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The Problem With Thinking About or For Urban Design
The Problem With Thinking About or For Urban Design
The Problem With Thinking About or For Urban Design
Mike Biddulph
To cite this article: Mike Biddulph (2012) The Problem with Thinking about or for Urban Design,
Journal of Urban Design, 17:1, 1-20, DOI: 10.1080/13574809.2011.646251
MIKE BIDDULPH
Cardiff University, School of City and Regional Planning, Cardiff, UK
ABSTRACT This paper is concerned with the interface between urban design as a
practical, applied and ultimately creative activity, and the nature of the knowledge
produced to support urban designers in their work. A distinction is being drawn between
thinking about urban design and its resulting urban forms and normative thinking for
urban design. The paper argues that thinking about urban design might usefully be
informed by social science methods, but that the conclusions from such work must be in
some ways limited to the applied field. Thinking for urban design, however, must embrace
the wicked nature of urban design problems, and the interpretive and political nature of
how we come to judge built form solutions. Research for urban design might therefore
embrace methods and practices employed in the arts and humanities just as legitimately as
those adopted in the social sciences. Similarly, assessments of research outputs produced
within a tradition of urban design must adequately account for the nature of the field and
its practices.
Introduction
Urban design fills the gap created by specialisms which had come to ignore
the role of public space in urban life, and in which a compartmentalized view of
built environment disciplinary concerns had emerged (Bentley, 1976; Jacobs &
Appleyard, 1987; Rowley, 1994; Carmona, 1998a; Madanipour, 2006). Urban design
practice should involve applying thinking or theory about specific built form
qualities, at a range of scales, to design and development problems within a
specific spatial territory, typically with a focus on improving the form and
character of the public realm. This applied nature is critical to the discipline. If you
cannot design then you are not embracing urban design as a field. The design nature
of the field also provides a frame through which the relevance of any idea used to
justify its outputs must be judged. This seems to suggest that urban design has
a foot in the arts and humanities, as well as the social sciences. Sometimes the
implications of this do not always seem evident in thinking for urban design which
is introduced below.
This paper argues that there is a critical tension between urban design and its
relationship in particular with the social sciences. It is concerned with the interface
between urban design as a practical, applied and ultimately creative activity, in
contrast with the view of urban design as it is sometimes discussed within the
Correspondence Address: Mike Biddulph, Cardiff University, School of City and Regional
Planning, Glamorgan Building, King Edward VII Avenue, Cardiff CF10 3WA, UK. Email:
BiddulphMJ@cardiff.ac.uk
social sciences. In this respect a clear distinction is being drawn between thinking
about urban design and its resulting urban forms and normative thinking for urban
design (Cuthbert, 2006).
It is interesting to briefly compare this tension with Faludi’s distinction
between theories of and for planning, without drifting too far into planning theory.
Theories of planning concern themselves with how planners understand their
activities and how they operate. It is essentially procedural. Theories for planning
refer to the substantive nature of the activity, referring to what a good plan should
be about or trying to achieve. Faludi is clear when he states that planning theory
should be concerned with theories of planning because they are less problematic
or contested. He also notes that planning theory should draw explicitly on the
methods of the social sciences to substantiate or justify their conclusions (Faludi,
1973). Such an approach would be untenable for urban designers. We need ideas
about procedures and processes for involving people or embracing vested
interests (see discussions about community involvement, controlling design
through planning systems or the use of charettes for example). We are not much
use to anyone, however, if we do not also have knowledge and ideas about the
types of environments we want to design.
Although thinking about urban design is critical to the development of the
discipline, thinking for urban design needs as much attention. This is despite the
fact that research and thinking cannot always be so readily subjected to social
science tests to ratify their claims. Jacobs & Appleyard (1987) acknowledge this in
their urban design manifesto when Jacobs states that:
. . . after a while one knows and accepts that the research into what
makes good places to live will be endless, often without conclusion, and
always value-laden. There comes a time when one says, “Well, I must
take a leap. All of the experience has taught me something. It may be
unprovable, but I think I know what a good place is”. (p. 112)
If taken seriously, the nature of the problems that urban designers seek to address
should probably result in a more open manner of thinking which acknowledges
the political nature of many design decisions, whilst also embracing the multiple
interpretations to which design work must be subjected as much as, if not more
than any process of verification or testing of discrete qualities of a project. Cross
(2007) helpfully refers to this as a ‘designerly way of knowing’. The sciences
(objective, rational, truthful) can help us with discrete pockets of knowledge
which unfortunately are without context. They are typically derived from research
which has stripped away the variables and irrelevant factors with which practice
and real places must always contend. The humanities must also help urban
designers with their concern for analogy, metaphor and evaluation. Our response
to our environment is always imbued with meaning, culture and riddled with
fascinating subjectivities which even guide the social scientists in choices about
what they think are important. Designers also have the role of creating artificial
objects and in urban design terms, spaces and places, which involve synthesis and
interpretation of everything (or in reality something) that has gone before. They
are confronted by decisions that may be infinitely complex if all possible factors
were embraced. Choices need to be made, and so urban design is political to the
extent that we must try and understand how our decisions might favour some
(people, other species or environments) over others. Buchanan (1992) usefully
notes how designers must overcome the fragmented nature of knowledge created
The Problem with Thinking about or for Urban Design 3
(1980) famously, and very importantly, told us that from his empirical work he
found people will comfortably sit on things that are 16 to 17 inches off the ground.
After watching people sitting for some time the Project for Public Spaces suggested
greater latitude of between 7 and 44 inches, as these were the heights observed onto
which people dropped or pulled themselves to sit (http://www.pps.org/arti
cles/sitwalls/). Such straightforward dimensions do not really help us until they
are combined with more interpretive judgements about where people like to sit, for
how long, what for and even how other people might react. The good intentions of
designers hoping to create sitting spaces in residential home zone streets in the UK
were firmly scuppered by some residents voicing no end of concerns about what
this would mean for their privacy and peace (Biddulph, 2003).
Such standards offer important insights into our priorities and in a somewhat
reductive sense we can judge how a very particular matter has been dealt with in a
design. Using space syntax we might judge a street to be more or less connected
and infer a consequence for some small part of the life there, such as passing
footfall for shops or some part of a sense of security (Hillier & Hanson, 1984;
Hillier, 1996, 2004). It will not help us understand whether people find the shops
affordable or are selling the right stuff. It also will not help explain the tendency to
drive to the shops these days because of pressure of time or convenience, or the
tendency of retailers to monopolize space in larger car based stores. We need
to look elsewhere for these explanations. We might decide a scheme provides
adequate parking spaces, and ignore the contested notion of adequate. In general
we might conclude that there are some key dimensions which are important and
which provide minimum or maximum quantities, but they may or may not be
relevant in a given situation. Ticking off the meeting of standards does not help
us understand how different people may be affected by the built results, whilst
they also fail to acknowledge the choices about how to live in and with the
environments that are created. Setting out to complete work which ignores an
interpretive frame through which some ideas might be both established or used
seems to be problematic.
Discrete empirical projects or even resulting standards do not necessarily add
up to much for urban designers if they focus on such specific topics or issues. They
might inspire a direction in design, or they might not. Moudon’s (1992) mapping
of the emerging discipline to determine what urban designers should know,
therefore seems important, not just for what she decides urban designers should
know or think about, but also because she recognizes the importance of the
interpretive frame through which design work must emerge and be ultimately
judged. She suggests critically that:
to build up actual knowledge [for] urban design, one should not look for
the correct approach or theory, but instead compile and assess all the
research that adds to what the urban designer must be familiar with.
(p. 363)
She is also clear about drawing a distinction between thinking that is normative
(what should be) and thinking that is substantive or descriptive (what is and
why). Substantive theory is important because “logically one needs to understand
what cities are made of, how they come about and function, what they mean to
people, and so on, in order to design ‘good’ cities” (p. 363), but “the gap between
knowledge and action is not an easy one to bridge (p. 365), whilst the attractive
normative theories providing “ . . . unmitigated guidance for designers in their
6 M. Biddulph
New Urbanism, 2000). Both traditions start from the same thinkers but are
translated, through the form and language of the principles, to their own
development contexts. Unfortunately, it might be argued that practice has become
divorced from the ideas or theories that it seeks to implement. This is probably
inevitable given the interpretive nature of design work generally and the number
of choices or areas of debate or preference available. We also must, however,
acknowledge the interpretative leap necessary to step from the language of the
design principle to the objective and subjective qualities of a design.
These principles are normative in a discrete sense, in that they offer us insights
into how we might progress our preferred forms of development. Bentley et al. are
clear that their principles, if followed, will lead to the quality of responsiveness,
and a belief that their environments will give more people more choices. This is an
honest statement of bias informed by how the urban design thinking has been
interpreted and applied. Here the forms and priorities are distinctly British,
although the issues that become translated into forms have more global resonance.
However, they also offer a more vivid account of the possibilities afforded by urban
design than previous attempts to deliver something more discrete, such as, for
example, merely a richer townscape which might have dominated urban design
thinking in the UK during the 1970s. This bias in Responsive Environments reflects
the implicitly political nature of urban design outcomes very directly. Going out to
provide people with choice, rather than reflect the desires of particular groups, is a
strong acknowledgement of the significance of urban form in people’s lives, even if
elsewhere we might note only a probabilistic or possible relationship between
people and how they will live in a given place.
Implicit in these works are ideas about good city form. The principles or
criteria point us towards addressing certain issues or answering certain questions
which are underpinned loosely by a certain type of idealism, or what some might
regard as dogma. Talen & Ellis (2002) are bold in their assertion that planning (and
not just urban design) must have a firm notion of good city form (Lynch, 1981).
They are critical of the gap between planning theorists’ concern to develop ever
more sophisticated models of planning process and the ultimately reductive and
unapplied work of urban or spatial analysts who describe existing urban
structures and functions. In their reaction to North American forms of develop-
ment they note that spatial planning must be spatially prescriptive, and that a
concern for the form of development must occupy the planner’s mind in some
way, as it is one way in which the nature of development is judged and lived in.
Critically they ask, “whose normative vision is to be adopted?” (p. 41). They
decide that the right insights are provided by the very same list of authors that
Moudon and Cuthbert also discuss, although they link them explicitly to the
prescriptions of New Urbanism. Whilst Moudon describes the work of these
authors as substantive, Talen & Ellis claim to see an inevitable link between the
writing of these authors and normative design ideas. This is a judgement or
assertion, albeit an informed one. It implicitly involves, for example, asserting
the aesthetic, experiential, economic, social and environmental preferences of
walkability. Many urban designers would do the same (including this author), but
it remains an argument to which forms of evidence must be applied and weighed
against the benefits and lifestyle choices or dependencies brought to us by car use.
Despite all these informed debates, such views must also be weighed against the
differing preferences and preoccupations of, for example, home buyers, planners,
politicians or house builders.
8 M. Biddulph
Alexander’s work is full of design truths which he feels either might be justified
empirically, as a result of historical longevity or even because of spiritual or
intuitive insights (Alexander, 2004, p. 367). They run through a range of scales
where geometries and patterns can be applied and become interconnected. He
does not prescribe how the patterns might be combined to create the good city
because he does not want to predetermine exactly how it should be done. He
leaves space for the designer, the client, the context (or any of the other plethora of
factors which shape urban design work) to affect the outcome (Alexander et al.,
1977; Alexander, 2002, 2004). Even though we might disagree with some of his
patterns (for example, his notion of the neighbourhood; Madanipour, 2001)
ultimately it is the structure of his work and his attitude towards design which
sets it apart. Whilst some might question the extent to which he embraces intuition
or his possibly over precious view of life and vitality, it does not seem to be
completely at odds with the more generally interpretive nature of much design
thinking, whilst the quote about bathroom fixings merely highlights a political
point about where resources might be put to work.
If we are to make sense of this contribution then we must turn away from
Alexander’s personal preferences about good or in his case living cities, just as we
must turn away from the expectations of the social sciences to provide a solid
theoretical basis for our actions. Ultimately we must try and understand the
nature of the problems that urban designers seek to address in their work and
more critically the limitations (or possibilities) that we face in seeking (design)
solutions.
be suggested that the principles of urban design discussed above have combined
these authors and their prescriptions into a successful and reasonably coherent,
albeit discursive, urban design theory which establishes implicitly a notion of the
good city.
Of course, as a practice urban design will always suffer because you cannot
deterministically design society or social relations through the design of urban
space, just as it is self-evident that not everyone will share a view of what a good
city is like. Relationships between the forms of the built environment and how that
environment is lived in are also not reducible to laws or modelling. Consequently,
it seems that the role of designed space within the social sciences has always been
either treated sceptically or ignored. As a factor shaping social relations the design
of urban space has some role to play, whether judged as possible or probabilistic. For
example, I could design a street that might meet the requirements for cycling or
walking. You might still choose to drive. The relation is too ambiguous for the
certainties required of a science. Combine that street form with some social, fiscal
or cultural measures, however, and maybe the role of the space as a resource
becomes clearer if, in combination, people are nudged or forced to change an
aspect of their lifestyle.
textual or even numerical nature of thinking about urban design. It might be possible
to ignore the theorizing that locates urban forms or urban design within theories of
urbanism or spatial analysis. It is less possible to ignore a wall if it becomes the
physical manifestation of any relevant idea. The status of drawing within cognate
areas like planning has waned without a commensurate reflection of the impact of
such a trend on the quality of thinking about space (Dühr, 2007). Within urban
design this would not be possible. The consequences of such drawings may often be
overlooked in the apparent inability of the social sciences to engage properly with
drawn or graphic processes or outputs, although there is a growing interest in visual
methods within the social sciences to which urban designers might contribute
(Emmison & Smith, 2000; Banks, 2001; Pink, 2001; Rose, 2007). Much of this work
involves social scientists trying to understand and interpret the visual outputs of
societies as, for example, visual ethnographies. Of less interest, possibly due to the
lack of skill, is the concern to use drawing as a medium of research and thinking.
One must step closer to the arts to find a fledgling body of academic work which
tries to understand the role drawing makes in the process of formulating and
exchanging ideas (Cross, 2007; Garner, 2008; Treib, 2008) whilst only a few have
attempted to link this to urban design thinking explicitly (Dutoit, 2007). We do not
need to go far into drawing to realize that it can share a lot in common with text to
the extent that drawings can reflect a spectrum of phenomena from the very precise
plan drawing at any scale, through to the impressionistic or the application of
concepts. Urban designers need to know when and how to draw from a long
tradition of graphic work, readily supported by computer technologies, in order to
test, interpret or share their design ideas, but also as a significant realm through
which their knowledge is ultimately shared and tested.
Normative thinking remains an imperative for urban design, and drawing
remains a critical element of the process of applying, conveying and discussing
normative ideas or concepts. There can be no urban design without them. Whilst
thinking about urban design and urban forms has a confirmed place in academic
practices, thinking for urban design seems to be in some kind of limbo due to what
some might perceive to be lack of intellectual status, despite its critical value to the
field. In order to properly judge the value or contribution of ideas or theory to
urban design it is important to reflect a little on the special nature of the problems
that urban designers seek to confront.
. . . the social professions were misled somewhere along the line into
assuming they could be applied scientists – that they could solve
problems in the ways scientists can solve their sorts of problems. (Rittell,
1973, p. 160)
Wicked problems, instead, are:
. . . a class of social system problems which are ill formulated, where the
information is confusing, where there are many clients and decision
makers with conflicting values, and where the ramifications in the whole
system are thoroughly confusing . . . (Buchanan, 1992, p. 15)
Such a view at least saw a shift in thinking about the design process as critically
iterative (Zeisel, 1981).
Rittel & Webber note how scientists and engineers tame problems in order to
establish clear solutions which either prove or disprove a theory, dealing with
variables that can be controlled. Within urban design it might be suggested that it
is not possible to define the problem to which urban design might be a clear
answer, whilst the design solution is only one part of an ongoing discussion about
the nature of the place to which it has been applied.
Because there can be no definitive formulation of an urban design problem,
we subsequently cannot really provide the information or equation we need to
understand or solve it. Design remains an open activity which scans a whole range
of materials applied at different scales to different definitions of the context and
judged by a whole array of participants. This is something that Moudon (1992)
acknowledged and is fundamental to embracing both the interpretive and
political dimensions of urban design. This is not to suggest, however, that what is
left is merely a form of relativism in which anything goes in urban design terms.
There are many conclusions from discrete pieces of research or forms of consensus
which guide the nature of the decisions that might be made. Alexander’s patterns
might be viewed in this way, or the conclusions of Lynch on the features that help
people find their way around, or maybe more tenuously Cullen’s concern for
townscape. The principles of urban design are also a good example, as they set out
a design agenda and point out the issues that need to be addressed without
prescribing, machine-like, particular forms of solution.
If it emerges that there is a problem with some aspect of the built form around
which some form of consensus can be established, then a design might be created
and implemented to meet certain goals, but Rittel & Webber note that wickedness
typically leads to new problems which are thrown up by the consequences
observed from the first solution. Alexander would suggest that generative concepts
and thinking would allow for, and even encourage, constant adjustments which
acknowledge this reality, in contrast to the very static and controlling view of
urbanism embraced in certain regulatory or master planning regimes. Ultimately is
seems fair to suggest, however, that many planning and development regimes
allow individuals to adjust their buildings and spaces to meet their needs, even if
they need approval before the work is done. The suggestion is, however, that you
can design housing, walls, grass and streets; people will live in the result but we
cannot predict exactly how. We might hope that a person will walk in the park; that
kids might play in the play space; that neighbours will look out of their windows or
that people might use the local shop. It is possible. It may even be probable. Given
the range of circumstances that affect any individual, however, we can predict that
The Problem with Thinking about or for Urban Design 13
the situation will change, but we do not really know how. People can be flexible and
adjust their habits in some way in order to accommodate the norms of a particular
place. We know this because people move from low density suburbs to high density
environments and find new practices necessary and new things to enjoy or be
frustrated by.
Rittel & Webber note that a wicked problem does not lead to solutions that are
true or false, but instead to solutions that might be good or bad. It seems fair to
suggest that urban design solutions are never true or false in any objective sense.
There are many people involved in judging the merits of the solutions, each with
their own perspective, criteria or narrative. Some people will invest in a space,
some will live or work in a space, some will manage the space, and some may be
excluded from the space. Some may see it from inside; others may judge it from
the outside. The list goes on. The loose notion of what works must embrace clearly
articulated criteria and be understood from the perspective of those making the
judgement. That is why the urban design principles came into existence, why
urban design must embrace an interpretive frame and why we must embrace the
political nature of the built environment and its consequences. However, there can
be no absolute judgement, just as there can be no perfect design.
The impact of a design solution cannot be completely understood because
there will be “ . . . waves of consequences . . . ” (Rittel & Webber, 1973, p. 163)
within an urban environment which is constantly changing. The criteria cannot
also be clearly prescribed because the judgement about the criteria which might be
ultimately applied is controlled by the (more or less powerful) actors and their
mixed perspectives on a scheme. This can provide no absolute judgement, just
competing perspectives against competing criteria. The urban design principles
create a common language, but how they might be applied and interpreted in a
whole range of contexts is uncertain. Certainly the principles (or the design ideas
that they represent) may be unevenly applied.
Although urban environments contain common characteristics, and even
people living common lives, essentially every solution is original, because the
range of factors that affect every site must ultimately be distinctive to that place.
Economies vary within regions. Cultures vary between neighbourhoods. House
prices vary across streets. Car drivers have drunk various amounts of alcohol.
Although one river might flood, another will not. The same designed street will be
lived in and experienced very differently between different locations. Essentially
every design is original, and because it is a built environment it will have long-
term consequences.
Most scientific questions establish something that can be tested to either
refute or reject a hypothesis or suggest when an objective has been met. Within
urban design it is impossible to decide at what scale exactly problems might be
correctly addressed or who needs to be involved. Urban designers might think
design is the solution. Others may not. Even if design is chosen as a possible
solution, there is no absolute way to determine which solution is exactly the best.
As Rittel & Webber (1973) state:
In such fields of ill-defined problems and hence ill-definable solutions,
the set of feasible plans of action relies on realistic judgement, the
capability to appraise ‘exotic’ ideas and on the amount of trust and
credibility between [urban designer] and clientele that will lead to the
conclusion, “OK let’s try that”. (p. 164)
14 M. Biddulph
When a child gets a rash then it is a symptom of some specific problem which affects
the body’s health. The body, maybe, with a doctor’s help, can return to health,
because there is some consensus of what health is. The same cannot be said of a built
environment. If we see problems in the built environment they may be a symptom
of some higher problem—too much poverty, too much wealth, too much traffic, not
enough traffic, loss of ecology. Because there can be no consensus of what is a healthy
or good built environment, so the analysis and the solution rests on how the problem
is defined. The (poor) quality of the built environment might also be a symptom of
some higher process, but redesigning it will not solve that problem, even if it might
solve other problems that have been more narrowly defined.
Similarly, the extent to which urban design makes a contribution
incrementally to the state of a city must be confronted. At no moment is the
whole city addressed comprehensively through design and development, unless
we want to live in some form of totalitarian regime obsessed with urban design and
development, and believe firmly that the all powerful have profound insights for
us. Instead, and at various scales, incremental changes are made. Rittel & Webber
note that incremental improvements do not guarantee overall improvement, whilst
changes to improve assessment by one set of criteria might actually negatively
affect others. An example might be the steady implementation of Buchanan’s
environment areas within cities (Ministry of Transport, 1963). This saw the
remodelling of the built environment to accommodate traffic onto more efficient
roads between newly defined neighbourhoods, whilst the neighbourhoods
themselves were isolated to stop through traffic. Whilst engineers could then
happily count the increased quantity of traffic trundling through towns, others saw
the negative impacts on the quality of life of residents who were forced to live near
the new roads or the now fragmented and increasingly auto-dependent nature of
community life (Appleyard, 1981). Are cities better as a result of their efforts to
accommodate traffic? It depends who you ask. Is it necessary to accommodate
traffic and if so how much? The ‘question’ surrounding traffic in towns has never
been answered because ultimately it is a wicked problem. It certainly has urban
design implications.
Rittel & Webber argue that an increase in crime can be explained in a number
of ways: “ . . . not enough police . . . too many criminals . . . inadequate laws . . .
cultural deprivation . . . too many guns” (p. 166). Each explanation offers an
approach to addressing the problem. In scientific terms there is more than one
way to refute the hypothesis. They point out that the modes of reasoning required
to deal with wicked problems must be much richer than those that might be used
in social science research generally. This is because contexts and problems are
unique, and because it is not possible to isolate cause and affect factors to allow the
impact of an explanation to be tested. To Rittel & Webber’s discussion of crime we
could say that in urban design terms there are too many strangers, not enough
strangers, not enough surveillance, too many blind corners, not enough lighting,
too much of a single tenure, not enough connecting streets, too introverted and
gated or not gated enough. Urban designers debate how to solve crime too.
It might be suggested that it is the wicked nature of the problems that urban
designers seek to address that creates the gap between thinking about and for
urban design. We might try to define problems in a bounded way so we can apply
social scientific methods to research and convince ourselves that we are
establishing absolute answers to carefully defined questions. Thinking about
urban design seems to do this, to the relief of Cuthbert (2006). Buchanan (1992,
The Problem with Thinking about or for Urban Design 15
p. 16) notes Rittel’s view that this means taking out or ignoring the wickedness in
order to contrive determinate or analytic problems, whereas many urban design
problems are merely indeterminate. Buchanan (1992, p. 16) notes “ . . . design
problems are ‘indeterminate’ and ‘wicked’ because design has no special subject
matter of its own apart from what the designer conceives it to be”. It might be
argued that developers, politicians, engineers, architects and planners also do the
same, and it is within space that these conceptualizations or interpretations
become manifest. Academics also have a role. We know this because Moudon
(1992), in the moment that she tried to tell us what we should know about, was
trying to make sense of the indeterminate, and bring a discipline intellectually
under some kind of control for us. She honestly confronted the greyness between
the areas of knowledge by stepping away from telling us what weight to give
them or advising us in terms of how they should be deployed in design work. The
urban designer concerned with practice, however, has no such luxury as their
problems are rooted in the real world and they must embrace the indeterminacy of
their moment. Urban design must confront the contingent nature of its outputs
and the genuine complexity through which a scheme might be judged.
intellectual endeavour and skill involved in the applied nature of this subject.
Studio, for example, is typically the first setting in which the challenges of
drawing and thinking meet, and the relevance of any urban design ideas become
apparent. Students and practitioners are researching and thinking, but not in a
social science sense, so it is odd that others working to create ideas of relevance to
a field might be required to act differently. The relevance of design precedents,
typological and tissues analyses, context analyses and the whole plethora of
potential methods for appraising a place collide with any urban design principles,
the various communities of interest and no less the client’s brief; all of which must
be interpreted and applied to the setting.
What this means for research is unclear. Urban designers might want to
continue to work within the comfort zone of the social sciences and build on the
substantive knowledge base outlined by Moudon (1992). Some might take these
discrete areas of knowledge and formulate them into relevant principles or rules
of thumb which are useful for the field of practice. Others might be allowed to find
alternative ways of working and thinking to inspire practice.
In the UK we can examine the nature of outputs that urban designers produce
by reviewing the work submitted to the 2008 research assessment exercise
(www.rae.ac.uk). It is then interesting to compare this with the outputs from the
most successful planning, architecture and art and design schools in the UK.
Figure 1 shows the nature of the urban design outputs compared to the outputs for
these schools. As an art urban design has something in common with other areas
of design, and it is insightful to note the currency in art and design schools given
to a wide range of outputs as necessary for both practising and disseminating
ideas within the fields. Good architecture schools have stepped back from design,
and may be dominated by building scientists, although the outputs for the best
schools are still very mixed, as one might hope given the practical nature of the
field. The role of books is interesting, possibly because they are an effective setting
for showing the images associated with the field. Planning, however, is the home
of 90% of urban designers working within the academic sector. The outputs from
the two best schools are wholly dominated by edited journal publications. Urban
designers, to some extent, reflect this trend, although in line with architecture,
they have tried to maintain book publications. Still, both for planning and in
particular urban design, there is no currency for what must be regarded as
unorthodox outputs which might, as one would hope, embrace design more fully.
The conclusion must be that you can be extremely successful at achieving a whole
range of positively judged outputs suitable to art and design, less so but still
significantly for architecture, but not for planning. If thinking for urban design
were to be acknowledged as a critical component of the field, and the wicked
nature of urban design problems ultimately accepted, we must possibly wonder
why urban designers are located in planning schools as part of this assessment
regime, or alternatively wonder why the encouragement and assessment of urban
design thinking is undertaken on such narrow terms.
Conclusion
Urban design is an applied discipline which must confront the normative nature
of design and practice. This does not mean that we must answer Talen & Ellis’
question of which normative theory we must apply. This is simply a wicked
problem to which the answer is contingent. This is also not to suggest that urban
The Problem with Thinking about or for Urban Design
Figure 1. Comparing academic outputs for urban designers and well-performing planning, architecture and art and design schools
17
18 M. Biddulph
designers are artists. They are not free to do exactly as they want. We cannot
ignore what the social sciences tells about the nature of spaces that people inhabit,
or how they might inhabit space. Many important ideas and theories about how to
design can be learnt from work emerging from within the social sciences.
Ultimately, however, it is the wicked nature of urban design problems which
must be confronted if the relevance of this thinking is to be tested and applied. It is
this wicked nature which Cuthbert seems frustrated by in his search for more
robust theory making. Urban designers must not be misled into assuming they
could be applied scientists. They must remember that there is an art to their work,
that their methods are partly arts (or, for example, studio) based, but also that they
need substantive criteria or principles which need to be debated, updated, tested
and applied. Urban designers must embrace the interpretive and very political
nature of the context in which they work, and the solutions that they propose. A
tendency to dismiss normative thinking in other related disciplines like planning
merely reflects a perceived need for knowledge to be justified by tests applied
from within, and framed by social science methodologies. Urban design needs to
have no such insecurity. Although research for urban design might usefully
choose to embrace social science methods, ultimately the relevance of any lessons
emerging from any such work might only nudge practice in a particular direction
given the complexity or wickedness of practice.
If research and thinking are to be relevant to the applied nature of urban
design, then the methods and outputs must also be allowed to look towards the
arts or humanities for guidance, inspiration or possibilities. Reviewing the
research outputs from the UK’s best schools of art and design we might consider
for once that maybe a design or an exhibition might show us the future of thinking
in some corner of our field, just as the best precedents or case studies are a
valuable tool for practitioners. Designers must also be confident enough to reject
judgements of their field and its research which merely apply social science tests,
because if urban design is to be taken seriously then the tests do not always apply.
Acknowledgements
The author would sincerely like to thank Marion Roberts, University of
Westminster, and also the anonymous reviewers of an earlier version of this
paper for their very thoughtful, generous and helpful comments.
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