The Natural Elements of the Preindustrial City 1
A Discrete Presence The visual appeal of historical monuments and public squares typically means that the tourist visiting Florence, Siena, or Venice today tends not to register the notable absence of green spaces. Indeed, the entirely mineral quality of urban sequences—such as the Piazza del Campo, Siena, or the Piazza della Signoria, Florence—foregrounds one of the salient features of European cities until at least the middle of the 17th century: that is, the meager presence of ornamental plantings in public spaces. This does not mean that there were no gardens, but for the most part these were designated as belonging to the private realm. That this was, in fact, the case well into the 18th century is shown by the Turgot Map of Paris, drawn up between 1734 and 1739 at the behest of the Provost of Merchants, Michel-Étienne Turgot, on which figure the numerous gardens, orchards, and vegetable gardens enclosed behind the confines of aristocratic hotels and religious institutions. Surrounded by stone walls, these green enclaves revealed their presence to passersby only by virtue of the foliage on high branches visible from the street.1 Since the Middle Ages, Parisian market gardens (or cultures maraîchères) were also present in the city, but their cultivation was protected from public incursion by means of their location at a distant remove from busy streets and squares.2 For city officials, the question of the presence of nature was simply not pressing insofar as it stood outside the rules regulating collective existence. What reflects the indifference of these cities of stone and brick towards planted spaces for the public realm, which were primarily related to the private sphere, is that the ideal cities of the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries likewise didn’t pay them much heed. What the literary critic Michel Paoli has called “the paper city” stemmed from a utopian tradition, which includes the late 15th-century Ideal City panels (in Urbino, Berlin and Baltimore) and, later, such literary endeavors as the city of Christianopolis imagined by the German theologian Johann Valentin Andreae in 1619.3 These cities also bore witness to the exploration of very real techniques of urban composition, such as the project for a fortified city that 1 2
Opening page: View of Campo Vaccino, oil on canvas from the school of Claude Gellée, known as Le Lorrain, circa 1636. Previous spread: Theoretical plans for a garden city Ebenezer Howard, urban planner, 1898. [The Faubourg du Temple and the Courtille], plate from the map of Paris known as the “Turgot map,” drawing by Louis Bretez, engraving by Claude Lucas, 1734-1736. The boulevards created by Bullet and Blondel mark the city limits.
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See Chiara Santini, “Promenades plantées et espaces verts: Un regard historique sur la nature en ville de Paris,” Cahier DEMETER (2012), 211-26. On the topic, see Jean-Michel Roy, “L’art urbain du maraîchage,” in La Beauté d’une ville. Controverses esthétiques et transition écologique à Paris, Paris, Pavillon de l’Arsenal, et Marseille, Wildproject, 2021, p. 38-51. Michel Paoli, “La ville (idéale ?) chez Alberti,” Bruniana & Campanellina 19, no. 1 (2013), 125ff. See also Johann Valentin Andreae, Republicae Christianopolitanae Descriptio (Argentorati [Strasbourg]: Sumptibus haeredum Lazari Zetzneri, 1619), and Allessandro Marchi, Maria Rosario Valazzi, eds., La Città ideale: L’Utopia del Rinascimeto a Urbino tra Piero della Francesco e Raffaello (Milan: Electa, 2012).
The Natural Elements of the Preindustrial City 1
A Discrete Presence The visual appeal of historical monuments and public squares typically means that the tourist visiting Florence, Siena, or Venice today tends not to register the notable absence of green spaces. Indeed, the entirely mineral quality of urban sequences—such as the Piazza del Campo, Siena, or the Piazza della Signoria, Florence—foregrounds one of the salient features of European cities until at least the middle of the 17th century: that is, the meager presence of ornamental plantings in public spaces. This does not mean that there were no gardens, but for the most part these were designated as belonging to the private realm. That this was, in fact, the case well into the 18th century is shown by the Turgot Map of Paris, drawn up between 1734 and 1739 at the behest of the Provost of Merchants, Michel-Étienne Turgot, on which figure the numerous gardens, orchards, and vegetable gardens enclosed behind the confines of aristocratic hotels and religious institutions. Surrounded by stone walls, these green enclaves revealed their presence to passersby only by virtue of the foliage on high branches visible from the street.1 Since the Middle Ages, Parisian market gardens (or cultures maraîchères) were also present in the city, but their cultivation was protected from public incursion by means of their location at a distant remove from busy streets and squares.2 For city officials, the question of the presence of nature was simply not pressing insofar as it stood outside the rules regulating collective existence. What reflects the indifference of these cities of stone and brick towards planted spaces for the public realm, which were primarily related to the private sphere, is that the ideal cities of the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries likewise didn’t pay them much heed. What the literary critic Michel Paoli has called “the paper city” stemmed from a utopian tradition, which includes the late 15th-century Ideal City panels (in Urbino, Berlin and Baltimore) and, later, such literary endeavors as the city of Christianopolis imagined by the German theologian Johann Valentin Andreae in 1619.3 These cities also bore witness to the exploration of very real techniques of urban composition, such as the project for a fortified city that 1 2
Opening page: View of Campo Vaccino, oil on canvas from the school of Claude Gellée, known as Le Lorrain, circa 1636. Previous spread: Theoretical plans for a garden city Ebenezer Howard, urban planner, 1898. [The Faubourg du Temple and the Courtille], plate from the map of Paris known as the “Turgot map,” drawing by Louis Bretez, engraving by Claude Lucas, 1734-1736. The boulevards created by Bullet and Blondel mark the city limits.
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See Chiara Santini, “Promenades plantées et espaces verts: Un regard historique sur la nature en ville de Paris,” Cahier DEMETER (2012), 211-26. On the topic, see Jean-Michel Roy, “L’art urbain du maraîchage,” in La Beauté d’une ville. Controverses esthétiques et transition écologique à Paris, Paris, Pavillon de l’Arsenal, et Marseille, Wildproject, 2021, p. 38-51. Michel Paoli, “La ville (idéale ?) chez Alberti,” Bruniana & Campanellina 19, no. 1 (2013), 125ff. See also Johann Valentin Andreae, Republicae Christianopolitanae Descriptio (Argentorati [Strasbourg]: Sumptibus haeredum Lazari Zetzneri, 1619), and Allessandro Marchi, Maria Rosario Valazzi, eds., La Città ideale: L’Utopia del Rinascimeto a Urbino tra Piero della Francesco e Raffaello (Milan: Electa, 2012).
View of Campo Vaccino, oil on canvas from the school of Claude Gellée, known as Le Lorrain, circa 1636.
The diminished status accorded to nature in early modern European urban contexts is not that different from that prevailing in other cultural regions such as the Maghreb or the Middle East. Yet there were exceptions to the general rule. Papal Rome, which continued to don the oversized cloak bequeathed to it by antiquity, was rendered unique by the presence of ancient Roman ruins overgrown with vegetation; these were ubiquitous—short distances from, or even integrated into, the fabric of churches and palaces of the city—as documented by the numerous artistic and architectural views that staged a proximity of past and present and that were thereby conducive to prompting philosophical meditations on the vicissitudes of human history.8 At the immediate periphery of cities, green spaces devoted to collective use nonetheless provided inhabitants access to open air. This, for example, was the function assigned to Pré-auxClercs, which extended from the gates of Paris near the Benedictine Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and which students at the Sorbonne used as a space for leisure.9 Falling under the rubrics of greens, fields, or commons, these spaces were typically located on the outskirts of cities, especially in England and North America. In the case of Boston, the Common, which was established in 1634, would progressively transform into a public park—an evolution that began with the planting of rows of trees in the early 18th century.10 Yet such spaces remained outside the city proper, which continued to present a far more mineral character than today. The stoniness of urban space was counter-balanced, however, by the deep reliance that cities maintained with regards to agricultural and natural products—fruits, vegetables, wood, and animal meats of all sorts—whose commerce and consumption contributed to the liveliness of street life. In countless cities, it was not unusual to see pigs wandering about in public space, licking away the accumulating filth. In Paris, King Louis VI the Fat’s eldest son died on October 13, 1131, after being thrown from his horse, which had collided into one of them. Pigs would subsequently be banished from the French capital in the Renaissance.11 Over and against the refined nature accessible to the privileged classes who 8 9 10 11
See, example, the concept of “double time” in Cammy Brothers, Giuliano Sangallo and Ruins of Ancient Rome (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2022), 193-4. Peter Sharratt, “Peter Ramus, ‘L’Affaire du Pré-aux-Clercs’, and Social Reform,” in Mordechei Feigold, ed., History of Universities (Oxford : Oxford University Press, 2004), vol. XIX/1, 64. See Anne Beamish, “Before Parks: Public Landscapes in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Boston, New York, and Philadelphia,” Landscape Journal 40, no. 2 (2021), 1-17. See Henry Bony, Léa Mosconi, eds., Paris animal. Histoire et récits d’une ville vivante (Paris: Pavillon de l’Arsenal, 2023).
Map of Boston (United States) showing the extent of the fire of 1760. On the left, the Common and its row of trees.
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View of Campo Vaccino, oil on canvas from the school of Claude Gellée, known as Le Lorrain, circa 1636.
The diminished status accorded to nature in early modern European urban contexts is not that different from that prevailing in other cultural regions such as the Maghreb or the Middle East. Yet there were exceptions to the general rule. Papal Rome, which continued to don the oversized cloak bequeathed to it by antiquity, was rendered unique by the presence of ancient Roman ruins overgrown with vegetation; these were ubiquitous—short distances from, or even integrated into, the fabric of churches and palaces of the city—as documented by the numerous artistic and architectural views that staged a proximity of past and present and that were thereby conducive to prompting philosophical meditations on the vicissitudes of human history.8 At the immediate periphery of cities, green spaces devoted to collective use nonetheless provided inhabitants access to open air. This, for example, was the function assigned to Pré-auxClercs, which extended from the gates of Paris near the Benedictine Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and which students at the Sorbonne used as a space for leisure.9 Falling under the rubrics of greens, fields, or commons, these spaces were typically located on the outskirts of cities, especially in England and North America. In the case of Boston, the Common, which was established in 1634, would progressively transform into a public park—an evolution that began with the planting of rows of trees in the early 18th century.10 Yet such spaces remained outside the city proper, which continued to present a far more mineral character than today. The stoniness of urban space was counter-balanced, however, by the deep reliance that cities maintained with regards to agricultural and natural products—fruits, vegetables, wood, and animal meats of all sorts—whose commerce and consumption contributed to the liveliness of street life. In countless cities, it was not unusual to see pigs wandering about in public space, licking away the accumulating filth. In Paris, King Louis VI the Fat’s eldest son died on October 13, 1131, after being thrown from his horse, which had collided into one of them. Pigs would subsequently be banished from the French capital in the Renaissance.11 Over and against the refined nature accessible to the privileged classes who 8 9 10 11
See, example, the concept of “double time” in Cammy Brothers, Giuliano Sangallo and Ruins of Ancient Rome (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2022), 193-4. Peter Sharratt, “Peter Ramus, ‘L’Affaire du Pré-aux-Clercs’, and Social Reform,” in Mordechei Feigold, ed., History of Universities (Oxford : Oxford University Press, 2004), vol. XIX/1, 64. See Anne Beamish, “Before Parks: Public Landscapes in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Boston, New York, and Philadelphia,” Landscape Journal 40, no. 2 (2021), 1-17. See Henry Bony, Léa Mosconi, eds., Paris animal. Histoire et récits d’une ville vivante (Paris: Pavillon de l’Arsenal, 2023).
Map of Boston (United States) showing the extent of the fire of 1760. On the left, the Common and its row of trees.
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Idealized drawing of Karlsruhe (Germany), engraving by Heinrich Schwartz, 1720.
before construction even began—as evidenced by the views of Versailles from the late 1660s, which justify their characterization as avenues.26 By means of this deep connection between the garden and the city, an urban compositional practice began to take shape that would eventually establish the principle of the beautification of cities. Consider Karlsruhe, the new capital of the Margraviate of Baden-Durlach, founded in 1715, which pushed the analogy even further by conceiving of the city as a fan unfolding from the base established by the princely palace and its garden. Here the palace, the garden, and the city that extends from them constitute segments of a large circle occupied for the most part by the parc of the royal residence as well as by a forest. The city thus integrates itself into the heart of a nature that was inexorably regularized by the princely figure of authority.27 At the dawn of the Enlightenment, a network of possible correspondences had been established between garden design and urban planning—correspondences on which architectural theorists, as we shall see, such as Abbé Marc-Antoine Laugier would later rely with the aim of promoting a different approach to urban planning. The First Public Gardens The opening of royal estates and gardens to the public, located by and large on the periphery of European capitals, constituted a final step in the broad evolution just described. In London, Hyde Park stands as a paradigmatic example of this dynamic. The land belonged to the monks of Westminster Abbey, who cultivated some of its acreage as well as used it as a game reserve. In 1536, King Henry VIII forced the monks to cede the property, which he then used for royal hunts and banquets. In 1625, King Charles I ordered the addition of a circular allée so that members of his court might take carriage rides, closely following the social rituals of aristocratic leisure established by Cour-la-Reine in Paris. In 1627, the parc was finally opened to the public, and its ensuing success was undeniable.28
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This is documented in the painting by Pierre Patel, Vue du château et des jardins de Versailles, prise de l’avenue de Paris (1668). On the design of the city of Versailles, see Jean Castex, Patrick Céleste, and Philippe Panerai, Lecture d’une ville: Versailles (Paris: Éditions du Moniteur, 1980). See Gillian Mawrey, “Anniversary: Dream Landscape,” Historic Gardens Review no. 33, (Dec. 2015-Jan. 2016), 35-37. See John Ashton, Hyde Park from Domesday-Book to Date (London: Downey & Co., 1896); and Amanda Foreman, “Park of the Ages,” The American Scholar 82, no. 3 (Summer 2013), 44-53.
Idealized drawing of Karlsruhe (Germany), engraving by Heinrich Schwartz, 1720.
before construction even began—as evidenced by the views of Versailles from the late 1660s, which justify their characterization as avenues.26 By means of this deep connection between the garden and the city, an urban compositional practice began to take shape that would eventually establish the principle of the beautification of cities. Consider Karlsruhe, the new capital of the Margraviate of Baden-Durlach, founded in 1715, which pushed the analogy even further by conceiving of the city as a fan unfolding from the base established by the princely palace and its garden. Here the palace, the garden, and the city that extends from them constitute segments of a large circle occupied for the most part by the parc of the royal residence as well as by a forest. The city thus integrates itself into the heart of a nature that was inexorably regularized by the princely figure of authority.27 At the dawn of the Enlightenment, a network of possible correspondences had been established between garden design and urban planning—correspondences on which architectural theorists, as we shall see, such as Abbé Marc-Antoine Laugier would later rely with the aim of promoting a different approach to urban planning. The First Public Gardens The opening of royal estates and gardens to the public, located by and large on the periphery of European capitals, constituted a final step in the broad evolution just described. In London, Hyde Park stands as a paradigmatic example of this dynamic. The land belonged to the monks of Westminster Abbey, who cultivated some of its acreage as well as used it as a game reserve. In 1536, King Henry VIII forced the monks to cede the property, which he then used for royal hunts and banquets. In 1625, King Charles I ordered the addition of a circular allée so that members of his court might take carriage rides, closely following the social rituals of aristocratic leisure established by Cour-la-Reine in Paris. In 1627, the parc was finally opened to the public, and its ensuing success was undeniable.28
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27 28
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This is documented in the painting by Pierre Patel, Vue du château et des jardins de Versailles, prise de l’avenue de Paris (1668). On the design of the city of Versailles, see Jean Castex, Patrick Céleste, and Philippe Panerai, Lecture d’une ville: Versailles (Paris: Éditions du Moniteur, 1980). See Gillian Mawrey, “Anniversary: Dream Landscape,” Historic Gardens Review no. 33, (Dec. 2015-Jan. 2016), 35-37. See John Ashton, Hyde Park from Domesday-Book to Date (London: Downey & Co., 1896); and Amanda Foreman, “Park of the Ages,” The American Scholar 82, no. 3 (Summer 2013), 44-53.
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The High Line, New York (United States), Diller Scofidio + Renfro, architects, James Corner Field Operations, landscape architect, photograph by Iwan Baan, 2009.
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The High Line, New York (United States), Diller Scofidio + Renfro, architects, James Corner Field Operations, landscape architect, photograph by Iwan Baan, 2009.
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had royal or aristocratic gardens at their disposal—juxtaposed to the carefully maintained orchards and vegetable gardens of grand privates residences and religious institutions—a far more common, even trivial, nature, shamelessly unveiled itself in the city proper. In other words, well before current debates over the ambiguities of the term “nature,” along with the diversity of perceptions and practices related to non-humans to which the term corresponds, a variety of very different natures were already in play at the heart of the preindustrial city. This was a world that was still largely agricultural, and hence cities were limited in scale and population density. Yet even if the countryside remained proximate, congested circulation was likely to hamper those seeking to escape the built environment and find refuge in orchards and fields. By the time more modern fortifications—with their bastions, ravelins, and glacis whose profiles were codified in enduring fashion by the engineer Sébastien Le Prestre, Marquis de Vauban—interposed themselves between the city and its surround, they were often planted with trees so as to dissimulate their characteristics, preventing potential spies from relaying their configurations to the enemy and serving as a place for strolling in times of peace. Gardens even inserted themselves into certain bastions, and those defensive zones encircling the city, which were in theory closed off from additional construction, often sheltered vegetable gardens and duck ponds by means of ad hoc arrangements made between military and civilian neighbors.12 The relation of the city and the countryside experienced a relative equilibrium in this period, even if the depletion of soil fertility in the periphery of a certain number of much older, established urban agglomerations bore witness to the deleterious effects, over the longue durée, of the plowing and planting supporting the nourishment of urban populations.13 Over the course of centuries, cities gave back to rural areas some of the nitrogen of its food consumption, this in the form of waste that could be used as fertilizer. The smaller size of the preindustrial city necessary limited its energy needs, and its metabolism—to use the contemporary term used to define and analyze urban flows of energy and materials—was far from possessing the kind of predatory effects on the environment characteristic of the industrial age.
Yet the problem of combustibles served as a bellwether for the disequilibrium to come. The urban consumption of wood led to scarcity and price increases that induced anxiety already in the 17th century. London, which as a result turned to coal, paid the even higher price of egregious pollution, which greatly alarmed city officials and reformers alike. Various intellectuals, scientists, and architects proffered solutions founded on a radical reorganization of the relation of city and countryside. One of the most famous of these proposals was drawn up in 1661 by John Evelyn, the diarist and founding fellow of the Royal Society who was also a gardener, arborist, and expert in forest management. Evelyn wanted to remove the most polluting industries from the city, which could then be surrounded by fields of aromatic flowers as a means to counteract the pestilence of the air. Less well-known and far more radical was the project drawn up by Timothy Nourse, a Protestant preacher who converted to Catholicism and penned several treatises on rustic economy. Nourse proposed, thirty years later, to surround London by an enormous forest whose yield would substitute directly for coal usage.14 It is difficult not to detect a prophetic tone to such a proposal in our contemporary moment, when projects for urban and peri-urban forests abound—think of the image of a nearly fifty mile-long arbored belt Madrid aims to erect as a periphery.15 Anachronisms aside, one cannot help but be struck by the tensions that have long characterized the relationship between the city and its environment. Urban natures are not only in conflict with each other, internally, but, more than this, they instigate complex and contradictory links with the territories that surround them and on which they depend. Malls, Cours, and Boulevards From the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, European cities bore the stamp of their medieval heritage, and ex nihilo urban creations remained the exception. Inspired by those utopian “paper cities” surfacing in architectural treatises and literary works, an ideal of regularity nonetheless constituted an incentive to speculate differently about urban spaces, that is, to imagine broad, airy streets 14
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See Émilie d’Orgeix, Au pied du mur. Bâtir le vide autour des villes (xvie-xviiie siècle) (Brussels: Mardaga, 2019). Guy Theodore Wrench, Reconstruction by Way of the Soil (London: Faber and Faber, 1946).
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See Mark Jenner, “The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration,” The Historical Journal 38, no. 3(September 1995), 535-5; and Aleksandr Bierig, The Ashes of the City. Architecture, Environment, and the Spatial Economy of Coal in Britain (1700-1849), PhD diss., Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Graduate School of Design, 2022. The proposal is summarized in Bosque Metropolitano. El proyecto para transformar Madrid en una ciudad económica, social y ambientalmente más sostenible, resiliente y saludable (Madrid: Desarrollo Urbano, 2022).
had royal or aristocratic gardens at their disposal—juxtaposed to the carefully maintained orchards and vegetable gardens of grand privates residences and religious institutions—a far more common, even trivial, nature, shamelessly unveiled itself in the city proper. In other words, well before current debates over the ambiguities of the term “nature,” along with the diversity of perceptions and practices related to non-humans to which the term corresponds, a variety of very different natures were already in play at the heart of the preindustrial city. This was a world that was still largely agricultural, and hence cities were limited in scale and population density. Yet even if the countryside remained proximate, congested circulation was likely to hamper those seeking to escape the built environment and find refuge in orchards and fields. By the time more modern fortifications—with their bastions, ravelins, and glacis whose profiles were codified in enduring fashion by the engineer Sébastien Le Prestre, Marquis de Vauban—interposed themselves between the city and its surround, they were often planted with trees so as to dissimulate their characteristics, preventing potential spies from relaying their configurations to the enemy and serving as a place for strolling in times of peace. Gardens even inserted themselves into certain bastions, and those defensive zones encircling the city, which were in theory closed off from additional construction, often sheltered vegetable gardens and duck ponds by means of ad hoc arrangements made between military and civilian neighbors.12 The relation of the city and the countryside experienced a relative equilibrium in this period, even if the depletion of soil fertility in the periphery of a certain number of much older, established urban agglomerations bore witness to the deleterious effects, over the longue durée, of the plowing and planting supporting the nourishment of urban populations.13 Over the course of centuries, cities gave back to rural areas some of the nitrogen of its food consumption, this in the form of waste that could be used as fertilizer. The smaller size of the preindustrial city necessary limited its energy needs, and its metabolism—to use the contemporary term used to define and analyze urban flows of energy and materials—was far from possessing the kind of predatory effects on the environment characteristic of the industrial age.
Yet the problem of combustibles served as a bellwether for the disequilibrium to come. The urban consumption of wood led to scarcity and price increases that induced anxiety already in the 17th century. London, which as a result turned to coal, paid the even higher price of egregious pollution, which greatly alarmed city officials and reformers alike. Various intellectuals, scientists, and architects proffered solutions founded on a radical reorganization of the relation of city and countryside. One of the most famous of these proposals was drawn up in 1661 by John Evelyn, the diarist and founding fellow of the Royal Society who was also a gardener, arborist, and expert in forest management. Evelyn wanted to remove the most polluting industries from the city, which could then be surrounded by fields of aromatic flowers as a means to counteract the pestilence of the air. Less well-known and far more radical was the project drawn up by Timothy Nourse, a Protestant preacher who converted to Catholicism and penned several treatises on rustic economy. Nourse proposed, thirty years later, to surround London by an enormous forest whose yield would substitute directly for coal usage.14 It is difficult not to detect a prophetic tone to such a proposal in our contemporary moment, when projects for urban and peri-urban forests abound—think of the image of a nearly fifty mile-long arbored belt Madrid aims to erect as a periphery.15 Anachronisms aside, one cannot help but be struck by the tensions that have long characterized the relationship between the city and its environment. Urban natures are not only in conflict with each other, internally, but, more than this, they instigate complex and contradictory links with the territories that surround them and on which they depend. Malls, Cours, and Boulevards From the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, European cities bore the stamp of their medieval heritage, and ex nihilo urban creations remained the exception. Inspired by those utopian “paper cities” surfacing in architectural treatises and literary works, an ideal of regularity nonetheless constituted an incentive to speculate differently about urban spaces, that is, to imagine broad, airy streets 14
12 13
See Émilie d’Orgeix, Au pied du mur. Bâtir le vide autour des villes (xvie-xviiie siècle) (Brussels: Mardaga, 2019). Guy Theodore Wrench, Reconstruction by Way of the Soil (London: Faber and Faber, 1946).
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See Mark Jenner, “The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration,” The Historical Journal 38, no. 3(September 1995), 535-5; and Aleksandr Bierig, The Ashes of the City. Architecture, Environment, and the Spatial Economy of Coal in Britain (1700-1849), PhD diss., Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Graduate School of Design, 2022. The proposal is summarized in Bosque Metropolitano. El proyecto para transformar Madrid en una ciudad económica, social y ambientalmente más sostenible, resiliente y saludable (Madrid: Desarrollo Urbano, 2022).
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