Materiality, Movement & Meaning:

Architecture and the Embodied Mind

Dr. Jonathan Hale

Department of Architecture and Built Environment
University of Nottingham
jonathan.hale@nottingham.ac.uk

[This paper was presented as a keynote lecture at the international conference

Designing and Planning the Built Environment for Human Well-Being, held at
the University of Oulu in Finland, 23-25 October 2014. It is an expanded version
of a paper first given at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen
in November 2012, and published as a chapter in the book Towards an Ecology
of Tectonics: Rethinking Construction in Architecture, edited by Anne Beim and
Ulrik Stylsvig Madsen (Stuttgart: Edition Axel Menges, 2014).]

Writing in 1993 on the relations between technology, language and cognition,

the anthropologist Tim Ingold provided what appeared to be a perfectly clear
and precise definition of the tool as a ‘prosthetic’ extension of the body:

“A tool, in the most general sense, is an object that extends the

capacity of an agent to operate within a given environment.” (Ingold,
1993: 433)

In the context of Ingold’s discussion of the agency of tools and technologies, it

could be argued that this statement actually assumes what it sets out to explain
- that is, it assumes that we already know what constitutes an ‘agent’, and that
we can therefore speak of the tool as a simple linear extension of an agent’s
ability. In fact, it may be more accurate to say – if we consider this question
within the ‘long duration’ of the evolutionary emergence of the modern human
being - that the tool, in reality, came first. Or, at the very least, I want to argue
that technology is in fact mutually co-implicated in the gradual emergence of
human agency over this long evolutionary timescale, and – the reason why I
think it’s so important – it continues to be so today in terms of our everyday
experience. The claim I want to make by the end of the paper is that the kind of
buildings that bear witness to this process of emergence are the ones that best
support our sense of well-being, in the broadest possible terms.

To begin with, I’m thinking here of two related examples of emergence: firstly
the ontogenetic process – how we as human beings mature into apparently
rational sense-making individuals, when we didn’t start out that way at birth –
and secondly, what we might call (after the editor of Alexander Luria’s book on
Language and Cognition) the ‘micro-genetic’ process by which we make sense
of our ongoing flow of embodied experience ‘in real-time’ as it were, of what
actually goes on in that curious overlapping of immediate past with anticipated
future that we usually refer to as ‘the present moment’. Of course I’m thinking
here of Edmund Husserl’s analysis of the consciousness of time as a multi-
layered experience of what he called ‘retentions’ and ‘protentions’, and also of
the more recent work by the neurophilosopher Daniel Dennett in his book
Consciousness Explained, from 1991, where he explores these ideas in a much
more accessible way, also drawing on more recent experimental data from
research in the neurosciences.

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 In order to explore this apparently circular relationship between the human and
the technological, in what follows I will describe some examples of the ways in
which we engage with technologies on a day to day level, and how the process
of ‘incorporation’ – literally, absorbing into our body-image, or more accurately
our body-schema – entails a number of important cognitive consequences. In
the final part of the paper I will also try to outline what I think this might mean for
the continuing relevance of tectonic articulation and materiality in architecture,
for example, in the creation of engaging and richly layered environments that
contain visible traces of both the processes of construction and occupation –
spaces that invite engagement with both the bodies and minds of future building
users. And this is the reason why I think this way of thinking about time, as just
mentioned, as a multi-layered continuum of past recollections and future
projections – especially in relation to tools and technologies - is so important for
architects to consider.

Technology and Embodiment

The classic example of the incorporation of the tool into an extended body-
schema is that of a blind person learning to navigate with the aid of a white
cane. I take this illustration from the writings of French philosopher Maurice
Merleau-Ponty, who described it in his major work the Phenomenology of
Perception from 1945, (2012: 153). Through a gradual process of exploration
and experiment the sensitive surface of the hand is effectively stretched out
towards the tip of the cane: information is gathered in as the cane reaches out,
and by experiencing the textures of touch and sound an environment begins to
be revealed. With skilful use the cane effectively ‘disappears’ from view, as
Merleau-Ponty suggests it ceases to be an object that we perceive in itself and
instead becomes a ‘medium’ through which we experience the world, just like
the body itself. The use of the cane is gradually sedimented into a behavioural -
and therefore also a perceptual – routine: it becomes part of the repertoire of
bodily skills and abilities that we use every day to navigate our way through
familiar and not-so-familiar environments. Now, we could argue that this is
exactly how most people – especially non-architects – encounter a piece of
architecture: not as an object perceived directly, in a deliberate way as the
focus of attention, and likewise not completely ignored as a kind of anonymous
background, but rather experienced more-or-less unconsciously through a form
of ‘bodily cognition’, as a medium through which we experience the task we
happen to be engaged in – and of course, a key part of what gives that
experience its characteristic texture.

Another more dramatic illustration of the flexibility and plasticity of the boundary
between brain, body and world, can be seen in the experiment carried out by
the Australian performance artist Stelarc, adding a prosthetic ‘Third Hand’ to his
own biological body (Massumi, 1998: 336). The hand is controlled by nerve
impulses picked up from surface electrodes attached to his upper thigh and
abdominal area. While the device took some time to learn how to operate –
basically by a process of trial-and-error experiment – with practiced use it can
be quite precisely controlled, independently of the artist’s two biological hands.
This example also reminds us of the fact that - from birth onwards – we have all
passed through a similar process of exploratory bodily ‘training’, swinging our
limbs about more or less wildly until we gradually learn how to control and
apply them, and to reach out and take up other bits of the world in order to
extend our bodily capacities.
Figure 1: Stelarc - THIRD HAND,
Tokyo, Yokohama, Nagoya 1980. The idea that technical extensions of the body can also become intrinsic to our
Photographer: Toshifumi Ike. © individual sense of self is also suggested by the philosophers Andy Clark and
Stelarc / T. Ike..
David Chalmers in their 1998 essay ‘The Extended Mind’. They describe how
we commonly rely on various technical props and supports to help us to deal
with everyday mental tasks, from note-pads and pencils for writing down ideas
to electronic calculators and digital search-engines for retrieving and
manipulating useful information. The all-too-familiar misfortune of losing a wallet
or a mobile phone also reminds us how distressing it is to be denied access to
what can suddenly seem like a vital organ. Robbed of our taken-for-granted
ability to make phonecalls, look up addresses, check diary entries and access
the internet, it is easy to feel that we are not quite the complete person that we

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 previously assumed we were. Likewise with the kind of crisis of self-identity that
often accompanies a loss of memory and a lack of ability to navigate complex
environments that can often be a consequence of the degenerative illnesses of
old age.

As if to dramatise this reliance on the ability of the environment to ‘think for us’
so to speak, the French philosopher Bernard Stiegler in his book Technics and
Time (1998) even goes as far as to say that - far from being simply an optional
extra – these technological extensions that we routinely incorporate into our
extended body-schema should be seen as a fundamental part of what it is to be
a human-being (1998: 152). In the next section I will explore this idea within an
evolutionary framework, drawing an analogy between the ontogenetic
processes that we have just been considering (the development of the
embodied individual enhanced by various technical extensions), and the longer
timescale of the phylogenetic process by which the human species itself can be
seen to have emerged. To do this, I will be apply a model of ‘circular causality’ –
the idea that a kind of feedback loop between technical development and
biological mutation has been helping to steer the course of human evolution.
Or, in relation to architecture, as Winston Churchill once famously said: “We
make our buildings and thereafter our buildings make us” (1951).

My first piece of evidence is taken from a recent book called The Prehistory of
the Mind by the cognitive archeologist Steven Mithen. In it he shows a timeline
of the development of early Hominid species, showing increases in average
brain size over the last 4 million years (1996: 7). The key points are the two
major periods of significant brain enlargement, initially from about 2 million
years ago, and then again from half a million to 200,000 years ago. In parallel
with these developments archeologists have also found evidence of the
emergence of early stone tool technology, in the period from 2.6 million years
ago, up to 250,000 years ago, showing the increasing complexity of strategic
planning involved in the transition from so-called Oldowan to the more
advanced Late Acheulean tool-making processes.

Of course, it is difficult to infer direct causality in one direction or the other: one
might claim that bigger brains are the ‘cause’ of more complex technology – or,
equally, I could try to claim that it actually works the other way round: the
existence of more complex tool-making practices could be the selective
pressure required to ‘cause’ the preservation of genetic mutations that happen
to confer additional tool-making ability. What I actually want to claim here is
simply that both these forces are interacting in a circular process of mutual
support.

Another important point worth noting about this evolutionary development is the
relation between these early technical practices and the emergence of spoken
language. While evidence for the existence of language is notoriously difficult to
find we can at least infer it from fossilized anatomical fragments. The increasing
complexity of the vocal tract, as well as the size and shape of the skull, both
imply the possibility of early human linguistic ability. And there is also the
circumstantial evidence of sophisticated social interaction that could have been
facilitated by verbal communication which is suggested by the archeological
remains of complex communal settlements.

This potential evolutionary link between technology and language has also
been described quite recently by the neuroscientist Michael Arbib in a chapter
of the book called Architecture and Neuroscience, published in Finland in 2013.
Arbib has been writing on this theme since his earliest work from the 1970’s but
in fact it is an idea that has been around since at least a decade before that.

In research from the 1960s which is published in English in the book called
Figure 2: Andre Leroi-Gourhan – Gesture and Speech, the French paleo-anthropologist Andre Leroi-Gourhan
Cortical picture of voluntary motor had also found evidence of a neural feedback circuit that seemed to connect
function (after Penfield and technical and linguistic ability. A key part of his evidence was based on the
Rasmussen). Right hemisphere of human
brain in cross-section. © MIT Press, 1993.
organisation of brain activity in the sensory-motor cortex, where the major areas
P. 82. devoted to control of the hands and the vocal apparatus are located in
immediately adjacent areas. He supports his claims with a dramatic image

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taken from the 1940s work of neurologists Penfield and Rasmussen, showing
where the major parts of the body’s sensory-motor apparatus are processed
within the brain (1993: 82). This diagram also emphasises the variation in the
proportions of cortical space given over to the different parts of the body, with
the largest areas devoted to those needing the most precise levels of control
and articulation.

Leroi-Gourhan also partly bases his argument on the evolutionary shift from
moving on all-fours to walking upright, claiming that this innovation
simultaneously liberated both the hands and the face for new uses. In place of
their previous focus on ground-based movement and exploration, both are now
able to be employed in new forms of communication. He further suggests that
manual ability with tool-making might have provided the initial stimulus to the
use of the hands to communicate, thus encouraging a refinement of a kind of
proto-language of bodily posture into a set of more precisely articulated manual
gestures. This idea has been further developed more recently in the work of the
evolutionary psychologist Michael Corballis, in a book called From Hand to
Mouth published in 2002, as well as by Tim Ingold, who I mentioned earlier, in
an edited volume called Tools, Language and Cognition in Human Evolution
(1993). Ingold makes the connection more convincingly in my view, partly in the
way he considers language itself as a form of technology –another kind of ‘tool’
for reaching out beyond the body to make things happen in the world around
us.

Leroi-Gourhan for his part, accepts the speculative nature of this connection,
given that the early historical traces of spoken language have clearly not been
physically preserved. But if we consider the ways in which technical processes
and procedures are visibly evident in the form of the tool itself, then perhaps
this provides an example of how bodily communication can be captured and
passed on from one generation to the next. The French philosopher Jacques
Derrida, intrigued by the apparently inferior philosophical status of written as
opposed to spoken forms of language, was also inspired directly by Leroi-
Gourhan to speculate on the evolutionary function that physical traces of human
memory might actually have performed:

“If the expression ventured by Leroi-Gourhan is accepted, one could

speak of a “liberation of memory,” of an exteriorization always already
begun but always larger than the trace which, beginning from the
elementary programs of so-called “instinctive” behaviour up to the
constitution of electronic card-indexes and reading machines, enlarges
difference and the possibility of putting it in reserve: it at once and in the
same movement constitutes and effaces so-called conscious
subjectivity.” (Derrida, 1976: 84)

With the reference to ‘so-called instinctive behaviour’ Derrida connects an

original impulse towards mark-making with Merleau-Ponty’s description of
bodily skills and habits as our primordial means of grasping our place and
finding our way within the world. That is, he implies that we should think of
habitual patterns of behavior as being our first means of capturing and passing
on our acquired knowledge of the world (Merleau-Ponty, 2012: 130-148). An
idea which also echoes the words of the earlier French anthropologist Marcel
Mauss in his essay called “Techniques of the Body” from 1935, where he
claimed that: “The body is man’s first and most natural instrument. Or more
accurately… man’s first and most natural technical object, and at the same time
technical means..”. (Mauss, 2006: 83) As a footnote to this idea, I should also
say that Tim Ingold has also recently restated this idea in his book from 2013
called Making, where he suggests that the model or pattern for the basic form of
the Achulean hand-axe might have simply been based on the shape suggested
by the two hands cupped together, palms facing (Ingold, 2013: 43).

To return briefly to the Derrida quotation, it is important also to note what he

says about the ‘exteriorization of memory’ – referring back to the simple tools
that we have just been discussing – forms which gradually became both more
elaborate and more durable, and perhaps also could be said to mark the
dawning of human self-consciousness itself. A kind of self-realisation which is,

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as he says, both ‘constituted and effaced’ in the movement that both solidifies
and objectifies the individual identity of the maker within the artefact itself, and,
at the same time, projects it out into the world to take its place among countless
other more or less anonymous objects.

For another way of looking at this we could turn to the writing of the physician-
turned-philosopher Raymond Tallis in his remarkable book on The Hand, (2003)
where, like Derrida, he also uses this idea as the basis for a theory of the
emergence of human self-consciousness. The book elaborates on Freidrich
Engels’ famous statement that:

“The hand is not only the organ of labour, it is also the product of
labour” (1940: 281).

Tallis suggests that out of the ‘objectifying’ of human action in the repeated
patterns of technical processes and the material forms of tools and artefacts,
emerges a growing awareness of the hand itself as a kind of proto-technical
object.

While this might also, perhaps, explain the special prominence given to the
image of the hand in many examples of paleolithic cave-painting, the major
implication of this is that the ability to see one’s actions ‘sedimented’ in the solid
residues of technical practices might even have been the stimulus to early
humans’ sensing of the ambiguous subject-object status of the body: that is, in
other words, what Merleau-Ponty has described as our curious status as
integrated ‘body-subjects’. Therefore, moving beyond the idea of the
technological prosthetic that was introduced at the beginning of this discussion:
rather than thinking of technology merely as an extension of the human body, it
may even be true to say that thinking of ourselves as having a body – and
having a choice as to what to do with it – might actually be a consequence of
our prehistorical development of technology.

And perhaps – leaping forward again in historical time – this is what Karl Marx
also had in mind when he described the satisfaction of the manual worker in the
contemplation of an accomplished act of making:

“Supposing we had produced in a human manner; each of us would in

his production have doubly affirmed himself and his fellow men. I would
have objectified in my production my individuality and its peculiarity and
thus both in my activity enjoyed an INDIVIDUAL EXPRESSION OF MY
LIFE and also in looking at the object, have had the individual pleasure
of realising that my personality was objective, visible to the senses and
thus a power raised beyond all doubt.” (McClellan, 1995: 23)

Marx’s statement also highlights two complementary forms of creative

experience that seem to result from the process of making: firstly the
experience of the maker in taking up and transforming a raw material into an
object of use, and secondly the experience of the user in taking up an object
consciously shaped for human interaction. So, if it is true that we produce
ourselves as subjects in the creative action of producing objects, I would argue
that we also continually reproduce ourselves as creative subjects in the act of
taking up and using objects. The symmetry that this suggests between the
process of constructing and both inhabiting and interpreting architecture
(Frascari, 1991: 107) is what I want to try and illustrate in the final section of this
paper.

Construction and Occupation

On one level, most of what has been said above is simply a reminder that
technology in general is, after all, ‘much more important than we think’. But, I
would also like to suggest that the same kind of body-brain feedback loop as I
have just been discussing – over the longer timescales of both evolutionary and
individual development – still contributes to our understanding of architecture
today, right now, in terms of how we make sense of our environment at each
moment we open our eyes on the world. For example, I would argue that we

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‘read’ an environment in terms of two related narratives of interaction, or what
could be called encounters or ‘collisions’ between people and things. I am
thinking here of the building as both a historical record of interaction and a kind
of future projection, presenting us with the material evidence of both how it
might have been made and also how it might be used. What I am suggesting is
a direct connection between the tectonic articulation of the processes of
construction, and the accumulating traces of occupation left by the users’
repeated patterns and habits of use, while also making a further link to the ways
in which spaces have been consciously designed for use, or what the American
psychologist James J Gibson called the functional ‘affordances’ offered by an
environment. In other words, to paraphrase the thought of the philosopher Paul
Ricoeur, we might say that the hermeneutics of architecture involves a double
process of interpretation: both of the ‘space behind the work’ (understanding the
intentions of its author, designer and maker) and, even more importantly, the
space ‘in front of the work’- understanding the experience that the building
makes possible for its future ‘readers’, users and occupiers (Ricoeur, 1981:
141).

One other important element in this brain-body-world relationship relates

directly to the link between movement and meaning that I mentioned at the
beginning of the paper. Below is an image of an experiment that has been
referred to by a number of architects, including Lars Spuybroek in his book
‘Machining Architecture’ from 2004.

Figure 3: Apparatus for equating motion and consequent visual feedback for actively moving
and passively moved kittens. (After: Hein and Held, 1964: 873)

I use it to illustrate one of the key principles behind the connection between
perception and action. The basic scenario is that the two kittens involved in the
experiment are just a few days old and their brains are developing rapidly –
neural networks are being created in response to the ongoing experience of
movement. The key issue is that normal development involves a coupling
together of visual and bodily information: the brain interprets changing visual
perceptions in relation to bodily movement and this is what enables any
complex organism to navigate effectively in 3-dimensional space. What goes
wrong in this case is that only the kitten on the right can control its own
movements – its feet are touching the floor and as it moves around the
apparatus its visual perception changes in the normal way – the brain can
therefore match these up and the neural circuits can develop normally. The
kitten on the left however has no control over its own bodily movement and its
brain fails to make this same association. When the kittens are released after a
few days inside the apparatus the one on the right can move around normally,
but the one on the left behaves as if there is something wrong with its visual
system: bumping into barriers or stepping off edges and exhibiting a form of
‘experiential blindness’. While the kitten’s eyes are actually working perfectly
well, the problem is that its brain has not developed the capacity to match up its
bodily movements with the associated changes in incoming visual information.

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The second piece of neuro-scientific evidence I would like to cite in support of
this vital connection between perception and action comes from the recent
discovery of the so-called mirror-neuron system, first described by Vittorio
Gallese and his colleagues from the University of Parma in Italy. The basic
principle is that the neurons involved in the production of bodily movement are
also active during the observation of movement in other people. In other words,
when I am watching someone performing a particular action I am activating the
same neural network as the one that controls my own performance of same
action. As the philosopher Shaun Gallagher has described it in his book How
the Body Shapes the Mind:

"The recent discovery of ‘mirror-neurons’ in the pre-motor cortex,

neurons that are activated either by the subject’s own motor behaviour
or by the subject’s visual observation of someone else’s motor
behaviour, shows a direct and active link between the motor and
sensory systems..” (2005: 9)

Experiments have also demonstrated marked differences in the levels of

activation of the mirror-neuron circuits, with much stronger responses from
observers watching highly skilled performers of activities in which they
themselves are also trained (Calvo-Merino, et al. 2003). For my own argument
in relation to both tectonic and functional expression in architecture, a further
link has also been established between the direct observation of bodily
movement and the evidence of movement left behind in material forms. In an
article from 2007 co-written by Vittorio Gallese and the art historian David
Freedberg they describe the process of testing viewers’ reactions to various
paintings and sculptures that contain obvious physical traces of gestural
movements of the artist’s hand:

“With abstract paintings such as those by Jackson Pollock, viewers

often experience a sense of bodily involvement with the movements
that are implied by the physical traces – in brushmarks or paint
drippings – of the creative actions of the producer of the work.” (2007:
197)

Examples they looked at included the so-called ‘action paintings’ of Jackson

Pollack as well as the knife-slit canvases of Lucio Fontana. In each case what
seemed to be happening in the viewer’s brain was a kind of re-enactment of the
movements involved in producing the original marks on the canvas. The writers
then go on to link this idea to the art historical concept of empathy as a
component of aesthetic experience, as developed in the late 19th Century. In
basic terms empathy – in German Einfühlung, literally ‘feeling into’ – involves a
bodily sense of emotional connection with the scene depicted in a work of art,
most obviously via the facial expressions of the figures involved in the action. A
similar connection has also been made by one of the major historians of this
period in architectural history, Harry Francis Mallgrave, in his two recent books
addressing current developments in the emerging field of neuroaesthetics
(2010, 2013).

To conclude I will refer briefly to one small architectural example of this

connection between materiality and movement, which I think also supports the
claim I have made above for a kind of ‘symmetry’ between construction and
occupation. This example is taken from a studio project I set for postgraduate
students at the University of Nottingham, where the brief was to design an
exhibition about a building that would take place within the building itself. One
particularly successful project (by John Proctor, Andrew Geldard and Jamie
Chubb) looked at the New Art Gallery in Walsall near Birmingham, designed by
Caruso St John Architects and opened in 2000. The building is, in basic terms,
a concrete box clad on the outside with a shell of ceramic tiles and on the inside
partially lined with close-boarded timber panelling which has a vertical
orientation following the same layout and module as the boarding used for the
concrete formwork. In this juxtaposition of strongly grained timber alongside the
texture of board-marked concrete there is already a clear suggestion of the way
in which the structure was built. The students took this as inspiration for the
construction of a bench made of concrete and timber, which – along with a

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video showing the process of its construction – was to be shown as part of the
exhibition installation within the gallery itself. Of more interest to me personally
was another more subtle detail – apparently less deliberate and more easily
overlooked: on the upper landings of the main stairs a number of partial
footmarks are visible to the attentive visitor – fragments of builders’ boot-prints
cast permanently into the concrete floor. While the power-float machines used
to finish the floors would normally be expected to smooth these over, in this
case the architects have perhaps even encouraged the builders not to be too
careful about ‘covering their tracks’. As these permanent traces of the
construction process appear alongside the more transient footprints left by the
building’s users, they invite us in a modest way to connect how the building was
made to the possibilities of how it might be occupied.

Figures 4, 5, 6: Caruso St John, New Art Gallery Walsall. © J.Hale, 2006.

The powerful sense of human presence suggested by these traces of previous

actions – the double presence of both makers and users conveyed by the
combination of permanent and transient evidence – reminds us of the potential
of architectural materials to act as meaningful surfaces of inscription and
communication. What I have elsewhere described as a cognitive dimension to
this connection between the tectonics of construction and the ‘tectonics of use’
(2014), is perhaps best summed up by returning to the words of the philosopher
Paul Ricoeur:

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 “…it must be said that we understand ourselves only by the long detour
of the signs of humanity deposited in cultural works.” (1981:143)

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