From the editorial:
Ruins impact on the architectural imagination somewhat like an asteroid on a formal French Garden, or a fire on Table Mountain: undoing the neat lines of history and churning up and burning any self-contained idea of primitive or progressive, tendering teleology telluric. The earth reasserts itself over distinctions between nature and culture, and every sort of attempt to escape the artificial character of human culture seems like some strange sort of confusion between body and mind; human and animal; us and everything else here.
The ruin imagination is one of the most, if not the most potent reminder that, as Tim Morton observes in Being Ecological: “You don’t have to be ecological. Because you are ecological.”
In each of the projects and essays in this issue, as if in homage to Thomas Tranströmer’s Venetian ode to son in law and father in law, Liszt and Wagner (Sorrow Gondola No. 2): “The ocean’s green cold pushes up through the palazzo’s floors.”