What makes a place a place? That question lies at the heart of Genius Loci, the influential work by architectural theorist Christian Norberg-Schulz. In a world where architecture often dissolves into form without origin, he calls for a return to the essential character of place. His approach is phenomenological: architecture must support the existential experience of space  - not merely functional or aesthetic, but as a carrier of meaning.

One of the many stories that stuck with me in particular is his description of the Roman practice of consecrating a new site. Whether establishing a temporary military camp or founding a new city, the Romans would first plant verbena - a sacred herb meant to appease the spirit of the place, the Genius Loci. This ritual act was not mere superstition, but an acknowledgment of what many traditional cultures intuitively understand: that a place is alive. That space is ensouled, bearing a unique character that cannot be captured in floor plans or briefs.

Nearly every non-modern culture perceives the world as animated, inhabited by forces, spirits, and stories. The genius loci - the protective spirit of a place - is a symbol of this ensoulment. According to Norberg-Schulz, architecture must make this spirit visible. It must reveal what is already there. It must help a space to speak up. For this reason, when we built Villa Fano in Madagascar, we invited a local shaman to perform a ceremonial blessing. When in Madagascar, act as the locals do!

Against this backdrop, it becomes painful to reflect on how modernism stripped space of its meaning. Tabula rasa thinking - building without context, without history, without soul and one of the dictums of modern architecture - has led to places that feel empty. Unrooted. And at times, it seems as though the spirits of these disenchanted places have turned against us: manifesting as alienation, burnout, urban loneliness. The architectural soul has been replaced by efficiency and return on investment thinking.

For AMORV, Genius Loci is more than a book - it is a foundational affirmation of our approach. We do not design on a site, but depart from a site. We listen to what is already present: the landscape, the history, the rhythm, the light, the local culture. Every place has a story that longs to be heard. The task of the architect is to translate that story into space.

Norberg-Schulz gives words to what many intuitively feel: that a space only truly resonates when it aligns, when it hums with presence. His phenomenological lens invites us to slow down, to perceive, to attune. And to remember that architecture does not begin with a pencil, but with an encounter - a meeting with the metaphysical spirit of the place.