Boats and houses: a look at the plans

by Silvia Piardi

Study of the general plans of yachts sheds light on similarities between works of architecture for the land and for the sea. Yachts, in fact, bear an increasing resemblance to big floating villas. Looking at the plans and sections of a work of architecture can reveal a lot of information, not only about aspects of composition and technique, but also about the relationships between people, their way of living and existing in a place. The plan of a villa – the typology with the greatest freedom in terms of regulations and economics – narrates the culture of the designer and that of the client, and describes a lifestyle that is to be ‘staged’. Compositional research has evolved from the Roman villa to contemporary types, and moves very freely, defining its boundaries in relation to the poetics of the designer, embodying in architectural principles and using, as material for study, the natural context, the form of the surroundings, the topography, the panorama, as well as the techniques and materials. The temptation to compare contemporary yachts, with their increasing size, to landlocked works of architecture is unavoidable, for a number of reasons: it is clear that these boats, while on the one hand they tend to resemble large ships, also have strong affinities with residential architecture, and in particular with the villa typology. It is also true that they are increasingly stable, and that their designers, in many cases, have academic training in the field of architecture. So there is a tendency to make use of the tools of this discipline. Ernst Neufert, in 1936, for his famous handbook of architecture, summed up the typologies of residential spaces in relation to the activities that take place inside them, describing a range from the studio apartment, where every activity happens in the same space, to the rooms and facilities of a castle, from the stables to the pantries to the ladies’ dressing rooms. Neufert’s logic of classification reflects a certain spirit of the age, attempting to reduce complexity and to trigger a topological relationship between activities and spaces. With due caution, and a bit of irony, we can apply his system to the plans of a yacht, revealing the growing specialization of spaces and the complex organization of functions, from the fitness zone to the stables, which no longer contain thoroughbred horses (at least for the moment), but vehicles, from jetskis and helicopters. At the opposite extreme, small sailboats concentrate all functions in a single space, both for living and for navigation. If the yacht is for racing the living space becomes a cockpit, and its form, made to measure, reduces its dimensions, getting closer and closer to that of a garment. In our comparison of boats and houses we should not forget that architecture for the sea has severe constraints, a priori boundaries, technical and structural characteristics that are mostly givens, like the obligatory symmetry of the hull: the position of the technical systems, the distribution of weight, the form of the hull all represent strict, interdependent limitations. The external context tends to change, there is no topography to use as inspiration, nor are there criteria of orientation or views, as in houses. In yachts the propulsion system, with sails or motors, can take up a lot of space, especially as a percentage of total available volume. Engines, tanks and physical plant elements define the characteristics of inhabitable objects gifted with autonomy, free, never rooted to a specific site. But a reading of general plans still reveals some similarities, rather obvious ones if we consider the fact that yachts and houses are both containers of life. The villa, like the yacht, has three types of spaces: public, for socializing and self-representation, private, and service. Inside the residential nucleus there are three main spatial spheres, that of the owner(s) of the house, that of the guests, and that of the servants. Careful study of layout and circulation, their possible interferences, and of proxemics, has to go into a correct design, especially because spaces, in any case, are limited. Starting with these constraints, the design research proceeds, paying close attention to sensorial aspects. The smaller volumes and low ceilings of boats require sensitivity in the use of visual devices to ‘widen’ and lighten interiors; visual and bodily vicinity requires the use of tactile materials, pleasing to the touch, with enjoyable aromas, attention to detail. The miniaturization of technology is an indispensable aid, in tune with research on lighting fixtures and techniques. The design of boats finds its space inside a highly structured shell, which only in recent years seems to be opening to offer more room for independence; the design of houses finds its references in a system of compositional, cultural and regulatory rules, always closely linked to the external context. As yachts evolve toward greater energy autonomy, buildings are moving in the direction urged by Jeremy Rifkin, becoming organisms capable of producing energy instead of just consuming it. Perhaps houses and boats will tend to resemble each other more and more, like capsules in movement, free of the restraints of pipes and wires, that may be concealed, but still tie earthly architecture to the earth.