bodies, we tend
to think about personalities, or even spirit, rather than about bodies.'' Moreover, few
architects question what it is like to be different, or show much awareness of the
diverse sensory, emotional, and physical dispositions of the human body. As one
architect said, ``the human subject is rarely made explicit, it's assumed that we're all
the same'', while for another, ``it's not top of your agenda because it's seen as another
58 R Imrie

difficulty, another challenge you have to put up with ... the concept [difference] can be
destroyed because you didn't take on board these issues from day one.''
Thus, there was little evidence of a concept of the human body characterised by
gender or sex differences, or which deviated from a white, able-bodied, masculine image.
As one architect said, ``my image of the body is Eurocentric ... you're looking at a
western European body shape I would guess.'' Others concurred in suggesting that the
human body is characteriscially male (also, see Hayden, 1985). As an architect noted,
``You know textbook man is what you tend to think of when you're looking at how
things work. You've got your textbook, you know we've got our Architect's Handbook,
you've got your average-sized person and arm measurements and all that sort of thing
and that's what we, from a technical side, design around.'' Such views were common-
place; as another respondent said, ``Yes, the modular figure is a standard male but
I think that it's a universal concept really and I think the introduction of feminism is a
bit of a minority argument ... . It always occurred to me that we were designing for
both men and women simultaneously as we adopted our standards. I mean, there's no
differentiation between the sexes really at all.''
3.3 Representing the body
The perpetuation of Cartesian principles in architecture is not unrelated to the pri-
macy of drawing as the instrument through which buildings are conceived and brought
into existence. In an insightful text, Robbins (1994) explores the interrelationships
between drawing and the raison d'eªtre of architecture (also, see Lawson, 1997; Mo«hrle,
1992). As Robbins (page 47) suggests, during the Renaissance period, the drawing was
seen as ``essential to architectural thought and practice and was a basis for transform-
ing architecture into art''. This, then, elevated architecture beyond the mundane world
of practice, or the making of buildings, to a higher level of conception and thought. It
reinforced the dualism between mind and body and situated architecture at an ethereal
and aesthetic level. In doing so, the drawing, as the essence of architecture, gave
architects a basis for authority; as Robbins (page 36) comments, ``the working drawing
provides a disembodied but authoritative architectural presence''.
This presence tends to revolve around the use of what Robbins refers to as rela-
tional, projective, and geometrical techniques for depicting three-dimensional objects
in two dimensions. As figures 2 and 3 show, such techniques tend to reproduce

Figure 2. A perspective drawing (source: Robbins, 1994, page 24; reprinted by permission of
MIT Press). This solid object is on a two-dimensional surface and done in such a way as to
suggest the relative positions and size when viewed from a particular point.
Architects' conceptions of the human body 59

Figure 3. An isometric drawing (source: Robbins, 1994, page 26; reprinted by permission of MIT
Press). This drawing orientates the view such that the three faces of the object intercept the
picture plane at equal angles. The use of such a drawing offers a scaled representation of the size
and proportion of an object.

geometric dimensions or what Lloyd Thomas (2000, page 1) refers to as matter

underpinned by discourses which ``submit all things in and of the world to the laws
of location in space'' (also, see Bloomer and Moore, 1977). However, such projections
are not value neutral or without social and cultural content. Rather, as Robbins
(1994, page 7) rightly notes, the drawing is an idea delineated on a surface and it is
a form of social discourse which ``embodies within itself the relationship between
society and culture ... and the relation between object and subject''. The drawing is
also involved in a recursive relationship with architectural knowledge, in both produc-
ing that knowledge and being produced by it (see Robbins, 1994, page 7, for an
amplification of this point; also, see Lawson, 1997).
As Robbins notes, drawing is the core of architecture, and, for one architect,
drawing ``is fundamental. It's the most direct way you can actually interact with your
design''. However, although, for many architects, drawing may be a core activity, it
rarely features body images or the human body. As one architect said, ``I don't know
about other peoples' work but you never see the human form on any of our drawings
whether they're on the board or through the computer. I mean it's all assumed.''
Another architect noted that, ``I don't think we actually do very much ... you've focused
on the fact that I can't remember the last time anybody drew anybody on a drawing to
give scale.'' Others concurred; as one architect said, ``what we do get all the time are
clients asking if the building is to scale and `can you put the dimensions on?' We'll show
furniture on layouts and we do that almost as a matter of course. But nobody ever says
`well draw a person', they just assume that if there's a doorway you can walk through
it.'' Similar comments were made; as another architect said, ``I'd be hard-pressed to
find any drawings in this office with a figure on it, it's not something we do that much.''
As Tschumi (1996) suggests, the absence of the body in architectural representa-
tions seeks to retain, arguably, the purity of design as an aesthetic endeavour and
outcome. Thus, Tschumi (page 22) notes that pure design, or building form, is para-
mount, in that ``entering a building may be a delicate act but it violates the balance of a
previously ordered geometry''. Similar views were expressed by respondents; as one
architect commented, ``architects do think in terms of buildings rather than in terms of
people, I mean that's what they're creating, they are creating aesthetic objects.'' Another
architect suggested that the absence of the body in architectural representations,
particularly in photographs of buildings, was commonplace (figure 4, see over). As
he noted, ``architecture journalism and literature is full of pictures with no people in
60 R Imrie

Figure 4. The figure is a representation of architecture (reprinted by permission of Sue Barr).

This is a typical and beautiful architectural photograph of part of a building designed by
Penoyre & Prasad. The photographer has chosen to photograph the building as an object without
anyone in the image.

them and it is quite a problem. It does lead you to idealise the space without people
in it.'' In one exchange with an interviewee, the following was revealed:
Interviewer: ``There's a lovely quote I found from an architect that said that some
architects think of bodies as impure and degenerate.''
Respondent: ``[laughs] Impure and degenerate? Well judging by the way that architects
depopulate their buildings when they photograph them that probably isn't
far wide of the mark. Look at those photographs behind you, there's not a
single person in them, they must have waited ages to exclude everybody.''
However, as figures 5 and 6 (see over) show, a range of practices provides some
evidence of drawings incorporating body images or projections of populated spaces.
Thus, for one architectural practice, ``we do certain things like sight lines and stuff
... you do it very much on ergonometric data rather than as showing a built form.'' For
others the representation of the human body is never more sophisticated than drawings of
individual people placed within a section (also, see Lawson, 1997; Robbins, 1994; Vidler,
1999). As a respondent said, ``we've actually put some rooms up in what was basically an
attic and on all our sections you'll see that we've got average man, or woman, and we are
showing what is effectively the usable space in that attic area for somebody to use.''
 Architects' conceptions of the human body
Figure 5. Activity in space (source: Penoyre & Prasad; reprinted by permission of Greg Penoyre). This is a long section through Tower Hamlets College
of Further Education showing activity in every space. This drawing was produced for client consultation purposes and allowed staff to `see themselves'
in the scheme.

61
N:/psfiles/epd2101w/
62 R Imrie

Usually, such representations tend to conform to a type; as one architect explained, ``the
person you draw is probably the Western-European-sized person'', while, for another, ``you
can always put a person on but I'm afraid that it's a blob or a series of blobs''. Others use
figures in drawings ``to provide the client with a realistic feeling, although the figures don't
really show much.''

Figure 6. The figure is a representation of human use, scale, and movement (source: Penoyre &
Prasad; reprinted by permission of Greg Penoyre). This is a detailed section of part of Snape
Maltings Concert Hall with people included in the drawing. The lower person simply stands on a
roof terrace assisting in indicating the level of the terrace and giving scale. The upper person is
drawn in to show how windows will be cleaned on a high-level glazed gable behind a louvred
screen. The person is shown actually cleaning the window.
Architects' conceptions of the human body 63

More often than not the use of a human figure in drawings is primarily to represent
building scale rather than to convey an understanding of the interactions between
architecture and the human body. As an architect commented, ``we always, even in a
simple elevation drawing, draw figures to scale to indicate the scale of the building.''
Thus, as Mo«hrle (1992, page 102) suggests, ``they [human figures] can help create a
sense of scale and proportion ... a well judged distribution of the figures will enhance
both the spatial effect and the sense of depth created by the perspective.'' For another
respondent, ``we always include people in the views to give a sense of scale because
without people in them you often can't tell whether it's a medium-scaled space or an
incredibly tall space.'' Others concurred, and as an architect noted, ``we might put some
amorphous form sitting on a chair, or walking through the door, or appreciating the
space purely to give them [the client] the context and the scale.'' Likewise, as Ingraham
(1992, page 264) suggests, the use of a [human] figure is a practical device: ``one is
demonstrating the space by putting an average size figure into it. It's to show a client
the amount of space that there is''.
A range of respondents identified difficulties in representing the body through the
context of drawings. As one architect noted, ``Le Corbusier said, `drawings are
the booby trap of architecture' which I think is absolutely true ... whilst you can
visualise the majority of it, I don't think anybody is capable of visualising it in its
entirety.'' For others, the problem is, as a respondent said, ``when you're looking at
drawings, unless you actually have a pretty sophisticated ability to translate what you
see on the drawings into reality and evaluate the problems around that, there's not
much point in having a body image to mind.'' This, then, illustrates Lawson's (1997,
page 25) point, that ``the drawing offers a reasonably accurate and reliable model of
appearance but not necessarily of performance''.

4 Conclusions
Architects in practice often refer to the human body as a means to convey building
scale, or to provide clients with a sense of spatial proportion (Bloomer and Moore,
1977; Vidler, 1999). Here, rather than bodies and buildings being seen as mutually
constitutive, the body is subsumed by the building. Architects also tend to operate
with partial and reductive conceptions of the human body. These conceptions present
the body as biological and naturalistic, ``as the norm by which all others are judged''
(Grosz, 1994, page 22). It is a concept of the body which, although singular in form,
seeks, as Grosz (page 22) notes, to represent ``the `human' in all its richness and
variability''. However, for most architects, this body is presocial, fixed, and beyond
culture. This is a body characterised by a corporeality that revolves around a singular
sex, while generally failing to acknowledge ethnic, gender, or physical differences.
Moreover, the human body is usually absent in architects' conceptual schemata, and
is rarely an explicit term of reference in their education or in the broader design process.
This is problematical because, as Bloomer and Moore (1977) note, peoples' perceptions
of space are, first and foremost, derived from their bodies (also, see Lefebvre, 1991). As
they suggest, ``the world opens up in front of us and closes behind. Front thus becomes
quite different from back'' (page 1). Others concur with Tschumi (1996, page 110), who
notes that architecture is never autonomous from (multiple) corporealities, in that the
human body is ``the starting point and point of arrival of architecture''. Some also
recognise the importance of the embodied subject in defining spatial experiences;
as Lefebvre (1991, page 174) suggests, ``the most basic places and spatial indicators are
first of all qualified by the body'' (also, see Grosz, 1992; 1994; Merleau-Ponty, 1962;
1963). Thus, as Merleau-Ponty (1963, page 5) comments, ``our body is not in space like
things; it inhabits or haunts space ... through it we have access to space.''
64 R Imrie

Others refer to the body as primarily `being in the world'öa form of lived experi-
ence which is complex, fluid, and ever shifting (Grosz, 1992; 1994; Merleau-Ponty, 1962).
For Merleau-Ponty (1962; 1963), the body is not an object per se, but is, as Grosz (1994,
page 86) suggests, the condition and context through which people are able to relate to
objects (such as buildings). Thus, as Grosz (1992, pages 250 ^ 251) argues, the human
body is inscribed in multiple ways in the (built) environment, and architecture is ``active
in constituting bodies, and always leaves its traces on the subject's corporeality''. In this
view, architecture is not independent of the human body, or the human body indepen-
dent of architecture; rather, they are conjoined in their (mutual) production, meaning,
and transformation (also, see Scott, 1914; Vidler, 1999). As Merleau-Ponty (1962,
page 102) evocatively notes, ``far from my body being for me no more than a fragment
of space, there would be no space at all for me if I had no body.''
This, then, is a call for an architecture that recognises, and responds to, the diversity
of bodily needs in the built environment by (re)producing a fluid form that will affirm
ambivalence and irony (rather than seeking to reproduce a static, singular, conception
of the body). A reflexive architecture is required which is `open-minded', without
boundaries or borders, and sensitised to the corporealities of the body. An important
component of this is for architects to identify the multiplicity of corporeal or postural
schemata of the body. As Merleau-Ponty (1962, page 103) asks, ``how do I become
aware of my body and distinguish it from the bodies and sensations of others?'' This,
then, requires architects to recognise, after Crossley (1995, page 60), that bodies are
subjects, ``sensible-sentient, communicative, practical and intelligent beings'', and not
objects that obey the laws of physical science. It also requires the (re)centring of
`the social' at the fulcrum of design theory and practice, whereby the aesthetic and the
practical, the subject and the object, and the body and the mind are brought together.
Acknowledgements. My thanks to The Leverhulme Trust (grant number ID19980496), who funded
the research that this paper is based on. Marion Kumar was responsible for chairing the one-day
workshop with architects and for writing an excellent report from the proceedings. Thanks also to
Peter Hall, who was responsible for collecting some of the data, to Siän Putnam, who transcribed
the interviews, and to Sue May in the Department of Geography at Royal Holloway, who did a
fantastic job with the figures. I owe a special gratitude to Greg Penoyre for his insightful comments
on the article. Finally, I am obliged to the referees for their testimonials on the paper, and to
Nigel Thrift for his perceptive comments.
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