Articles by Camilla Ghisleni

Symbols of technological development and urban density, tall buildings as we know them today emerged in the late nineteenth century, particularly in the United States, as a response to the rapid expansion of urban commerce and the need to grow cities without occupying additional land. The term skyscraper, for instance, was coined in the 1880s and originally referred to buildings with around 10 to 20 stories—an impressive height for the time.

The relationship between architecture and gastronomy goes beyond the simple function of providing a place to eat. It is a sensory symbiosis in which the environment prepares the palate as much as seasoning does. The visual composition of a dish can be understood through principles such as volume, balance, contrast, and rhythm — concepts that are equally fundamental to architectural design. In the same way, a restaurant’s architecture — its colors, lighting, and material choices — acts as an invisible ingredient, capable of elevating the dining experience and shaping the perception of flavor even before the first bite. Both disciplines are dynamic, directly reflecting social behaviors and cultural trends that influence how we occupy space and how we nourish ourselves.

The relationship between architecture and gastronomy goes beyond the simple function of providing a place to eat. It is a sensory symbiosis in which the environment prepares the palate as much as seasoning does. The visual composition of a dish can be understood through principles such as volume, balance, contrast, and rhythm — concepts that are equally fundamental to architectural design. In the same way, a restaurant’s architecture — its colors, lighting, and material choices — acts as an invisible ingredient, capable of elevating the dining experience and shaping the perception of flavor even before the first bite. Both disciplines are dynamic, directly reflecting social behaviors and cultural trends that influence how we occupy space and how we nourish ourselves.

Education and culture have long been established as strategic pillars for promoting profound social transformation. In this context, the quality of physical infrastructure is not merely a functional concern, but a structural element in the implementation of consistent public policies — especially in territories marked by urban precarity, historical inequality, and institutional fragility. Within this framework, school architecture can assume a role that extends far beyond the classroom, becoming a catalyst for social transformation.

When we enter a museum, walk through a historic center, or review a country’s list of protected heritage sites, we rarely think about the process behind those choices. Who decided, on behalf of all of us, that certain objects, places, and architectures deserved to be preserved and disseminated, while others were discarded?

When placing a house on its site, one of the first steps is to recognize the territory that surrounds it, identifying its potentials and tensions. In this process, we inevitably select, cut, hide, or enhance certain views, shaping the architectural experience according to the sensations we wish to foster.

Can architecture be built from food? Between the fire that warms, the smells that spread, and the bodies that gather around the table, the apparent banality of cooking and eating reveals itself as a choreographed dance of spatial appropriation and belonging. These gestures organize routines, produce bonds, and transform the built environment into lived place. The kitchen—domestic, communal, or urban—thus ceases to be merely a functional space and affirms itself as a territory of encounter.

“Feeling at home” is more than just an expression—it is the sense of warmth and comfort that transforms a space into a true refuge. To achieve this, elements like color, texture, lighting, and materials play a crucial role in shaping an environment that fosters relaxation and well-being. Backed by research in environmental psychology and neuroscience, the connection between physical spaces and human behavior highlights how architecture can directly influence the atmosphere, turning chaos into tranquility.

In Latin America, encounters do not necessarily arise from grand architectural gestures or monumental urban plans. They emerge from the in-between, from intermediate spaces: the courtyard, the veranda, the sidewalk, the shared corridor. These areas, often considered residual or informal by the traditional architectural discipline, are precisely where everyday life builds bonds.

How did a material conceived for bridges, factories, and large-scale structures make its way to the living room bench, the apartment bookshelf, the café table? For centuries, metal was associated with labor, machinery, and monumentality—from the exposed structures of 19th-century World’s Fairs to the productive logic of modern industry. Its presence in domestic interiors is not self-evident but rather a cultural achievement: the transformation of an industrial material into an element of everyday, intimate use, in close proximity to the body.