The city is largely built up:1 working with and through the existing built environment is one of the foremost imperatives of our time. In particular, the large number of residential buildings continues to shape our cities’ form and appearance, and thus also their atmosphere. Thus, this text focuses on selected examples of façades in this field of architecture. To this day, views on what a façade should be and what its functions are vary widely. Not least, the question of its efficient construction regarding the climate control of the interior has always been seen as a major challenge for reconciling aesthetics and technical building systems. The question has become increasingly pressing in recent years; in view of the climate crisis, the gap between the seemingly conflicting functions of the façade – particularly between aesthetics, ecology and economy – has widened considerably. However, it has been overlooked that neither the techniques of climate control nor the necessary economic considerations contradict aesthetics, nor do they prevent the creation of aesthetically pleasing buildings.

In particular, the aesthetic treatment of our urban building façades – which, for me, includes not only new construction but also maintenance and conservation – fulfils an existential function for our society. This idea will be set out below and illustrated by drawing on a particular parallel. To this end, it must first be recalled that the word “façade” stems from Latin and subsequently the Italian term facies / facciata, meaning “face”. Certainly, the French “façade” has also played its part in shaping the English term (and the German “Fassade”).

Independence and similarity

The first modern portrait – a painted likeness of real people – appeared in Florence in the 15th century, remarkably close in time to the first façade constructed in the same city, acting as the “face” of the house. In 1440, Filippo Lippi painted a portrait of the couple Lorenzo di Ranieri Scolari and Angiola di Bernardo Sapiti, facing each other in profile. Barely ten years later, around 1450, construction began on the Palazzo Ruccelai for Giovanni Rucellai, based on a design by Leon Battista Alberti.

What happened there? Viewed from today’s perspective, the following is evident: in both the portrait and the façade, the fleeting encounter and the act of looking are solidified and given form. We experience this form as a comforting assurance of our physical and emotional presence. And something else happens at the moment of shaping through the portrait and the façade: we strike a balance between our individuality and our social nature. On the one hand, we explore our individuality, while at the same time learning to respect the other as equally independent. We thus reinforce both our independence from and our similarity to others; in this highly contradictory way we consolidate our place in the city and within the group. There is also a third factor: society is changing. The contradictions in our interactions with the society around us inevitably lead to changes in the forms of the façades and portraits, as well as their appearances. These reassurances are repeatedly called into question, while new modes of representation are attempted: as Hans Belting has set out in his fascinating book Faces. Eine Geschichte des Gesichts, every “face” that is translated into an image is always also a mask.2 By donning the mask of a social role or an idealised image for society, we effectively adopt a resemblance to others: we conform. Nevertheless, our independence and individuality remain recognisable as uniqueness.

Such negotiations of our connectedness and independence in architecture, as well as in the images we create of ourselves, require an abundance of free space and time. It seems to me, however, that “taking one’s time” no longer plays a role at all in the very place where most images are currently created: the Internet. Speed has triumphed and has done so in a “space” that is hyper-abstract. As a result, web-based products such as the so-called media façade and its counterpart, the selfie, lack a physical/spatial anchorage and consequently an aesthetic power of concentration.3

Urban society, façade and portrait

The portrait of Giovanni di Paolo Rucellai, created posthumously in 1540 amidst the buildings in Florence he had commissioned, demonstrates the parallel between portrait and façade with almost dramatic vehemence. Rucellai managed to lead a quiet yet influential life in Florence as a banker and patron of the arts, despite his family’s close friendship with the Strozzi family, who were banished from the city following the Medici’s seizure of power in 1434. Rucellai remained in the city, befriended Cosimo de’ Medici and withdrew from the city’s public life for 27 years.

In a sense, one could therefore say that the completion of his palazzo’s façade around the year 1455 marked the beginning of his return to the public sphere – especially because, as already indicated, it was the first time in a European city that a modern concept of the front of the house, “facing” the street, had been implemented. Or put more simply: for the first time, the already familiar elements of a frontage were combined in a way to create a façade that, unlike the fortress-like palaces of other Florentine families, turned its privacy towards the public space in a friendly and inviting manner. This development is both European and modern. Depending on the time, place and society – and certainly also heavily influenced by the climate – we are familiar with concepts of private life that allow no view into the interior, but are instead entirely orientated towards an inner garden or courtyard.

The conviction expressed here – that the history of European urban façades is rooted in the aesthetically shaped idea of their social and emphatic openness, while also acknowledging a silent and enigmatic side – differs markedly from the interpretations repeatedly discussed by politically committed authors in the relevant specialist literature. From the perspective of this architectural criticism, the concept and design of façades stem from a pre-modern, feudal era and have therefore lost their legitimacy today, precisely because they have always conveyed the messages of that era. Their courtesy – the skilful mediation between inside and outside, between the private, semi-private and public spheres – is discredited as a lie, as a veil that merely deceives rather than revealing the truth of what lies within. The “Façade Manifesto” published by Arch+ in October 2021 provides an outstanding example of this recurring rejection. “This issue looks the contemporary city in the face, attempts to peer behind its masks and assess the value of its images.” At the heart of the editorial lies the assumption that, since their invention in the 15th century – and the Palazzo Rucellai offers an excellent example – façades have primarily embodied “the programme of power”.4It should be noted here that Hannah Arendt’s definition of political power allows a different interpretation of the political significance of urban façades. “Power arises from the human capacity not merely to act or to do something, but to join forces with others and to act concertedly with them. Power is never held by an individual; it is held by a group and remains in existence only as long as the group holds together.”5

And so the already intimated thesis takes centre stage: portraits and façades are ultimately part of our uninterrupted communication, our multi-layered dialogue with the society we live in.

An urban aesthetic of dialogue?

By 1756, the view that the façade represented the communicating “face of the house” had become an established fact in architectural theory, and had been so for almost 300 years. Jacques François Blondel, an architect and town planner commissioned by the king in Paris, explains the central significance of this metaphor for public space as follows: “Façade. It is the frontispiece or the external form of a building. […] From the decoration of a building’s façade, one must judge its significance, the motive behind its construction and the dignity of its owner; its composition reveals an architect’s skill, and from it intelligent people discern the relationship he has established between the exterior and the interior […]. One might say that the façade is to a building what physiognomy is to the human body: the latter reveals the nature of the soul, while the former allows us to judge the interior of the building. It is fitting that the architect should choose a style of decoration which unambiguously identifies sacred monuments, public buildings, royal residences and private dwellings as such.”6

Blondel’s entry in the Encyclopédie leaves no doubt that the primary function of façades is to aid orientation by mediating between the public sphere and the spaces concealed within the buildings, their functions hidden. Sacred? Private? Urban? Royal? Bourgeois? Alternative? Even though the spectrum of architectural tasks in the city has shifted and expanded, the architectural expression of comprehensibility and accessibility remains urgent and relevant.

In the municipalities of Flanders and northern Italy, the European development of a public sphere accessible to all city dwellers everywhere began as early as the Middle Ages. This development was very closely linked to the urban layout, which was, and continues to be, significantly shaped by the large number of private residential buildings that line the streets and squares. From 1450 onwards – following Alberti’s design for the Rucellai – the concept of the façade as an aesthetic means of communication between members of urban society was put to the test on these residential building façades – naturally in relation to all public buildings such as churches, town halls, civic centres, etc. The variety and density of the solutions for the participants in this dialogue – namely the façades – are based on a characteristic of the city that is inscribed in its very DNA. I am referring to the scale of the plot divisions, which were extremely tightly spaced, particularly in neighbourhoods dedicated to housing, crafts and trade. The approximate average size of a plot within the urban fabric was, and remains, between 6 and 12 metres in width by 20 metres in length. Its height – at least in the case of residential buildings – also revolved around a specific dimension, which was long linked to the possibilities of ascending. Over the centuries, the stability of these dimensions is truly astonishing. They are closely linked to all aspects of daily life and were intended to ensure that as many people as possible could participate in urban life, both economically and culturally.

The idea that the design of the façade and plot division should be immediately accessible to the movement of our gaze as we walk forward, and to our intellect and emotions – that the “face of the house” should thus correspond to our field of vision – is confirmed by another 18th-century witness: in 1770, Roland de Virloys wrote: “the façade […] is the exterior of a […] building, which can be taken in at a glance. There are simple façades and others that are more or less magnificent.”7 Can we therefore claim that a resemblance to detached houses and a sense of small-scale detail – without becoming narrow-minded – are expressions of a sense of warmth that is beneficial to us? Or must we, even if they are beneficial, reject both characteristics as a lie and a false pretence? For in many cases, they largely no longer correspond to real economic conditions. The narrow façades of old buildings may conceal shopping centres stretching from end to end, while newly constructed, small-scale façades that suggest detached houses might accommodate a large hotel. Neither ownership of the land nor the actual use of the building structure are thereby reflected. Although this is true, it was never the intention of the façade to be merely a faithful mirror of the interior; it has always also been a place of mediation and transition, of concealment and embellishment in the interests of its sociability, its participation in shared public life. Perhaps, therefore, despite a discrepancy between interior and exterior, it would be right to preserve or restore the image of small-scale development, because it is more immediately accessible to our perception and our sense of place. Furthermore, I am convinced that our cities – particularly in their centres – should support a much more diversified economy, specifically on the ground floors of their residential buildings. If this is achieved initially by preserving the image of modestly sized detached houses, it will strike a chord.8 Through aesthetic form, we create a sense of confidence that may well lead to the revival of small-scale economic structures in trade and craftsmanship. All forms of the service sector – both public and private – would also benefit greatly from moving away from the “SUV principle”, i.e. bigger, wider, taller. The proof is yet to be seen. We have absolutely nothing to lose.

Self-confidence between grandeur and beautiful simplicity

It would be a major step forward to place far greater demands on the owners of urban properties to ensure the ongoing upkeep and preservation of their buildings and their “distinctive faces”. The fact that in Krefeld, where I live, as in many other local communities, entire streets and neighbourhoods have to be declared as “refurbishment cases” – where so-called “derelict properties” lie languishing – is partly the result of failed urban development policy. But it is also the result of owners withdrawing from a “dialogue with the urban community”. Often, they no longer even live in the city and leave their properties to be managed in a haphazard manner. That is clearly detrimental and sheds a poor light on those who act in this way.

And what image did the members of Florentine urban society have of themselves in the mid-15th century? They witnessed the new, welcoming façade of the Palazzo Rucellai and, inspired no doubt by Jan van Eyck and his portraits in Flanders, desired similar portraits at the same location, whose enchantingly lifelike quality always retained an air of mystery. Having grown wealthy through commerce and trade, Florence had established a new system of political self-government. And, despite all the conflicts and tensions among its members, the city’s society developed a dense network of political, personal and cultural relationships, taking responsibility for defining the boundaries between public and private spheres. Architecture and art gave appropriate expression to this new, urban civic self-confidence through façades and portraits.

On the one hand, as mentioned above, early portraits displayed the social masks. Wealth, taste and education, as well as social status and gender, were expressed through clothing, hairstyles, jewellery, hand gestures and posture. On the other hand, there was a clear desire to be recognised as a person and an individual. The mask of a social role thus always remained transparent. Thus, distinct symbols were used to ensure recognisability. In the double portrait mentioned at the outset, the painter Filippo Lippi placed the heraldic symbols of the Scolari family in the man’s hands.9

Lorenzo di Ranieri Scolari and Angiola di Bernardo Sapiti respectively appear in front of and behind a framed architectural composition of two windows, on the left of the picture and in the background. We are thus looking through a third imaginary opening into a living room and, at the same time, through it, enjoying the view of buildings and avenues. In the foreground, Angiola, turned towards the left, displays all the trappings of luxurious, fashionable French attire, including a Flemish headdress with a precious cloth. Lorenzo, for his part, looks in from the left-hand side through the slightly slanted window; his profile is crowned by a bright red cap. The entire performance “stages the public persona”10 of the woman, the man and their familial bond. It stages their political and social anchoring within Florentine society and, with the windows positioned diagonally across from one another, clearly refers to the space of this proud representation – namely the façades or indeed the public face – of the private residence. It is precisely at the intersection between these two spheres of proud communities that the modern portrait emerged and continued to balance on this threshold right up to the present day. Furthermore, the connection between social role and individual personality has been preserved in portrait painting throughout the centuries. Not even photography can do away with the mask of social roles, and certainly not the selfie.11

Architecture for us

In the photograph of the Palazzo Rucellai, taken from the side, it becomes very clear that its façade was essentially superimposed onto the building. Indeed, the client had the front of the Palazzo used to unite several older buildings that were in the family’s possession. The two identically treated entrance doors, which Alberti chose instead of a single central gateway, are a reminder of the narrower plots. The centre is seamlessly integrated into the seven axes of the façade and marked by the same pilaster strips that structure the entire façade between the large bifora windows, evenly spaced and flat, as if drawn. With this façade, Leon Battista Alberti has created an architectural beacon, both technically and aesthetically. He was the first architect of the modern era to use the term “façade” conceptually, explaining its practical construction in the first edition of his Ten Books on Architecture. First published in 1485, the treatise states: “The façade and the vestibule are adorned.”12 Alberti emphatically stresses that this ornamentation is intended for the public, adding: for everyone. An integral part of the concept of this new phenomenon is its pictorial nature, its character as a mask. In the 17th century, Vincenzo Scamozzi interpreted the idea that the front of a house is its face in very direct terms: the windows are the eyes of the house, receiving the light; the door is the mouth, through which things are carried in and out.13 This direct analogy, however, obscures the architectural power of the metaphor. It demanded – and continues to demand – that fundamental questions regarding materiality, construction, scale, proportion and decorative detail be addressed in relation to the façade, always within the context of a constant dialogue with the “faces” of neighbouring buildings. Each “face” is individual, reflecting the everyday lives of its inhabitants, yet it is also engaged and outward-looking, and thus always courteous and veiled in the interests of social cohesion.

Thus, the façades of private residential buildings, as the faces of the city, have played a decisive role in the historical transformation of and participation in public space. Accordingly, the architectural historian Wolfgang Kemp noted the following in 2009 in the chapter “Die Fassade” of his magnificent book Architektur analysieren: “There is a […] Western ideal of the building and its architectural context, which has prevailed since the Middle Ages and which perhaps represents the strongest convention and one of the greatest achievements of our building culture. According to this, both elements – the building and the outdoor space – interact in a kind of eternal dialogue, face to face, and thus differ markedly from the architecture of many southern regions since antiquity, where the house turns its back on the street. […] It is the choice in favour of an architecture of ‘being present’, of ‘pour nous’, as opposed to an architecture of ‘existence’ and of ‘en-soi’ […].”14

Naturally, throughout the long history of European cities, the façades of private homes have always also been an expression of the style of the time – that is, of the prevailing trends – and have followed the evolution of the design language and construction methods of the places in which they were built. At the same time, they reflect the personal preferences of their owners and of course the approach or work ethic of the architects. To quote Wolfgang Kemp, despite all these contradictory characteristics, they nevertheless and above all remain “architecture for us”. This is entirely independent of the fact that a private and intimate life is concealed behind the walls and windows. Excessive self-expression is just as out of place on the urban façades of residential buildings as is its opposite: namely, silent abstraction.

Even today, Dutch cities offer us the surprising sight of a successful blend of stimulating diversity and disciplined harmony. This is certainly aided by strict adherence to planning regulations, but also by an unspoken social convention that keeps individual self-expression in check, always embedding it within a larger community. This specific characteristic of Dutch society can already be observed in 17th-century paintings and urban planning. Despite all the inventiveness, artistic creativity and entrepreneurial spirit of its individual members, this society attached the utmost importance to a consensus that had to be renegotiated time and again. A marvellous family portrait by Pieter de Hooch makes this aspect unmistakable. The highly individual faces of the family members float above fashionable, finely pleated white collars, which – though varied in shape – are worn without exception by everyone in the picture, just as almost all of them wear black clothing, black being one of the most elegant and expensive colours of the time. It provides a striking contrast to the white of the collars. This idea of a thoroughly contradictory combination of strong individuality and, at the same time, discipline for a shared way of life in the city was preserved and carried forward in the Netherlands. And even though it is interpreted differently and in more varied ways today, we can experience it clearly in a new neighbourhood in Delft, which has been under development since 2015.A

And in other countries, for example in Germany? In 2014, the city of Siegen adopted a design code intended to provide a new, primarily aesthetic impetus for urban development. Following the decision to remove the so-called “Siegplatte” – an area above the river in the city centre that had been used as a car park since 1969 – there were significant shifts in urban planning policy. And the beautiful results of the subsequent redesign – planned and implemented by Atelier Loidl from Berlin – that are visible today are also due to the lasting impact of the design code, which affects the entire city centre and is gradually transforming it. The key aesthetic requirements in Siegen’s design code are all based on the idea of a clearly perceptible structure, proportion and attention to detail.

Ҥ 7 Provisions on the external design of buildings

Paragraph 1: Façade design

b In the case of new buildings and the amalgamation of existing buildings in sub-areas A, D and E (meaning: the Oberstadt commercial district, inner-city residential quarters and the historical old town) that extend across several plots or parcels of land or across a plot width of more than 12.00 m, the building fronts must be divided into small-scale façade sections resembling those of detached houses, in accordance with the original parcel division (see Annex 2). [A D E]

c Façade sections in sub-areas A, D and E must be defined by at least two of the following structural elements: different colour schemes on the façade; vertical or horizontal sculptural structural elements; different parapet elements; different parapet heights for the window openings; different opening elements between the façade sections. [A D E]

d Façades of new buildings with a length of more than 50.00 m must be divided by architectural structuring elements (e.g. columns, piers, pilaster strips, trellises) into sections of no more than 20.0 m. Where the building is 10.00 m or wider, the façade must also be horizontally divided.”

It is remarkable that, although this by-law was naturally the subject of heated debate, it was nevertheless adopted; this signals that the arguments so often put forward against design by-laws – namely that tastes vary greatly, that everyone has differing ideas of beauty, and that people have a right to freedom in the design of their “own” house – have been overcome. There are, of course, other factors currently preventing the urgently needed shift towards a different building culture. These include: a drive for profit that transforms land and houses into mere investment assets without regard for their actual utility; technical developments that design houses to be as large and as smooth as possible, disconnected from their surroundings and thus supposedly climate-proof; and, last but not least, the conviction – prevalent since classical modernism – that the construction of spacious detached buildings is preferable to the maintenance and development of close-knit urban neighbourhoods.15

Backed by two voices, I would like to conclude with a plea for the preservation, maintenance and construction of our cities’ façades – and of the image we have of ourselves and others – in a way that appeals to all the senses and is therefore aesthetic. I would like to advocate an urban aesthetic that accepts social roles and masks just as much as the inviolable individuality of every single person. Only through this connection can a reorientation or reclaiming of liveable cities and communities succeed. In turn, I am convinced that these are fundamental to our democratic way of life. Heinz Bude writes in Das Gefühl der Welt: Über die Macht von Stimmungen: “Ethical competence has to do with communal embeddedness, personal courage and a practice of social commitment.”16 In March 2026, Carlotta Voß writes under the title “Personale Demokratie”: “[…] to speak of the person is to speak of the breathtaking beauty of their constitutive potentiality and, at the same time, of their great vulnerability. Could this give rise once more to normative strength for liberal democracy? After all, liberal democracy can be understood as the historical project that has elevated personality and individuality, together with the constitutional ideals of freedom and equality, to the status of regulative ideals. From this perspective, liberal democracy is a personal way of life (…).”17

 







This essay is based on the lecture “Talking Heads: die sich wandelnden Gesichter der Stadt” delivered at the 13th Architecture Day at the University of Siegen in November 2025. The “Talking Heads” were intended as a pointed, explicitly historical introduction to the theme of the Architecture Day, which was dedicated to urban façades as a challenging area of current urban development policy. Thank you to Prof. Tobias Becker for the invitation, as well as to M.Sc. Christina Prochaska, who was responsible for the concept and moderation, and to Stephan Almasi, First Chair of the Friends’ Association, for his support of the event.