“The Future is in History”: the living legacy of Federico Bucci

I remember Federico from the Department of Architectural Design. We were both recent graduates — he was a few years older than me — and we worked in the same building, number 13, which is now dedicated to Cesare Chiodi. I was assisting Matilde Baffa, a professor of Architectural Composition, while he was actively working on editing the Department Notebooks, directed by Ludovico Meneghetti, a professor of Urban Planning who was an important point of reference for Federico. This is where our careers began.

If I had to sketch his profile, I would say that he was deeply committed to the Politecnico. He had a genuine feeling of political engagement, in the deepest sense of the expression. He brought society’s problems into the university and the university’s problems to society.

He was — and for me he still is — a man of profound institutional rigour, but he was also brilliant, ironic, even cocky. A lively person animated by a deep polytechnic spirit and a sincere attachment to our university.

He was not so — or only — attracted to the creation of projects as to their criticism, which he considered an integral part of the project itself. This approach also accompanied him throughout his long collaboration with the magazine Casabella, where he worked for almost twenty years alongside the editor, Francesco Dal Co.

Dal Co had been a pupil of Manfredo Tafuri, with whom he had written one of the most important and most translated histories of architecture in the world, the famous ‘Tafuri-DalCo’, as we used to call it, or ‘Architettura Contemporanea I e II’, which was originally published by Electa in 1976. Federico viewed Dal Co as a master, a very authoritative point of reference particularly on the editorial staff of the magazine, continuing an Italian tradition that was recognised around the world. Already in his days in the department, he showed a natural aptitude for systematising data and writing. We joked that he was ‘more pen than pencil’, but always with the same respect for the project.

Yes, absolutely. For him, the history of contemporary architecture was a dynamic subject capable of evolving with the times and trends. If we think about architecture magazines from the 1920s and 1930s, and then those after World War II, they were the only channel for architects to learn about projects. They arrived in hard copy, with editorial and scientific committees selecting and commenting on the works. Nothing was self-published. Everything went through the meritocratic grid of scientific, technical and poetic objectivity.

After World War II, Milan became the centre of this debate, with Domus on the one hand — directed by Gio Ponti — and Casabella on the other — directed by Ernesto Nathan Rogers. The two magazines presented complementary visions: Domus was more avant-garde and international, while Casabella was more rooted in Italian identity.
This is where Federico developed his thinking on the importance of post-war Italian architecture in defending the memory and spirit of a place. Hence his cultural position, which is also reflected in the title of the exhibition The Future is in History. It may seem ordinary today, but he made it a central, ennobling aspect.

Yes. In the project, and in architecture in general, he correctly saw a continuity between past and future. For him, there was no such thing as pure invention, but rather transformation. Each project grows out of respect for what has been handed down, reaching us through continual transformations that always follow a recognisable path.

This principle formed the basis of his 13 years in Mantua, where he built a teaching model based on the idea that all disciplines — from architectural design to technology, from restoration to history — should interact with each other. He also created the UNESCO Chair at the campus, accordingly building a well-equipped, uniform team of professors who also shared this philosophy.

During his leadership, the teaching project in Mantua was clear, coherent and internationally recognised. Many students chose that campus precisely for the living relationship between design and history.

Very much so. I had the pleasure of working with him and with Professor Maria Pilar Vettori in the Final Design Studio, the last and most intense experience for three-year students before they graduate. As part of the Studio, Federico taught the History of Contemporary Architecture module in Milan. This was a profound mutual exchange: the project fed history, and history lent depth to the project.

In Mantua, this principle lived in the DNA of the study programme. The students learned in a unique setting, because the city itself is an open-air museum.

MantovArchitettura was a real invention by Federico. It started about twelve years ago with an extraordinary intuition: transforming the city into a living laboratory of architecture.
He combined the critical strength of a magazine like Casabella with the academic and public aspects of the event. For a month every year, he invited dozens of internationally renowned scholars and architects to Mantua, turning a city of 45,000 residents into a place for discussion and exchange on architectural culture.
The principle was simple and powerful: talking about architecture within architecture. Lectures were held in theatres, noble palaces and city landmarks — from Teatro Bibiena to Teatro di Sabbioneta, from Palazzo Ducale to Casa del Mantegna, from the Temple of San Sebastiano to Palazzo Te. The content resonated in the beauty of the container.

I would say there are two in particular. The first is having brought the great Portuguese architect Eduardo Souto de Moura, winner of the Pritzker Prize, to Mantua for ten years. This generous and consistent figure helped to build what we can now call the ‘Mantua School of Architecture’.

The second great contribution is having convinced Renzo Piano to return to the Politecnico.
Federico personally carried a letter signed by Giovanni Azzone, then Rector of the Politecnico, to Genoa inviting Renzo Piano to give an inaugural lecture.
The first time, the invitation did not succeed. I remember because I was present when it was delivered.  But the following year, the request was successful. It was October 2014. Renzo Piano came and gave the lecture in the library amid all the books and students. It was an extraordinary moment, very intimate.

These contacts, which are one of Federico’s most concrete and eternal legacies, arose due to the network he had built over time.

Close. He respected them, listened to them, stimulated them. He often said that ‘architecture is transmitted through experience, not books’, and he demonstrated this every day.
He knew how to interweave academic and human aspects. Federico knew everyone: the barista, newsagent, restaurant owner and of course the students. He had a rare quality: he was generous with his time. He stopped to talk, to explain, to share experiences.
He was empathetic and a great listener. He was never afraid to make time for others, which is a rare gift in academia. The students adored him precisely for this reason: because they felt seen, heard and respected.

He was brilliant, ironic, and passionate about football and tennis. When he passed away, Inter won the derby 5-1, a sign that seemed almost poetic to many of us.

For over twelve years, he served on the Academic Board under three different rectors.
He played a key role by always speaking for the architects, who were sometimes in the minority among the engineers.
His participation was very serious, but also ironic and light-hearted. He was balanced. He knew how to interact with engineers — something that is not always a given for architects — and he always built bridges.

He studied the history of the Politecnico and contributed to numerous books on its beginnings and development. His writings show a conviction that the Politecnico was not just a place for technical education, but also a cultural community called on to question its role over time.

He created the International Engineering Festival. He had a rare ability to join worlds that are often kept apart: architecture and engineering. He respected them both and knew their histories.

I remember that when he passed away, Inter — his favourite team — won the derby against AC Milan 5-1. It was like a small sign, fate smiling down on him. An Inter jersey with original signatures by all the players was laid on his coffin, a salute full of passion and irony, just like him.

Yes, absolutely. Federico was eclectic and multifaceted. He wasn’t the classical historian locked in the library, but a historian who experienced things in the midst of people, construction sites and debates. His time in the United States had forged this characteristic.

He had a tireless curiosity and an extraordinary ability to build relationships, making the university, research, project and outside world interact. In this sense, he was also a ‘cultural entrepreneur’, capable of imagining and realising projects that united people, institutions and languages.

(Smiles) Maybe: ‘Who wins the championship?’ — and I am sure that, as a diehard Inter fan, he would answer confidently, ‘Inter, of course.’
But all joking aside, I would also ask him if he is satisfied with the way we are going about things. If he thinks we are doing a good job of preserving what he built, and if we are continuing to cultivate that spirit of curiosity and openness that he embodied.
I also know what he would answer!

Yes, I have many. One I am particularly fond of is a trip we took together to China for a series of lectures and academic understandings with the schools of architecture in Nanjing and Beijing.
There I saw a different Federico: the curious traveller, the man capable of observing everything with new eyes. He was enthusiastic, amused, full of energy. He was a generous and brilliant man, capable of being serious and light-hearted at the same time.

I also remember when I gave him a cap I had bought for him during the Wimbledon tournament: his eyes sparkled, happy as a child. That smile encapsulates everything about him: his passion, intelligence and light-heartedness.

His vision remains: that the future of architecture lies in history, and that knowledge must be shared. As far as the world of Contemporary Architectural History is concerned, I consider him a ‘scientist of knowledge’. His generosity, his sense of community, his ability to combine rigour and kindness also remain.

And above all this is his example: a man who deeply loved the university, the students and his profession as an architect and historian.