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Leon Battista Alberti: A Case Against the Hylomorphic Model of Architecture

Introduction

In Making, Ingold emphasizes the importance of creation and our relationship with materials. This idea becomes clearer when he discusses the process of building in the chapter ‘On building a House’. By drawing on Leon Battista Alberti’s texts and theories, Ingold deepens our understanding of the process of building and what it really means to make something. Ingold uses Alberti’s work, primarily his text ‘On the Art of Building’ (1450) to support his central argument: that the process of making ought to be understood as a process of working with the materials for creation, rather than using them to create.

About Leon Battista Alberti

Leon Battista Alberti was a true Renaissance figure, humanist, theorist, and architect. In Ingold’s book, the focus is on Alberti’s architectural work and how it shapes our understanding of the creative process (Kelly-Gadol, 2019). Before connecting the two thinkers, however, it’s important to understand Alberti himself. He was known for his precision and for creating structures that stood apart for their balance, harmony, and attention to detail (Kelly-Gadol, 2019). This dedication to process and form is likely what drew Ingold to Alberti’s ideas, as they align with his own belief that making is a way of thinking and engaging with the world.

Ingold’s Case Against Hylomorphism

Across the length of the book, Ingold builds a case against the hylomorphic model of creation. The overarching argument across the text is to prove that designing and making is one and the same, or at the very least, should be considered as the same thing. This is exemplified in his analysis of Alberti’s writings on architecture. Based on a Vitruvian model, Alberti seeks to elevate the Renaissance architect to a higher standing than the carpenter-masons of the time (2013, 49). In a perfect illustration of the hylomorphic model, Alberti claims that the architect is the true mastermind who designs a building, while the carpenter is a mere ‘instrument’ who marries the preconceived form to the material (Ingold, 2013, 49). Though the carpenter is the one working with the materials, it is only by virtue of the architect’s design that the structure comes to life. Not only does this argument subordinate the carpenter-mason, but it also reduces the material to something that holds the form devised by the architect. This is in complete opposition to Ingold’s idea of creation, which places materials and creators on an equal standing and argues creation is a process of correspondence between the two, rather than an imposition of form on the materials. 

Alberti’s Model of Architecture—The perfection of the Hylomorphic model?

Traditionally, the study of architecture is considered to be concerned with designing blueprints which serve as the basis for building structures. The creativity rests on the shoulders of the architect, while the construction of the structure is nothing more than bringing the architect’s ideas to life. This is also reflected in the real world, seeing the vast economic and social disparity between architects and construction workers.  This is in line with what Ingold describes as the conventional idea of making, writing “…in the case of the artefact, to draw a line between making and using means marking a point in the career of a thing at which it can be said to be finished, and moreover that this point of completion can only be determined in relation to a totality that already exists.” (Ingold,  2013, 47). Alberti’s approach towards architecture follows this same idea, emphasizing the architect’s ability ‘to project whole forms in mind without any recourse to the material’. This is the traditional process of making, which takes place with the final form in mind. However, Ingold argues against it, claiming that the actual process of creation is just as important rather than only the finished result. 

Ingold describes hylomorphism as the imposition of a practitioner’s ideas on the materials extraneous to their body (2013, 21). Alberti’s writings on architecture seem to be based on the Vitruvian and Platonic ideals, which emphasize the need for an architect to be a learned scholar, and a ‘ruler’ who directs the workman (Ingold, 2013, 50). In similar fashion, Alberti seeks to raise the architect from the position of a mere craftsman, drawing a clear distinction between the two by describing the carpenter as an ‘instrument in the hands of the architect’ (Ingold, 2013, 49). Ingold also comments on the contradicting ideas expressed in Alberti’s treatise, in how he emphasizes the importance of gathering local and practical knowledge while also endorsing a hylomorphic model of creation, and how even though he acknowledges that the ‘hand of the skilled workman’ is indispensable in enjoining the form to the material, it is evident that he considers the architect’s design, informed by his intellect and scholarship, to be far more important in the hierarchy of the process of building.

Design and Geometry

Ingold also talks about design through an examination of geometry, particularly, Alberti’s lineaments. While Alberti’s lineaments are abstract, geometric projections on paper, the carpenter-mason’s geometry is informed through experience and is tactile (Ingold, 2013, 51). Alberti’s idea of geometry was shaped by Euclidean principles, whereas the carpenter’s geometry was learned ‘on the job’. The carpenter-mason’s lineaments emerge through correspondence with material, their drawings a ‘craft of weaving with lines ’ (Ingold, 2013, 55).

In ‘Drawing the Line’, Ingold further explores how Alberti’s idea of architectural drawings, meant to specify the form of a structure that is to be built, is a form of technical drawing (Ingold, 2013, 125). He also comments on how the architect’s drawings can become an end in themselves, to the point where builders find it difficult to implement these designs in the actual materials (2013, 126). Here, we can clearly see the effects of architecture as a practice being divorced from the process of creation. The architect’s drawings become designs for the sake of designing, as they are unable to imagine the practical realities their designs must contend with.

This is exemplified in how architectural designs deal with rainwater. Most architects do not design with rainwater in mind, which often ends up resulting in leaks (Ingold, 2013, 48). Interestingly, Alberti himself emphasizes the importance of accounting for rainwater when designing roofs, introducing another contradiction in his ideas (Ingold, 2013, 49). The recurring theme of incongruent ideas of creation in Alberti’s ‘On the Art of Building in Ten Books’ is suggestive of the fact that perhaps Alberti had not anticipated how this split between architect and material realities of building would evolve, to the point where what was considered to be basic knowledge for an architect back then is now often overlooked.

Conclusion

Thus, by examining Alberti’s theories, Ingold challenges the separation between designing and making. During Alberti’s time, most craftsmen were not formally educated, yet this allowed them to think beyond established norms (Ingold,  2013, 52). Their creativity relied on practical knowledge passed down through generations, as well as a deep, hands-on relationship with their tools axes, chisels, trowels, plumb lines, strings, and especially templates, straight edges, and squares (Ingold,  2013, 52). This connection between maker and material supports Ingold’s argument that creativity and understanding emerge when the creator considers themselves and the materials to be an equal participant in the process of creation. 

Ingold, T. (2013). Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055

Kelly-Gadol, Joan. “Leon Battista Alberti Paintings, Bio, Ideas.” The Art Story. Accessed October 19, 2025. https://www.theartstory.org/artist/alberti-leon-battista/. 

Insha and Anati

Ordinary Old Rock—My Evocative Object

I have this rock I picked up at a national park in Mumbai. A light-coloured, perfectly round rock with spiral lineation running along its surface. It may be an odd hobby, but I have always liked collecting rocks. However, I usually end up throwing them away within a couple day because pretty as they might be, there’s not much you can really do with a rock. I thought this would be the case for this rock to but surprisingly enough, even after all these years and a trip across the globe, I still have it with me.

At first I just didn’t have the heart to throw it away. It was too perfect a rock, almost circular with a completely smooth surface . So I just kept it on my desk and eventually forgot about it. It lay there catching dust until I was packing to leave for university. On an impulse, for some inexplicable reason, I decided to pack this rock to take it with me to Canada. I thought I could use it as paperweight, but that was just an excuse (after all, who even uses paperweight in this day and age?). 

I had never lived away from home. In all my eighteen years of existence, I had never faced a situation where I had to pack my entire life into a suitcase to move to a place entirely foreign to me. Even after cramming most of my belongings into a suitcase, there was still an entire house worth of my cherished items that I had to leave behind. My belongings have always been sacred to me. I did not even have the heart to throw away my elementary school textbooks but here I was, abandoning almost everything that I held close to my heart. My favourite books, my childhood photo albums, the old wooden box filled with random knick knacks that I had collected over the years; I had to leave almost all of it behind. I stuffed this tiny rock in between my clothes, a desperate attempt to lay claim to anything I could get my hands on. Though I could not take everything with me, I would do my best to take anything I could, even this tiny inconsequential rock.

Now, I have been living in Canada for almost four years. I have painstakingly built a whole new ecosystem of objects of my own. Books, clothes, shoes, and other random paraphernalia. Almost everything I brought over from India has either been discarded or replaced, and the few things I have left have melded into my  new life so well that I can hardly distinguish between my old belongings and the ones I acquired here. Everything changed, but that rock still remains. I have moved thrice, and every single time I have made sure to take the rock with me. A lot of people have asked about its significance and I never really know what to say in response to that. It seems a bit strange and even a little foolish to tell people that I brought this plain-looking rock from India. This is in line with Turkle’s statement that we are more comfortable with objects that have a specific use rather than considering objects as something with an emotional connection (5). Perhaps the rock’s lack of purpose is precisely why it has stood the test of time. If it truly had some use, it would have been abandoned once it stopped serving that purpose. 

The Rock as an Object of Transition and Passage

Of course, the rock is not the only object from India I have with me. But the rock has assumed a special place in my life, as an active reminder of home. Turkle claims that such periods of transition make a person vulnerable to the objects and experiences from that period of transition. She draws on Victor Turner’s idea of liminality, emphasising how times of transition are an important site for the creation of new symbols. Drawing from these ideas, I believe this period of transition granted this otherwise innocuous object the affordance of being a symbolic representation of home and my life at the time. A freeze frame, capturing a very specific moment in time.

During that transitional period, when I was thrust into a completely new environment, this rock served as a comforting reminder of home. A real, tangible proof that I was once familiar with the land that now feels so foreign to me. This lines up with Turkle’s observation that during traditional rites of passage, when person is forced to part with all that they consider to be familiar, they are more susceptible to objects and experiences of that time. At a time my life was in constant flux, this rock was the only constant. Not only does the rock embody a specific time and place, but it has also come to represent that version of myself—one who was so desperate to hold onto the past that she clung on to anything she could, even a tiny old rock. 

Since then, I’ve moved several times, and with each move, I’ve grown more comfortable with the idea of letting things go. Change no longer unsettles me the way it once did. So now, after all this time, the rock no longer serves solely as a reminder of home. Instead, I’ve come to see it as a thread linking together the different versions of myself that have emerged through each transition in my life.

Works Cited

  1. Turkle, Sherry. “WHAT MAKES AN OBJECT EVOCATIVE.” Evocative Objects: Objects We Think With, 307–326. 
  2. Turkle, Sherry. “INTRODUCTION: THE THINGS THAT MATTER.” Evocative Objects: Objects We Think With, 3–10.