A journey that begins with Juan Gallego Benot, author of La Ciudad sin Imágenes, a book both simple and profound. It becomes a point of convergence between the world of the sighted and that of the blind. How can one perceive a city without being able to see it? What we conventionally call “beauty” often translates into mere visual satisfaction. Yet perhaps beauty, in its archetypal form, transcends vision and connects to those senses too often dimmed by visual dominance. Beauty must be touched, heard, tasted, and smelled.
This means reimagining the world—from the city to architecture and its minutiae—through a different lens. Designing for the blind and visually impaired presents a necessary and urgent challenge for architects and spatial thinkers. Immersed in the paradox of a non-visual aesthetic, we uncover qualities and capacities usually overshadowed by sight but which convey the essence of a place. The intensity of light, the resonance of sound, the trace of scent, and, above all, the tactile nature of materials form a sensory architecture. At this point, we must ask: what does it mean to design from this sensorial foundation? Is it possible to begin the design process without considering vision? Let us treat the verb “to see” as non-essential—within a context where sight is no longer a given, no longer a guiding principle, but simply an outcome. What is built is not meant to be observed, but to be lived.

What fascinates us about designing for those who cannot fully access visual input is their heightened awareness of the other senses. While the majority of sensory processing in sighted individuals relies on vision (approximately 80%), the remaining 20%—touch, hearing, smell, taste—still contributes to spatial experience. This minority of senses gathers information, processes it independently, and participates in the emotional synthesis of space. Multiple layers of feeling overlap, building a holistic perception of the world around us. Yet because we are unaccustomed to engaging deeply with these other senses, we often find ourselves unable to interpret certain sensations, rendering some spaces enigmatic or elusive.

The sensory properties of architecture are akin to the structure of a novel. What we read, word by word and page by page, is what we see. But the plot—the deeper meaning—emerges only through a comprehensive view, through the nuances that span the entire work. Every word is chosen for a larger intention, one that can only be revealed through sensitive, immersive reading.

This research is driven by the simple yet powerful curiosity to explore a world both complex and wondrous—a world without colors, yet rich in scent; without shapes, yet alive with texture. This universe begins in Venice, a city like no other. What is it like to experience Venice—often named one of the most beautiful cities in the world—without being able to see it? Can it still be called beautiful? If living in Venice is already a wonder and a challenge for those who do not call it home, then living it without sight seems almost utopian. How far can the boundaries of the senses reach?