FEDERICA ZAMBELETTI / KOOZ Your exhibition Stop Drawing directly references the 2021 Peter Fischli exhibition at the Fondazione Prada, Stop Painting. That show explored a series of specific ruptures within the history of painting in the last 150 years, intertwined with the emergence of new social factors and cultural values. What prompted the Stop Drawing exhibition at the MAXXI?

PIPPO CIORRAI'll be honest: the initial spark for this exhibition did, in fact, come from the Prada show. That project had been lingering in my mind for some time. Eventually, I began conversations with the board of directors at MAXXI to get the project formally approved, secure funding, and set the timeline. The idea received strong support — especially from the director of the architecture department, who was particularly encouraging.

I also felt it was important to share the concept with the team at Fondazione Prada. They were open and generous, supportive of our intention to revisit Peter Fischli’s idea and translate it into the realm of architecture — bringing it into the present day, of course. Those conversations turned out to be quite meaningful. I had a few productive exchanges with the team behind Stop Painting, including a discussion with Eva Fabbris; ultimately, I included a quote from Peter Fischli’s text in the MAXXI exhibition.

The period mainly explored in the Prada exhibition — roughly from the 1950s to the 1970s — was deeply shaped by the political climate of the time. Media and modes of art production were closely entangled with both ideological frameworks and activist energies. In the 1960s in particular, artists' choices of medium and process often reflected strong political engagement. At the same time, a broader sense of crisis surrounding modernist paradigms after World War II spurred an urgent search for new expressive languages. The boundary between medium and message, between form and content, grew increasingly fluid.

Today, as we shift from the artistic energy of the 1960s to architecture in our current, more uncertain times, we see a similarly unstable terrain. On one hand, the traditional role of drawing — as understood since Alberti, as the repository of disciplinary knowledge — has begun to lose clarity and relevance. On the other hand, we see how technology, political consciousness, and media strategies borrowed from the art world are offering radical new approaches to design and spatial thinking.

Architecture today seems caught in a kind of limbo — pulled between the resilience of its disciplinary foundations and a strong impulse to be reshaped by innovation, activism, and new forms of artistic collaboration. This "suspended" condition struck me as something worth investigating — both in terms of what it says about architecture itself, and about how its relationship to society is evolving.

Once again, the medium appears to become the message. Or rather, media now form a complex platform through which the identity of architecture is mostly debated, by voices coming from technology, politics, and the arts. In this shifting landscape, the roles of users and viewers are changing. For once (or perhaps once again), spectators, or ‘architectural voyeurs’ seem to hold a more prominent role than users. Architecture seems less interesting as a space to inhabit than as a space for conversation, interdisciplinary experimentation, and cultural entertainment.

KOOZ Can you expand on the relevance of this shift or this conversation today?

PCFrom my perspective, the subject of this conversation is particularly relevant today for two key reasons. First, it helps us speculate about the direction architecture may take in the coming years or decades. As an academic and educator, I often wonder what my students aspire to become once they complete their education. My impression is that many of them experience a kind of identity crisis as they near the end of their studies. They feel the weighty responsibility of the profession: drawn to the pleasure of producing spatial ideas and designing physical objects, yet also daunted by the implications in terms of consumption, ecological balance, and capitalism. Perhaps focusing on the tools they choose to navigate this tension could offer us a compelling lens through which to consider the future of architecture — one shaped by its “new” agents.

Second, Stop Drawing can also be viewed as a broader contribution to the long term debate on representation. My generation came of age in a cultural climate dominated by iconology and semiotics (or semiology) — where iconology served as the principal interpretive medium between image and society, putting language at the center of every speculation, provided a critical platform where ideological and aesthetic debates were staged. But what is the social role of the image in today’s world? Consider a beautiful painting by Aldo Rossi. In the 1960s or early 1970s, its meaning was clear — it was a powerful tool for defining the contours of a collective aesthetic and ideological platform. Today, the role of the image feels far more fragile. It is being pushed to its limits by digital tools and AI-generated simulations, while simultaneously undermined by extreme individualism and emerging technologies,which may soon allow for the transmission of images and ideas without any spatial medium at all.

This matters deeply to me, because the relationship between image and society is inseparable from the political role of space. So, in this sense, the conversation around representation — its modes and its tools — should be seen as politically significant, not just culturally or aesthetically.

KOOZ I think one could distill the exhibition as being focussed on this relationship between image and society. There are so many other works — from Rossi, as you mentioned, through to the contemporary works of Matilde Cassani and Liam Young. What informed your selection of drawings and media presented within the exhibition?

PC As a curator, I consider myself rather schematic. I work in a challenging environment — MAXXI, a space renowned for its beauty and complexity — and the exhibition has been assigned to one of its most difficult galleries. Galleria 3 consists of three ascending open terraces, a long tail with a central gap, and a narrow promenade that leads visitors back to the start of their tour. Because of this layout, I try to adjust my mindset to view the exhibition from the visitor’s perspective. I know I must help them navigate the space, framing the exhibition in clear sections so they feel comfortable and able to understand the role each work plays within the broader narrative.

With this in mind, we decided to begin with a monumental quadreria — a wall-to-wall display of drawings. My idea was to showcase a generous selection from our rich archive of architectural drawings, mainly from post-war Italian architects, ranging from the 1950s to recent years. For those generations, drawings represented both the affirmation of the (fully Albertian) autonomy of architecture and a means to express architects’ ideas about society. Since one of the main aims of the exhibition is to interrogate the current crisis of that paradigm, you can understand the important role that display plays for us.

At the entrance, visitors are immediately met with this overwhelming picture gallery — a striking testament to the architectural culture that for decades asserted its hegemony through drawing. I also appreciate the dual perspective visitors can take: up close on the ramp, where they can focus on individual pieces, or from a distance, on the terraces, where they can grasp the collective legacy. The close-up reveals the intricate details of individual masterpieces; the distant view offers a sweeping perspective of an entire era.

After taking in this powerful presence of drawing heritage, visitors are invited to explore what has led architects to “Stop Drawing.” The journey begins with the first section, dedicated to digital architecture. This is introduced by an immersive, experiential installation by Lucia Tahan that blends physical space with last generation technology. Visitors then encounter a range of works that trace the evolution of digital design culture — from early pioneers like Nicholas Negroponte to contemporary platforms such as Sci-Arc.The second section, located on the middle terrace, focuses on activist groups and radical projects, selected globally. The third, expansive section spans the upper terrace and the long tail, featuring design experiences that utilise alternative tools, often borrowed from the world of art.

The final section — along the narrow promenade leading back to the beginning — is dedicated to those who continue to place drawing at the center of their design and production process. This group includes a wide range of approaches, from those committed to the discipline’s traditional autonomy of drawing, to more experimental or socially engaged practices. Here, we feature voices like Atelier Bow-Wow, who explore the metaphorical and collective potential of drawing; Maria Giuseppina Grasso Cannizzo, who has developed a personal balance between authorial and computer-aided drawing; and artists like Jorinde Voigt, who makes drawing central to her exploration of space, data, and the body.

In the end, the exhibition is designed to tell a story. It begins with a set of preexisting conditions in which drawing held a clear and central role within — and beyond — the discipline. It then expands into areas where those conditions are being challenged, aiming to uncover new meanings and implications emerging from these ongoing shifts.

KOOZ To what extent is the medium a means through which one can understand the potential of architecture as a cross disciplinary practice?

PC I believe that's the central point of the exhibition. In the final decades of the last century — thanks to the work of scholars like Beatriz Colomina and Giuliana Bruno, as well as experimental designers such as Diller & Scofidio — we became acquainted with architecture's potential as a medium. Today, architecture is undergoing an identity crisis, which has brought its core purpose — creating space for people — into sharp tension with its secondary roles as a communicative and artistic medium. The result is both unsettling and exhilarating, and it's precisely this dynamic that the exhibition seeks to explore.

KOOZ It’s interesting that you talk about the Quadreria as a first revealing moment of the exhibition; the installation is also articulated through a series of tables and other props. What informed these devices through which various approaches to the image are presented?

PC I think it's important to highlight that the exhibition was designed by Demogo, an outstanding design team based in Treviso. When we invite external designers — those not part of the museum’s internal team — it signifies that we're ready to embrace a challenge and engage in a productive dialogue. Designers who have never worked in the MAXXI spaces often experience an initial shock. But if they're truly talented, they quickly begin to respond creatively, collaborating closely with the museum team to tackle the many challenges that arise.

Simone Gobbo and the Demogo team grounded the project by defining the three main spaces — the terraces — using three fundamental geometric forms: the cube, the cylinder, and the triangular volume. These core shapes (square, circle, triangle) became recurring motifs in the exhibition design, each adapted to suit the specific needs of individual items such as drawings, books, monitors, and models.

The display also incorporates six original drawing tables designed by Carlo Scarpa for students at IUAV in the late 1960s. We felt this was a meaningful way to acknowledge the significance of drawing in that era, when young apprentices would trace their lines on tables designed by their master. Bringing together analog and digital works, architects, designers and artists — alongside paper, film, guest designers, and a complex spatial layout — naturally posed some challenges. But these were all met with enthusiasm and ultimately led to innovative and engaging display solutions.

KOOZ One part of the exhibition, as you mentioned, is dedicated to this relationship between architecture and activism. Could you expand a little bit more as to the kind of works that are presented there? I think architects still saw themselves very much as activists in the 1960s — but it's a very different form of activism.

PC We are, of course, entering a domain with significant political and ideological implications. Italian architects in the 1960s often viewed themselves as intellectuels engagés, deeply involved in the political discourse surrounding the present and future of their country. Their political stances were grounded in strong ideological frameworks — Marxist, Socialist, Liberal, Catholic, Libertarian — and they believed that their natural medium for expressing these ideas to the public was through their architectural projects and drawings. In other words, the ‘language’ of their architecture — primarily expressed through drawings — was central. Moreover, since many of these projects were utopian, radical, or visionary in nature and rarely realised as actual buildings, the significance of drawings as the primary medium grew within both the disciplinary and cultural debates of the time.

Today, we find ourselves in a very different context. New generations are committed to addressing urgent issues — ecological, social, urban, even geopolitical — but they have little faith in or attachment to the ideologies of the 20th century. What Lyotard famously referred to as les grands récits no longer holds appeal. These younger practitioners aim to contribute through actions rather than ideology. They want to build, to engage, to make change — not necessarily to communicate their philosophical stance through drawings or texts intended for an intellectual elite. As a result, language — whether we consider it medium, style, or lexicon — is no longer at the centre of architectural interest today.

It’s also interesting to consider the diversity and fragmentation of this [non]movement. Certain practices, like Raumlabor in Berlin, succeed because they identify a site, develop a program, and realise it in dialogue with the community. What’s particularly compelling in this case is how their work results in tangible architectural outcomes — structures that exist in a space between the temporary and the permanent. In other instances, the project takes the form of a mere event, as in the well-known choreography by a group led by Bryony Roberts in Chicago (which, unfortunately, we were unable to present in the show). The inclusion of performance — such as in the work of Matilde Cassani — as part of architecture's agency is one of the more compelling aspects we sought to highlight. We did so both by referencing seminal figures like Gordon Matta-Clark or l’Estate Romana (not part of the show, but which remains a key reference), and by showcasing projects that reveal the political potential inherent in this expanded notion of architectural practice.

KOOZ Architects in the 1960s still used spatial tools and representations; if one looks at Superstudio, they depict very spatial constructions. If one looks at the drawings from the platform Feminist Spatial Practices, on the other hand, they’re often much more infographic. How does that represent a shift in the kind of person that the architect is or who they’re addressing — perhaps from an architectural audience to a more general public?

PC This is a very thoughtful and complex question. It relates to the fact that many key figures in the avant-garde movements of the 20th century were men, and that men often occupied the leading roles in radical groups. Men were typically the ones designing symbols and envisioning utopias, while women seemed less drawn to these speculative pursuits. At best, they focused on designing physical spaces or embraced graphic design as a powerful medium for communication.

This disparity is, of course, rooted in the societal roles assigned to women throughout the last century. But it may also reflect different ways of understanding the role and agency of architecture itself. It’s hard to imagine an architect more radical in spirit than Lina Bo Bardi, yet it’s equally hard to picture her spending her time drawing fantastical, impossible utopias.

In the exhibition, we’ve included works by Superstudio, primarily to illustrate two ideas. First, the possibility of creating realistic spatial concepts for scale-less architecture — ranging from the tiniest object to the entire planet. Second, the use of drawing tools such as collage, employed almost like a magical device, enabling this ambiguity of scale and layering multiple meanings within a single image.

What’s particularly interesting about the show, however, is that the gender division to which you refer — so present in the 20th century — is beginning to disappear. Today, you’ll find women developing large-scale spatial tools, both men and women making films, men deeply engaged in micrographic experiments and so on.

KOOZ You mentioned, earlier on, the fact of being an academic and finding students experiencing a form of hesitancy in terms of what architecture should produce. How does the work within the exhibition open up different possibilities of how architects can act? For instance, the work of Matilde Cassani with performance, or Liam Young who works on worlding: how might these open up the idea that architecture can go beyond built objects, and has agency to cross into very different fields?

PC We touched on this aspect earlier, but there are certainly a few points worth adding. Bringing together the pedagogical dimension you mentioned and the alternative roles architects can adopt, I’d like to highlight one particularly interesting item from the exhibition: the Collective Drawing workshop led by Atelier Bow-Wow at MAXXI in 2018. It involved students from ETH Zurich, Tokyo Institute of Technology, Cornell University, and the University of Camerino. They selected a series of Roman urban vedutas from the 18th century, and groups of eight students collaboratively redrew them in freehand axonometric projections, reinterpreting the views in contemporary terms — all working simultaneously on the same sheet. In this way, drawing became a collective act of both learning and representing, merging the city's history with its present.

The exhibition presents many other alternative approaches: textile projects by Frida Escobedo and Meriem Chabani; performances by Matilde Cassani; films and scenographies by Liam Young; thermographic representations by Philippe Rahm; short, exciting videos by emerging talents selected through LINA; and unforgettable photo-collages by Enric Miralles. Once you accept the notion of "unbuilding architecture," the possibilities become endless.

However, it’s important to clarify that this exhibition is not intended to take a position against the other side of the architectural conversation. An institution like MAXXI has a mission to keep its gaze wide-ranging. We look toward full-scale designers who embody a high degree of integrity in their work, while also remaining open to new directions and possibilities for architecture’s role in society and spatial culture. We try to operate at the edge — taking risks and observing how our audience responds to our (often complex) proposals. Especially in a place like Italy, it is essential to understand what people expect from architecture. In this sense, the museum serves as a valuable vantage point, and programming is our primary tool for exploration and engagement.

KOOZ One last thing is the notion of authorship. Today, architecture is ever more questioning of the single figure of the individual architect as author. In the Quadreria, you have drawings by Aldo Rossi, Carlo Aymonino and other single figures, where towards the end of the exhibition you feature collective practices like Campo and Drawing Architecture studio. Is the exhibition potentially also a subtle commentary on authorship and a shift towards collective and generous practices?

PC This is another very good question. Over the past few years, we’ve spent a lot of time and energy discussing the issue of authorship. I remember the first issue of Vesper (the IUAV’s architectural journal) dedicated to this topic, dozens of conferences and papers and I can think of several PhD research projects I’ve encountered or supervised where the discussion inevitably led to this theme. In Vesper, I particularly enjoyed selecting Maria Giuseppina Grasso Cannizzo as a contemporary example of the ‘author-architect’ — someone who skillfully emerges or recedes beneath the surface of the work depending on the moment or the task. That said, what you point out is absolutely true: the format of collaboration in young teams today tends to dissolve the traditional notion of the author, making it more fluid and unstable. It’s not just about the ‘politically sensitive’ collective anymore; technology also plays a major role in blurring the lines of authorship. Is it you, or the AI? The developer of the software? Or the person who modifies your project afterward?

Perhaps the art-oriented side we see in the exhibition still attracts those who want to evolve the concept of authorship without erasing it entirely. Yet, at the same time, we work and exhibit within a museum context. If we want to acquire any of the works we display, we must define a legitimate author, agree on a contract, and transfer money to a specific bank account. Evidently, authorship is a complex issue, one we’ll likely be discussing for a long time. I also believe that this conversation reflects a broader debate around the idea of political leadership, especially within progressive movements, and that carries even greater implications for our lives. It’s a kind of zeitgeist we’re all learning to navigate.

Speaking of authorship, we may be approaching a time when we can also talk about authorship in the field of curating. While I am the one answering your questions, the exhibition would not have come to life without the incredible contributions of the museum team (particularly Chiara Castiglia and Angela Parente) and the designers. Even the idea for the show — though certainly proposed by me — did not appear as a sudden inspiration. The concept emerged from various influences: Fischli’s exhibition at Prada, which we mentioned earlier; a PhD dissertation by Luca Di Lorenzo Latini on the revival of axonometry; a semester of conversations — energised by David Freedberg — at the Italian Academy at Columbia University with art historians, philosophers, iconologists, and neuroscientists; two recently completed PhD researches (by Chiara Carrera and Giuseppe Ricupero) on “exhibitions of Italian architecture abroad” and on “adolescent architecture”. All these elements and more came together through the process of shaping the exhibition.

KOOZ If one were to extract the first and the last drawings presented in the exhibition — at both ends of the relationship between architecture and representation — what does this tell us about where architecture is today, in a continuous process of transformation?

PC That’s a very good question. The first drawing, I believe, is Carlo Aymonino’s Musei Capitolini. It’s a late work that reflects a time when architects drew primarily for other architects.

KOOZ It’s a beautiful drawing.

PC It is indeed — a beautiful drawing, with some collaged elements. The last image is a mock-up of Maria Giuseppina Grasso Cannizzo’s installation for the 2016 Venice Biennale. This piece means to communicate spatial ideas to a broader audience, including the art world — not just to architects. I think that’s a significant achievement.

KOOZ Thanks so much, Pippo.

Bios

Pippo Ciorra is the Senior Curator at MAXXI Architettura, Rome. In 1991, he completed a PhD at the IUAV of Venice. From 1982 to 1995 he taught at the faculties of Venice and Rome, and since 1987 he has been visiting professor at Ohio State University and other universities of North America. Since 1995 he has taught Architectural Composition at the faculty of architecture of Ascoli Piceno – university of Camerino. He is director and professor of a number of interuniversity master courses and coordinates the International PhD Villard d’Honnecour. Besides being senior curator of the MAXXI Museum, he is also an advisor for the Medaglia d’oro all’architettura italiana award of the Milan Triennial and the Mies van der Rohe Award.He is a member of the Casabella editorial committee and is the author of numerous essays and research projects on contemporary cities, as well as of monographic studies.

Federica Zambeletti is the founder and creative director of KoozArch. She is an architect, researcher and storyteller whose interests lie at the intersection of art, architecture and regenerative practices. Prior to dedicating her full attention to KoozArch in 2024, Federica collaborated with the architecture studio and non-profit agency for change UNA/UNLESS working on numerous cultural projects and the research of "Antarctic Resolution".