Enfilade is a powerful military tactic; it is also surprisingly powerful in architecture. Enfilade is a way to focus attention and influence emotion in architecture. Typically this is a subconscious effect; we seldom are consciously aware of the architectural elements that are forcing our attention in one direction or another. Nevertheless, the effect is real and irresistible. A few examples demonstrate its meaning and power.
Consider the spatial organization of great cathedrals. The typical plan progresses from narthex, to nave to high altar. The spaces build to an architectural crescendo.
A crescendo — a focal point — is an important element of architecture and deserves its own discussion. Enfilade is not the crescendo itself, but the means of getting to it. This arrangement of spaces along an axis is like telling a good story: simple statements engage our interest, then proceed to more complex and engaging concepts until our intellect, emotions, and curiosity are satisfied and rewarded. In Roman Catholic cathedrals a story is often told literally with the stations of the cross distributed off the main axis. The architecture reinforces the literal story and propels it forward as well as providing an emotional subtext.
A spectacular example of enfilade is the Forbidden City in Beijing. 
This enormous complex of courtyards, temples, and palaces is brilliantly analyzed by Edmund N. Bacon’s in his book Design of Cities. Bacon, through a series of diagrams and plans, deftly explains the richness and grandeur of this classic arrangement of spaces. The Forbidden City is one of the worlds great examples of enfilade on a monumental scale and Bacon's book is worth the time of anyone interested in architecture and urban planning.
We can also look to Egyptian temple and funerary architecture for examples of enfilade. In classic Egyptian architecture, courts, halls, and colonnades are arranged in mysterious and awe-inducing sequences. Banister Fletcher’s A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method is an excellent reference for this building type. 
Queen Hatshepsut’s (1508-1458 B.C.E.) mortuary temple, designed by Senemut on the banks of the river Nile, is one of the most influential works of architecture in ancient Egypt. The complex is approached through a relentlessly symmetrical sequence of events that reveal, in turn, colonnades, courtyards, terraced gardens, and sacred devotional chambers. It is exactly the same processional ritual that modern-day tourists experience, as pictured above. Imagine the original grandeur emphasized with rows of towering palms, colorful pennants, and flanks of ceremonial guards. All of this would have contributed to enfilade.
We can also see enfilade on a residential scale. The process of approaching, entering, and walking through a home can use the concept as a series of planned events. The floor plan and photos below (a residence in Rancho Santa Fe, California, by Michael Knorr & Associates) illustrate a sucession of controlled spaces experienced by the visitor in deliberate order. 
The sequence of events begins with a sheltered porte cochere, moves past glimpses of walled gardens, onto an entry porch, through a foyer, on to the living room, a crescent-shaped swimming pool and, finally, culminates in a spectacular view of hills and ocean in the distance. 
Notice how the first few spaces are defined and contained by massive (3’ diameter) columns. The space alternately “expands” and “contracts” until the route gradually releases into a wider volume at the living room and reveals the full expanse of distant vista. We are rewarded for our efforts as we progress forward. This progression is an unfolding story that provides interesting incidents along the way. (Note, for example, the water features to the left and right of the entry porch.) In the end our attention is focused and rewarded.
Enfilade is one of the great three-dimensional experiences that architecture can provide and one of the most useful tools in an architect’s bag of tricks.
Photo Credits: Forbidden City from Microsoft Office Clipart. All others by Rob Munger.
We are now at the point of public “listening sessions” where city council and CPD listens to 
For an identical floor plan but with flat roofs the new restrictions would be so severe as to make the design 
This appears to be a prejudice against contemporary design. A "bulk plane" approach, as we have now, would be a more objective way to control the impact of a structure on its neighbors.
This material and more has been provided to city council.
In the days before the Tattered Cover and Barnes and Noble made bookstores comfy with overstuffed chairs and a relaxed atmosphere, Prairie Avenue intermixed architectural artifacts and craftsman style furniture with beautiful books. You felt like you were entering a private club where the only membership requirement was a love of architecture. But it was a dangerous place. I would go in just wanting to browse and come out with more books than I could carry or afford. When I realized they would ship my purchases instead of having me lug them back home it only made things worse. Architectural books are expensive. Especially the really great portfolios, like the Frank Lloyd Wright Drawings published in Japan (limited to 700) or the Bruce Goff collection of plates or the Neutra retrospective published by Taschen. They are all gorgeous examples not only of architecture, but of the publishers art. You don’t find them in regular bookstores.
I have often driven on Interstate 5 north of San Diego to be confronted at Exit 28 with the splendiferous wonder of the San Diego Mormon Temple. No matter how many times I come upon it, I am always shocked. This white jumble of crystalline spires, full of symbology and topped with gilt sculptures glistening in the sun, is in-your-face architecture. It makes a statement.
There are approximately 140 Mormon temples distributed around the world, all of them different. The San Diego Mormon Temple - a regional center for Mormon rituals and ceremonies – is not to be confused with local Mormon churches. Temples are closed to the general public; only Mormons In Good Standing are permitted entrance and only with a “recommend” from their bishop. The rituals performed inside the temple include marriages “for all eternity”, baptism of the dead, and “sealing” children to parents to permanently establish after-death families. Young people come from a wide region for these events. 
Even though I knew I would not be allowed to enter the temple, on a recent visit to San Diego I was determined to at least write a proper architectural review for a structure that has arrested my attention so often. This time, instead of ogling the building at 60 miles per hour, I exited the freeway and entered the Mormon temple grounds.
Mormons have a reputation for organization. This is evidenced immediately in the orderly landscaping. 
Manicured lawns and tidy flower beds frame the building in symmetrical simplicity. Parking is efficiently and discretely handled so as not to distract from the main focus. The grounds are ample but not immense. The scale of the place is difficult to gauge at freeway drivebys. Up close it appeared smaller than I had thought. It is not the Vatican, after all. The building itself, in all its whiteness, is somewhat bigger than Space Mountain but smaller than Cinderella’s castle. Not to say I was disappointed. One keeps returning to its overwhelming whitey whiteness. Even the people inside are dressed in white suits (more on that later). In comparison to dark European cathedrals this is truly an immaculate conception. The effect is achieved by mixing marble dust in plaster. This refractive surface is what makes it seem ethereal. The structure all but coalesces out of the clouds. At night it is brilliantly illuminated and the freeway impact is even more overpowering. Several times after dark I have nearly caused a gawking accident. As with Las Vegas hotels, the importance of using architecture as advertising is not lost on the Mormon church.
How do I know about the interior layout if non-Mormons are forbidden entry? Two sources. First, I visited the Las Vegas temple before it was sealed “for time and all eternity.” Different architect; same program. Anyone may visit a temple during a public open house before it is consecrated. Like all modern temples, the Las Vegas building is divided into small spaces for ceremony with the aforementioned Celestial Room at the top. The Celestial Room is supposed to remind you of heaven. In Las Vegas heaven is, apparently, mauve carpeting and French provincial furniture. To each their own. As Mormon canon says, “ …we dreamed each man according to the impression of his dream.” (Genesis 41:11.)
The Nice Lady in Red was quite proud of the temple interior. It is similar to the Las Vegas version. She told me that when Mormons enter the Celestial Room they are all required to dress in white. She said this further enhances the impression that one might actually be in heaven. This image sticks in one’s mind. I wonder what they do in that room, gliding around like angels? Mormons seem to be enthralled with this sort of thing. So what’s the harm? I don’t wish to demean anyone’s religious inclinations, but the architectural harm lies in confusing this treacle with real architecture. Perhaps their overreaching is a result of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints being a newly-invented religion. They try very hard to establish their credibility by insisting on such grandiose buildings.
Naturally, I was moved to asked the Nice Lady in Red about Mormon doctrines, such as their past interest in polygamy and current funding of controversial political initiatives. She referred me to the Mormon missionary system, which I expect will come calling one of these days. I just hope they don’t try to convince me that there is any substance to their buildings. 
Finally, I have a confession: when the Nice Lady in Red was preoccupied with another visitor I approached the main entrance. Yes, I set foot inside the sliding doors. Maybe the lobby isn’t actually forbidden. I don’t know. There were two guys dressed in white (just like the Nice Lady in Red said there would be), one looking exactly like Colonel Sanders. They didn't look too alarmed at my presence. I wanted to ask them more questions, because I had plenty. But they were busy with Mormons In Good Standing awaiting access to the elevators that flanked the reception desk. I suppose the elevators went up to the Celestial Room. I left, satisfied that I had seen enough.
A minor rhythm, “DCBCD” runs perpendicular to the main rhythm. The two rhythms cross at “B”. The second rhythmic sequence is counterpoint – borrowing another musical concept. The “D” spaces are minor vestibules to the children’s bedrooms on the left and the master suite on the right. Though rhythm is repetitive, it is not necessarily about symmetry. The two “A”s are not identical; they’re simply similar in quality. The same with the two “D” spaces.
Spatial rhythms are the most complex expression of rhythm in architecture. Other uses of the concept are very direct and plain to see. We can see rhythmical patterns in building fenestration (the arrangement of windows) as in this example of Louis Sullivan’s Wainwright Building (St. Louis,
For a residential example we can turn to a model home for a speculative development in Tyler, Texas designed by Bruce Goff (c. 1974).
In the Wainwright Building you almost hear the music. Deep, deliberate basso rhythms in the blocky chunks of the first and second floors, moving to a higher-pitched rhythm of alternating verticals as the building ascends. Sullivan was a master of rhythmical composition. In the Goff design the band of windows is a clear and firm statement that is reemphasized in the clerestory. No misunderstandings are possible about the rhythmical theme. Notice the staccato counterpoint of the extended mullions that travel with the windows.
For a larger scale example, more like the rhythm of a symphony, we only have to turn to more complex buildings, like the great cathedrals. Enormous spatial sequences establish a rhythm that is enriched by underlying rhythms of ribbed vaults and columns. Numerous other incidental rhythms are threaded through the whole to enrich the experience.
It was stated above that a barn is too simple to demonstrate rhythm. That is not entirely true. Alternating boards and spaces in the walls would generate rhythm, as would overhead beams and bracing. When that happens it may be interesting but it is largely accidental. The difference between a barn and a cathedral – or any serious work of architecture – is that real architecture is controlled with purpose in mind. In truly great architecture every aspect is coordinated. A theme is established and underlying rhythms support the whole. A piece of music must be disciplined by the structure of rhythm. A work of architecture is no different. Rhythm establishes order in the midst of chaos.
In stonework and architectural sculpture. (Bruce Goff’s Boston Avenue Methodist Church, Tulsa, Oklahoma 1929.)
In skylights (Paolo Soleri’s Cosanti Foundation, Scottsdale, Arizona, begun 1956.)
Rhythm surrounds us and provides a framework for artistic expression. The arches and lights of the Auditorium Theater by Louis Sullivan (Chicago, IL, 1889) illustrate how the bones of a building all but require a sense of rhythm. 
To close the musical analogy, the lyrics of Ira Gershwin sum things up pretty well: “I got rhythm…. Who could ask for anything more.” 
A serious criticism of these structures is simply that nothing on any of them belongs. Each building is a collection of mismatched details and styles from different eras or nightmares. Greek columns with art deco parapets. Ali Baba portals with Los Angeles diner roofs. A Thai temple over a parking garage.
One can manipulate this simple theme by rotation and extension to create interesting variations. 
From this is is possible to develop the variations of a theme with an infinite number of choices in size, composition, organization, and even color. 
This playfulness with geometry can be seen in many cultures, from the bilateral symmetry of a Navajo rug to the single-axis symmetry of a Turkish prayer rug. 
In architecture these themes, with variation and development, become three-dimensional and more complex. It is like moving from checkers to chess. Geometry still plays its part. It may be right-angled geometry (most typical in western architecture). 
It may be an arrangement of arcs and curves combined with cubic forms, as found in many mosques. 
Or it may be a geometry of apparent chaos like the deconstructivist Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain. (Architect: 
Music is a composition of sounds and silence; architecture is a composition of solids and voids. For example, 
which grow into an elaborate and sophisticated volumetric composition 
to emerge as architecture. 
A building may be only simple structure enclosing space, perhaps useful for some function like a warehouse or shed or an office building. But without an organizing theme behind the structure, it is not architecture. A theme helps give architecture meaning. Great architecture creates delightful environments where every detail builds upon the design theme, repeated in endless variations. Structures like the Bogk house are reminders to modern architects of the power of theme, variation, and development.
This masterpiece of residential architecture is based on the rare module of an equilateral triangle. The extrapolation of this basic shape into three-dimensional architecture is in
This is architecture in its purest form.
