Reflections

Though the travel portion of this project is completed, I will be presenting my research at Berkeley sometime next year, and will continue to develop the ideas I’ve explored here, composing them into a cohesive presentation over the next few months. I’ve spent the past couple weeks reflecting on and organizing my research, and reading through my notes and posts (correcting occasional typos in the process).

More than anything, this project has emphasized to me the complexity of the role buildings play in our culture. How we experience buildings is influenced by their form and materiality, their social and historical context, and their established use. We react to buildings in ways that are sometimes intuitive, sometimes unpredictable, and for reasons difficult to recognize. They end up playing a role in our culture one way or another, regardless of their design intent.

Sketchbook excerpt: “Levels of Historical Association”

Delving into themes of historical preservation and commemoration has helped me learn a lot about the role of a site’s history: a building’s current use might be informed by its history, or divorced from it. Sometimes the building’s history is all that matters, dictating future renovations, while sometimes its use and context continue to change over time, contributing new stories to the canon, and new possibilities in form and function.

Sketchbook excerpt: “Modes of Reuse”

Though I’ve chosen several broad lenses through which to frame this project, I’m very excited by what I’ve found where these lenses intersect. Adaptive reuse, and within it, the preservation of a historic structure to some extent, is in itself an act of commemoration. Strategies for both reuse and commemoration are steeped in these questions of significance and individual engagement with the space. In adapting a building, we engage with its history, both physical and ideological.

This engagement in deeply personal. The challenge with both commemoration and preservation is that the parameters are defined by each person’s interpretation and experience. What’s important about the space? What does it mean to use the space in a new or different way? We cannot have complete certainty or objectivity when answering these questions, but what we can do is approach the project holistically, engage with the community and the history and do our best to account for the most significant factors.

Sketchbook excerpt, modes of community engagement: educational, recreational, commercial.

When buildings successfully engage a community using these strategies of reuse, preservation and commemoration, they’re appealing to each user’s personal feelings, reactions and needs, and as a result, have the power to impact the greater community. How we remember and reuse historical buildings may change over time, but when we choose to reuse these buildings for community purposes, we have the opportunity to have an impact on a scale greater than the building itself.

New York Days 5 and 6

The Park Avenue Armory was built in 1880 on the Upper East Side for the New York National Guard’s 7th regiment, also known as the “silk stocking regiment,” a reference to the wealth and social status of many of its members. The 7th regiment included Roosevelts, Van Rensselaers and Stewarts, and its opulent interiors reflect this. Several of the interior spaces were designed by the very artists who worked on the private homes of these wealthy members, including Stanford White and Louis Comfort Tiffany.

Through its history, the armory’s drill hall has served as an event and performance space, as well as the home of the US National Indoor Tennis Championships for many years.

The building is now owned by a public-private partnership, and managed by the cultural nonprofit that occupies the building: Park Avenue Armory, which produces a variety of arts programming and educational partnerships. The site also continues to provide space for National Guard offices, as well as a women’s shelter (a requirement for all New York State armories).

The building is unique by historic preservation standards because both its interiors and exterior are landmarked, making the reuse of the building a distinct challenge. The building is also landmarked at the city, state, and national levels. When the nonprofit that now manages and occupies the building first bid to restore and renovate the building, they were the sole bidder - seemingly for the challenges posed by this level of regulation.

The building has undergone over 160 million worth of renovations in phases since 2007, which will continue to preserve historic aspects of the building, as well as make spaces suitable for new uses. The renovations thus far have focused on restoring the detailed and intricate historic interiors, as well as retrofitting mechanical and electrical systems to support the current arts programming.

Original wood finish and wall treatments restored

Historic interiors are restored room by room, each its own distinct project. The preservation strategy is to restore everything within a certain period of significance (1880-1897 or so), and for elements which cannot be restored adequately, to adapt the design of new elements in response, without creating something meant to appear artificially “old.” For example, many of the original iron light fixtures remain, and have been given new bulbs that aim to emulate the original gas fixtures, without directly mimicking them.

Original light fixture with contemporary bulbs

Lighting and sound rigging installed in an ornately decorated historic interior

The design of modern mechanical/electrical systems that now support arts and performance in these spaces have been calibrated to impose on the original character of the interiors as little as possible, while remaining efficient.

This project is a reminder that when reusing a historic building, even if the design intent were to preserve as much of the original as possible, the fact of a new use for the space necessitates some amount of design intervention. Some projects endeavor to contrast new design interventions with the historic, but given the strict preservation guidelines in place for this landmarked building, this strategy was deemed most appropriate.

This building doesn’t carry a strong association with a particular conflict: though it is a military structure, it wasn’t in use during many significant campaigns by its occupants, and certainly never saw combat in the way of some of the other sites I’ve visited. However, I think it’s still relevant to my interests, as its design and history are tied to a military heritage, and despite significant design limitations, it has succeeded in providing for a variety of community-oriented programming.

I also found it interesting to learn that this project also represents a typology that has been repeated all over the country: during the 20th century, National Guard Armories became less needed for their original purposes, and their often grand architecture was very expensive for states to maintain. For these reasons, privatization has become a popular avenue, and has resulted in a multitude of solutions for reuse. National guard armories have been revived through adaptive reuse as a university building at the Savannah College of Art and Design, a public library and apartment building in Minnesota, and a museum in New Mexico, among many other examples.

Poetter Hall at SCAD: https://www.scad.edu/life/buildings-and-facilities/poetter-hall

The site at the corner of 6th Avenue and West 10th Street in Greenwich village was originally a market, graced in the 1830s with a fire watch tower, whose bell was used to summon firemen. A courthouse building in a Victorian gothic style, with an adjacent prison, was completed on the site in 1877, incorporating the bell tower. It was at the time considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the country. The building gained a reputation during its time as a courthouse, hosting high profile cases such as the trial of Stanford White’s murderer (https://guides.loc.gov/chronicling-america-stanford-white-murder), and also was home to a night court for many years, in an attempt to manage the stream of cases coming from the nearby Tenderloin district. The building then sat unused from the mid-1940s until 1958, when the threat of demolition rallied the then-burgeoning historic preservation movement, resulting in the building’s establishment as a national landmark, and its eventual reuse.

https://www.nypap.org/preservation-history/jefferson-market-courthouse/

In 1967, the building reopened as a branch of the New York Public Library. This early example of adaptive reuse was designed by Giorgio Cavalieri and converted the civil court into a reading room, the police court room into the children’s reading room, and the basement holding area for prisoners into a library reference area.

The result of reusing a beautiful courthouse building is, not surprisingly, a very beautiful library. The reading rooms have soaring ceilings and stained glass windows, and a spiral staircase in the tower’s base guides visitors between levels.

The library does acknowledge the building’s history, carrying a few books that reference the Courthouse, and the NYPL website features a detailed page about the history of Jefferson Market Library. That said, though the library is celebrated as a historical landmark, I wouldn’t say the building is treated with the sensitivity of some of the other sites I’ve visited that have been host to social conflict. I do think it’s valid to argue that a courthouse building is a site of conflict, given that by definition, people using the space are often undergoing a traumatic experience - but especially in this case, when the site used to include a prison, and was trying criminal cases. I think the counter to this argument is that this legacy of conflict doesn’t seem to be particularly felt or remembered by the community. This beautiful, historic building that resembles a church definitely has a different effect on its surroundings than you might expect from a courthouse and prison.

Basement reference room, formerly a holding area for those on trail

I’m never quite sure how where I land in this argument: If a building has a dark history, but most of its users don’t consider it in that context, is it productive or necessary to acknowledge that history? The Palazzo della Civilta Italiana in Rome carries a similar dilemma, with Fendi arguing that Italians don’t associate the building with Fascism (see my post on this here: https://www.sallylape.com/research-1/category/Rome). I think what differs between these examples is that the architecture of Mussolini’s palazzo was specifically calibrated for the fascist agenda; its appearance was symbolic and deliberate. The Jefferson Market Courthouse, however, was designed to look more or less like a gothic church. Not that this decision was necessarily without agenda, but I’m not sure this building carries the same cultural weight.

Spotted some artistic depictions of the building, apparently not yet hung

Though I think it’s always good to acknowledge the history of a building, I’m not sure whether it’s completely necessary to treat this space with more sensitivity than is already in place: a library is certainly a respectful use for any sensitive space. I think the current state of this building is sufficient in both addressing its history and serving it’s community.

The wall treatment in the reading rooms seems to incorporate notes from check-out slips

The building recently underwent an accessibility upgrade, and was closed for three years before reopening (luckily) the week I was in town. I visited the library on the afternoon of opening day, and was pleased to find it bustling with guests: several passerby in the foyer were literally exclaiming to each other and chatting about how great it was to be back in the library, and how lovely the renovation was.

Projects like these remind me why I love the work that I do. To see community spaces actively being used and serving an important need - made more effective by good design - is so satisfying, even when the work isn’t my own.

For more info: https://www.nypl.org/about/locations/jefferson-market

New York Days 3 and 4

The High Line, once a disused section of the New York Central Railroad, was converted into a walkway and green space in phases between 2009 and 2019.

Designed by DS+R, the project presents a very thoughtful integration of new elements with existing. The paving pattern creates a visual vocabulary that accommodates remaining train lines, tapers off to create planted areas, and raises strategically to create furniture.

The High Line has been such a success that it has inspired a wave of development of similar “greenways” across the country - though these cannot be credited fully to the High Line, it was definitely an early and notable example of transforming residual infrastructure into recreational space.

The project has also arguably been a catalyst for development of the Hudson Yards neighborhood, which has transformed over the past 10 years into an incredibly expensive residential and commercial area.

The role and effects of the High Line have been subject to debate, sparking questions about whether projects like these, intended to “revitalize” neighborhoods, are actually doing more harm to the community by way of gentrification. I’m not going to delve into this issue, partially because I think adaptive reuse as a strategy can be deployed in many different situations, and its perceived effects will vary depending on other contributing factors as well.

I do think the High Line is worth considering because of these greater effects, whether they’re ultimately deemed positive or not. The project utilizes an industrial element, a rail line, which passes through the urban fabric differently than a city block or a road, allowing the park to penetrate throughout a larger urban area. Several of the other sites I’ve visited present similar opportunities (Tempelhof and Mauerpark in Berlin, for instance). It’s a really interesting example of how reuse can have a tangible impact at a larger urban scale.

The Moynihan Train Hall reuses the landmarked Farley Post Office Building as an expansion of Penn Station next door. The building, completed in 1914, was designed in a Beaux-Arts style by McKim, Mead and White to match the original Penn Station across the street.

The renovation was designed by SOM, notably adding vaulted glass ceilings in the main circulation spaces. In what was formerly the main mail sorting room, original steel trusses, once concealed within a ceiling, now support a vaulted ceiling comprised of steel and glass panels.

A preserved portion of the original building still serves as a post office, showcasing the beautiful interiors.

I think this project is a great example of adaptive reuse that both celebrates the virtues and functionality of the original building, while revitalizing it with thoughtful, modern interventions.

For more info: https://www.som.com/projects/moynihan-train-hall/

The Tenement Museum, founded in the 1980s, occupies two former tenement buildings on the Lower East Side. The museum is structured almost entirely around stories of real individuals who resided in these buildings at various times in US history. Rather than merely paying for admission or booking an overall tour, one visits the Tenement Museum by booking an apartment tour that features the story of a particular family or individual, about whom the museum has done genealogical research. I signed up for “At Home in 1869,” which followed the story of a family of Irish immigrants. The buildings are central to telling these stories, and are used to frame both the character of daily life for these former residents, as well as the larger historical events and trends that defined their lives. Although these buildings are not necessarily historically significant otherwise, they are treated as crucial historical elements more so than I experienced at almost any other site.

The buildings were in extreme disrepair when the organization first acquired them (97 Orchard street, which I visited, had been unoccupied for almost 50 years at that time). The museum has made an interesting choice in terms of preservation: some of the apartments have been restored to look as they would have when each tenant inhabited them, down to the furnishings and decor, in order to illustrate the values and struggles of each group of people. Other apartments, however, have been left more or less in the state in which they were found almost 30 years ago, with peeling paint, exposed sections of sheathing, and layers upon layers of rotting wallpaper. The intent here seemed to be to punctuate the idea that these buildings have a long and storied history: the tour guide pointed out that the peeling paint and wallpaper illustrate how many families occupied this space over time, and how each made efforts to make the space their own.

Source: https://www.tenement.org/tour/at-home-in-1869/?tour_date=2022-07-23

I found it very interesting that the museum utilized two different strategies for commemorating the building’s history, reaping the effects of both, and guiding visitors from one space to the other to emphasize the transition, like a movie told in flashbacks. This underlined a lot of questions I’d already had about preservation: when a building changes over time, which version of it should we preserve? What benefits come from exhibiting the effects of time, versus restoring what once was?

New York Days 1 and 2

Ellis Island, located in the New York harbor, functioned as an immigrant processing station from 1892-1954, and processed a total of around 12 million immigrants. The buildings sat abandoned from the 50s to the 80s, and were in rough shape before they were thoroughly restored. The buildings now function as a museum about the island itself, as well as the greater history of immigration in America.

The island also features what used to be an infectious disease hospital (apparently in the early 20th century, it was the largest public health facility in the US) - these building are only accessible by what is referred to as a “hard hat tour,” presumably due to the condition of the buildings.

The main exhibit on the first floor focuses on the history of immigration to the US, and does not reference the adjacent architecture much, instead intending creating novel educational experiences through the use of freestanding exhibit panels, as well as audio and video elements. The result is somewhat jumbled and only vaguely directional, with some redundancy in information (depending on the order in which you wander between the panels).

The upper levels, which focus on Ellis Island more specifically, are much more restrained in their exhibition design: themed rooms with simpler display panels, black and white photographs, and walls of prints or artifacts. Information is sometimes held back from the perimeter of the room, organized in the center, encouraging visitors to circulate around.

Preserved sections of the building itself also feature heavily in these exhibits, including the main Registry Room, hearing rooms for the Board of Special Inquiry, and preserved graffiti in situ.

Outside of the exhibition material, architectural interventions are minimal, but include the East Wing Light Court, which was converted from a light well to a skylit circulation space during the building’s restoration.

In all, the museum is a pleasant visit and a really great resource, and certainly a popular destination for school groups as well as tourists. However, with so much space, I wonder if the programming could go beyond that of just a museum. I suppose the fact of being an island is limiting in this regard (construction would be very expensive, and access is somewhat limited) but given the huge numbers of visitors and existing regular ferry service, expanded programming definitely seems within the realm of possibility.

Located at the tip of Manhattan in what is now Battery Park, Castle Clinton was built in 1812 as a battery, part of a larger system of forts that were meant to protect New York Harbor.

Side note: I learned that the star-shaped base of the Statue of Liberty was also originally one of these forts, Fort Wood, and was repurposed as the statue’s base.

In the 1820s, Castle Clinton was renamed “Castle Garden,” and used by the city as an event space. Then, in 1855, it was converted to an immigrant processing center, before Ellis Island opened. Then, bizarrely, it was converted into an aquarium that operated until 1941.

Source: https://www.nps.gov/cacl/learn/historyculture/index.htm

The building was restored to its original design by the National Park Service, and reopened in 1975. It now serves mostly as a visitor center, in which you can buy tickets for Ellis Island and Liberty Island.

I struggled to find documentation of what exactly these many renovations entailed, but vintage photographs indicate they were extensive. I find it interesting that the NPS chose to restore the building to its battery design - I wonder how much of the original building remained intact, and whether the battery could have been adequately acknowledged in some way from its later incarnations. It would be fascinating to see a more comprehensive overview of how the structure changed to accommodate these diverse uses over time, especially since today, it doesn’t feel like there’s much to see: one fading, permanent information plaque outside the southern entrance references the building’s history, but scarcely anyone stopped to read it. The northern entrance feels like the main entrance, as that’s the general direction of visitors to Ellis/Liberty islands. Inside, a spread of more temporary exhibit panels are nestled to one side, but its clear that for the most part, this building exists more to serve the other historical sites, rather than highlight its own story.

The 9/11 Memorial and Museum opened in 2014 and honors the almost 3000 people who were killed in the 9/11 attacks. The design consists of two fountains, occupying the former building footprints of the twin towers. I had not visited this memorial before, and was very moved by the experience. The constant movement and sound are very engaging, drowning out the din of tourists and cars nearby. This results in a much more immersive experience than I expected, especially given the heat and the crowds on the day I visited.

This strategy of referencing former building extents is similar to the Berlin Wall memorial. I think this is strategy can be really effective in its simplicity and scale. The choice to reference the absence of something is both poetic and visually dramatic.

I also think it’s worth noting that the collapse of these buildings resulted in the redevelopment of the World Trade Center site, with a master plan from Daniel Libeskind. The plan includes 6 new skyscrapers (4 of which have been built already) and a transit center, in addition to the memorial and museum.

The transit center is beautiful and convenient, and Calatrava’s design even integrates a memorial element: the Oculus, which only opens once a year on September 11th, and frames a view of 1 World Trade. It seems very unique to incorporate a commemorative element into a mostly commercial building - I wonder where else this strategy has been employed.

I’m interested in the idea that such a tragedy - a singular act of destruction - has in a roundabout way resulted in the extensive redevelopment of an urban area. Maybe the eventual transformation of this site is a testament in its own right to the powerful effects of destruction: emotional, physical, and temporal.

Berlin Days 5 and 6

The East Side Gallery is a remaining 1.3 km portion of the Berlin Wall along the Spree river, established as an open-air gallery in 1990.

This project both acknowledges the cultural role of the wall, and creates a site of interest within the community. Many of the murals featured directly address the subject of the wall itself, as well as topics related to the Cold War in general. The use of the wall as a gallery is in part also a nod to Berlin’s persistent graffiti culture, and has become an iconic tourist attraction.

I think the East Side Gallery represents a version of what I’ve found to be a popular method for reuse: employing historic buildings or ruins for art installations. This strategy is definitely cheaper than adapting the building, while arguably still beneficial for the community. Rather than allowing these remnants of the wall to crumble, invite graffiti, and fester as a reminder of issues unresolved, the gallery establishes the wall’s continued presence as a memorial to its lasting effect on the city.

Built in 1949 to honor the 80,000 Soviet soldiers who perished in the Battle of Berlin, the Soviet War Memorial in Treptower park is the largest outside of Russia. It also acknowledges the 25 million+ Soviets lost throughout World War II, the most of any nation.

Sarcophagi around the perimeter of the site hold the remains of 7000 soldiers, each monument emblazoned with a Stalin quote chronicling the hardships of the Soviet people (these quotes were not removed during the era of destalinization, likely for fear of defacing the graves.)

Though this is not a building, really, nor an example of reuse, I thought it was important to visit this site because I think it’s a unique example of commemoration. Many nations maintain graves of foreign soldiers whose remains were, for whatever reason, not repatriated (particularly as long as the nations involved have maintained good relationships). After WWII, Germany and Russia agreed to maintain graves of the other’s soldiers.

I found it particularly moving to visit the memorial now, as an American, in this moment when Russia is perceived globally as an aggressor, due to the ongoing war in Ukraine. The soldiers we commemorate at this memorial were also serving a leader who we now recognize as evil, who was responsible for a genocide of his own people - for many of the deaths, in fact, acknowledged by the memorial. And yet, the memorial remembers these people themselves, more so than their circumstances. The memorial site has been maintained, and will continue to be tended by Germany, regardless of the current relationship between these nations or their people. By continuing to acknowledge the lives lost, we continue to humanize those involved in these events, and ideally, learn from them.

The Berlin Wall Memorial at Bernauer Strasse was inaugurated in 1998, and uses steel interventions to indicate the former location of the Berlin wall in this area, as well as other elements of the demilitarized zone, such as signal fences, watchtowers, former building footprints, and escape tunnels. The wall is delineated by a series of steel posts, while most of the other elements are marked by steel plates in various patterns and line types inlaid in the grass. These elements are paired with informational plaques and photographs, together telling the story of the wall, and its impact on this particular area of Berlin. Many who perished in their attempts to cross the border are memorialized specifically.

The installation stretches for over half a kilometer, defining a park that inhabits the former demilitarized zone. The steel elements are very illustrative, making the scale of the wall and the surrounding area very clear, while remaining subtle. The result is both a lovely park to stroll through, and an interesting place to pull over and spend a few minutes learning and reflecting.

I think this memorial is a really great example of a particular model of commemorating historic structures: in which the former location of a fallen structure is somehow acknowledged. In this case, the intervention doesn’t prevent the space from being occupied as a park, and has a powerful visual impact.

Tränenpalast, which translates to “Palace of Tears,” is a former Berlin wall checkpoint located adjacent to the Friedrichstrasse train station. The building has been converted into a museum about divided Berlin during the Cold War, with a focus on the specifics of what the experience of crossing through the checkpoint would entail, including reconstructions of passport booths, historical artifacts, etc.

The museum is defined by minimal architectural interventions, instead, the space is mostly true to its original form, divided into different sections by exhibit panels. Though this isn’t the most exciting site I’ve visited in terms of architectural design, I think the value of the museum lies in the ability to frame this history in the literal space where these processes took place.

Reconstruction of a processing booth

This project is representative of a category that has been prominent throughout my research, but especially so in Berlin: reusing a building primarily for a museum dedicated to historical events related to the building. Schindler’s Enamel Factory and the Museo Storico Della Liberazione, for instance, are not dissimilar examples, but in Berlin alone there are several similar cases. For example, the German Resistance Memorial Center is located in the former building of the Reich Ministry of Defense, in whose courtyard members of an anti-Nazi group were executed after an attempted coup. The Stasi Museum, which commemorates the history of the GDR and its effects, is located in the former Stasi headquarters in East Berlin. The Topography of Terror museum, which chronicles the Nazi regime, is located on the former site of the Gestapo and SS headquarters - though these buildings were destroyed during the war, the museum acknowledges their former presence. A remaining section of the Berlin wall has also been integrated into the site.

Source: https://www.visitberlin.de/en/topography-terror

This general strategy for reuse is a natural solution to the problem of buildings like these: the building’s context is adequately acknowledged, and the museum setting allows for other programmatic uses, such as libraries, research centers, art installations, etc. This is certainly a popular strategy, and given the large number of similar examples, enough to be a research project of its own. The reason I didn’t want to focus solely on this category of reuse is that a.) it often doesn’t lend itself to extensive architectural solutions. Rather, the preservation of the original building and incorporation of educational/commemorative material are the dominant priorities, and b.) I’m more interested in projects that push the use of these buildings further from commemoration alone, and more toward other community-oriented uses. The TEP center in New Orleans still exemplifies this for me: though the site’s history is adequately addressed, the building also fulfills some additional, completely separate community needs.

Berlin Days 3 and 4

The Tempelhof air fields had been in use for military drills and events since the 18th century. Around the turn of the 20th century, the site also became well known for hosting some early flights, including one by the Wright brothers in 1909. An airport was first built on the site in 1923, and became the founding location of Deutsche Luft Hansa in 1926.

During the Nazi regime, the site became an important element in Albert Speer’s master plan for “Germania,” what Hitler intended for Berlin’s future as a grand and interconnected world capital. Tempelhof would play the role of a gateway to Europe, the largest airport ever constructed, and a symbol of the scale and power of the German empire. Construction began in 1936, but halted in 1941, only a portion of the massive plan completed.

Even so, the building consists of about 300,000 occupiable square meters. Until the construction of the Pentagon, it was the largest building in the world (by area). The air fields occupy an area of around 350 Hectares - roughly the size of Central Park.

In 1948 and 49, Tempelhof was a primary site of the Berlin Airlifts, which is perhaps the historic association most locals have with the site today. After the war, the building was part of American-occupied Berlin, and served as a US military base beginning in 1945, and continuing to some extent until 1995.

Berlin Airlifts Memorial, in front of Tempelhof

The airport was used for civilian aviation from 1948-75, and then again in the 90s, until it closed in 2008. After 2008, the airfields were converted into a public park, which now uses the runways for biking and recreation, and the fields for a variety of uses, including a community garden.

During the building’s use as a US military base, the Americans made renovations to accommodate their uses (including espionage efforts during the Cold War, and converting what was intended as a private ballroom for Hitler into a basketball court) but they also made changes in order to diminish the grandeur of the space, thus undermining the original ideological intent of this sprawling symbol of totalitarian power.

For example, a section above the entry hall was sectioned off, effectively lowering the ceiling in the space below. The ceiling in the Great Hall was also lowered by an entire level, creating a floor above for use by the Americans, and diluting the grand scale of the hall.

The now unused space above the entry hall

Main entry hall

Today, about two-thirds of the building is occupied, with 70 permanent tenants, the largest being the police. The hangars and some of the other larger spaces in the building are rented out for temporary exhibits, performances, and events. A visitor’s center and exhibit about the history of the building opened in 2019 on the ground floor, from which tours of the building are offered.

There are also plans to expand the public-facing portion of the project, including:

• a rooftop '“History Gallery", an open-air walkway featuring a history exhibition

• a new rooftop viewing deck in the westernmost tower

• some of the hangars will host exhibitions from the German Film and Television Academy, and the Aviation Center of the German Technology Museum

There have apparently been conversations about using the airfield space to develop housing, to no avail thus far.

The reuse of this building poses some significant challenges: inadequate electrical, fire and mechanical systems, as well as some areas of structural inadequacy. I couldn’t find any specifics as to whether the building must comply with specific preservation guidelines, but it’s clear that preserving the historic structure to a certain extent is also a priority. It is very time-intensive and expensive to renovate given these conditions. According to our tour guide, the building currently requires 12-13 million dollars in maintenance per year. The building has been renovated for contemporary use in phases, each of which tends to take 5-10 years. It is expected that all of the planned improvements will take at least 15 years to complete.

Though redeveloping this enormous project presents obvious challenges, it also feels like the only choice: as such a huge, central space, it’s intuitive to make use of what already exists, even regardless of its historic context.

This project was a main inspiration for my research: it’s an iconic historic structure, it carries various cultural connotations, and it’s being reused in a way that both addresses the history of the structure, and provides space and programming that serves the community in a new way. Because of its scale, it also is in the unique position to employ all sorts of different adaptive reuse and commemoration strategies. I would love to visit in 10 years or so to see how the redevelopment has progressed.

The House of the Wannsee Conference was originally a private villa, and was then owned by the government during the Nazi regime and used for private events. This picturesque villa was the location of a meeting in 1942 in which a group of high-ranking Nazis confirmed the plan for the “Final Solution,” which would exterminate all European Jews.

Though the Final Solution had already been in development, the purpose of the meeting was to clarify and codify its intent.

The villa, which sits on the banks of the Wannsee, a lake just outside of Berlin, is flanked by yacht clubs, beautiful private homes, and historic homes. The villa is now home to a museum documenting both the events of the Wannsee Conference and a more general history of the persecution of Jews in Europe. The upper level also hosts a public library prioritizing the study of Jewish history and persecution, resistance efforts, and the commemoration of Germany’s fascist past.

I was impressed by the site’s accessibility efforts: the museum was fully accessible to those with hearing and vision impairments, utilizing tactile maps and navigation tools.

Tactile site map

Exhibition space with tactile floor guides. This space also appeared to be originally the villa’s kitchen, and retains some of the original wall tile.

On the surface, the museum makes for a nice day trip from Berlin: it’s accessible on the S Bahn, and took us a little over an hour to reach from our Airbnb in East Berlin. Its proximity to the lake allows for a little bit of education and reflection in the morning, followed by swimming or boating in the afternoon. This juxtaposition of pastimes really captures my biggest questions about this site: how does the use of this building facilitate or hinder the conveyance of the information within? Is this setting the most effective place to communicate the realities of the Final Solution, or is it distracting?

The Final Solution is also usually discussed at concentration camp museums, and other museums chronicling fascist Germany and the Holocaust, many of which either occupy their own, historic site, or are more accessible to big cities and other tourist destinations. Also, given the villa’s more symbolic connection to the events of the Holocaust, it might be more suited to reuse for other purposes than other buildings more directly connected to these events. Though this museum is certainly well designed and thoughtful, and a fine use of the space, I think it definitely raises questions about which settings of commemoration are most effective, and which are most necessary.

Berlin Days 1 and 2

First stop in Berlin: built at the end of the 19th century, Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church was severely damaged in air raids in 1943. After some discussion about the best way to treat the remains of the structure, it was decided that a new building would incorporate the ruins of the original church, in order to commemorate its destruction.

The new structures, built around 1960, contrast in style, but complement the original in terms of massing. The new design provides a bell tower, an octagonal chapel, and smaller support structures. Since the completion of the new buildings, the church has continued to be used for worship, as well as functioning as a museum.

Scale model of the new church (excuse the glare)

The visual contrast between the old and new structures is very compelling, and has made the church a rather iconic tourist site. Given the already austere nature of the space by virtue of being a church, I think this project is well positioned for engagement with the site’s history and context. The chapel also hosts regular concerts, primarily classical and chamber music.

Gift shop built into the ruined portion of the church

View of the new chapel through a modern arched window in the ruined 19th century church

Next, while on our way to the Neue Nationalgalerie, I spotted this sign on the exterior of a fomer villa on Sigismundstrasse, whose facade was pockmarked with bullet holes. Wunden der Erinnerung, which translates to “Wounds of Memory,” is a project intended to acknowledge and preserve visible artillery marks on historic buildings. The project aims to commemorate the fraught past of buildings that were the site of combat, quietly inviting passerby to remember and reflect on this history.

The organization has placed at least 16 panels on historical buildings throughout Europe. I think this a great example of how through a very simple and accessible design move, the historical context of a building can be appropriately acknowledged, without necessarily impacting the building’s use or appearance. It appears most of the locations of these plaques are cultural, religious, or educational facilities, and I wonder how the effect would differ depending on its site. Would placement in a busy shopping area, or at a stadium or nightclub mean this information will fall on deaf ears? Or can interventions like these in unexpected places be even more impactful?

And next, my first main case study in Berlin:

Sammlung Boros is a project that feels representative of Berlin’s historical and cultural heritage. It was originally constructed as a civilian air-raid shelter using forced labor in 1942. Afterward, the structure was apparently used by the soviets to hold prisoners of war. Then, in the 50s and 60s in divided Berlin, it was used as storage for both textiles and produce, and became known locally as the “Banana Bunker.” In the 90s, the bunker was used “extra-legally” as an apparently notorious techno club. Acquired in the early 2000s by the Boros Foundation, it now houses Christian and Karen Boros’ contemporary art collection.

Waiting area

The gallery is accessible only by private tour, booked in advance. A private apartment has also been constructed on the roof of the bunker, a collision of public and private space that I found a little bizarre (during the tour, they even alerted us the the fact that we were being welcomed into “a private home,” though we only toured the galleries downstairs.)

The renovation created larger volumes in certain spaces through the strategic removal of floors and walls. This restraint came mostly from the incredible expense of demolishing the building’s thick reinforced concrete structural elements, but it also results in what I think is a successful dialogue between remaining and intervening spaces.

Credit to Casper Mueller Kneer Architects

The remaining texture of exposed concrete walls is featured throughout, with bullet holes on the exterior and the scars of demolished floors and walls on the interior. This texture contrasts starkly with new framed partitions and modern doors and windows. Some of the interior concrete has been deliberately painted white to match adjacent sheet rock, or left unpainted in contrast. The effect results in unique and thoughtfully varied exhibition spaces. These are effective gallery spaces, with dramatic and varying volumes, achieving a flexible space without the feel of a stark, blank canvas.

For me, this project represents successful adaptive reuse not only in terms of design, but in terms of commemoration: the continual reuse of the building and current acknowledgement of its varied past represents a cross section of Berlin’s complex and ever-evolving history. Even though the gallery isn’t particularly accessible, it’s affordable and public-facing enough to have built some notoriety, and established itself as a fixture of the city’s culture for those who visit long enough to dip below the popular tourist attractions. I would argue that this combination of cultural and historical presence is beneficial to the community.

However, I do think the building’s history could be commemorated beyond its verbal acknowledgement in the gallery tour. A plaque outside or a few informational panels in the lobby would be cheap, and really reinforce the building’s historical role without taking away from the art collection itself.

One last stop on day 2: north of the Berlin city center, a large area formerly between the inner and outer Berlin walls has become park space, now identifiable as Mauerpark, Park am Nordbahnhof, and the area of the Berlin Wall Memorial along Bernauer Strasse.

Today, Mauerpark is home to a Sunday flea market the draws swaths of people from all over the city, selling all sorts of goods, from street food to used clothing and antiques.

Map indicating former location of inner and outer walls from https://berlinwallmap.info/map/

Park am Nordbahnhof runs roughly North-South on the right, and Mauerpark on the left, with the Berlin Wall Memorial park connecting them in the East-West direction

It’s both exciting and perfectly expected to see the former demilitarized zone of Berlin’s wall used as a park: the area was cleared for so many years, and much of it is too narrow for significant building real estate. A park feels like a natural result of these physical effects, and a satisfying resolution to what was formerly a space representative of fear and trauma. I was also able to return a few days later to take a closer look at the Berlin Wall Memorial, which further addresses this historical context (more on that later).

Vienna

After a little bit of a lag in my blogging schedule, I’ve been working to catch up on the sites I’ve seen in the past week.

I was able to carve out a few days during my trip to meet up with family in Vienna, before we all diverged to other destinations. Though this was the main reason for my visit, I was able to take in one case study of how this city has commemorated its history through building preservation and reuse.

During World War II, artillery towers were built in German-occupied territories to combat allied air raids. Known as Flakturm, many of these towers were constructed in public parks and open green spaces, seemingly given the visibility and land availability. Like many buildings constructed during the Nazi era, they were built using forced labor, and remain symbolically controversial for this reason, in addition to their association with Nazi warfare. The towers were also designed to double as air raid shelters for civilians, and were constructed with concrete walls 2-3 meters thick. Given this fortification, structures like these are very expensive to demolish, and several remain standing primarily for this reason.

Six Flakturm still stand in Vienna, two of which are located in the Augarten, a large and otherwise formal, manicured park northeast of the city center. The Flakturm loom strangely over the park, an uncanny backdrop to flower beds, children’s birthday parties, cyclists, and garden cafes.

A plaque posted at each of the two towers declares the commemorative purpose of the remaining structures, intended to serve as a reminder of the lasting effects of National Socialism.

Structures like these are a tricky subject, given that they are often publicly owned, and could be prohibitively expensive to retrofit. I did learn of one rare example of a reused Flakturm, also located in Vienna though I didn’t have a chance to visit, which is the Haus Des Meeres. This structure has been reused as an aquarium, an apparently somewhat controversial decision given the sensitive historical context of the site.

I would hope that use as an aquarium - which provides recreational and educational services to the community - could coexist with appropriate commemoration of the site’s context. However, I do understand the potential cognitive dissonance posed by juxtaposing these uses: does using a building for leisure negate its potential as a place of reflection? Though the Flakturm in the Augarten are not an example of building reuse, I think their preservation presents a positive example of how this pairing of uses can be appropriate. Perhaps the example of a public park is able to navigate this dissonance because its uses are so broad and user-defined. On the other hand, perhaps that breadth of use and interpretation works to its detriment. Do places of remembrance need to be guided and defined, or can their experience be determined by each user?

I think these questions represent a larger issue of how to treat land and buildings previously used for military purposes. The Golden Gate National Recreation Area, for example, is made up of former parcels of US Military land, and still features several remaining military structures. Near Rodeo Beach, hikers can wander through large battery structures on the scenic cliffside, informed by a few informational panels and a reconstructed gun that once had a range of 25 miles, intended to protect from potential naval attacks.

The continued presence of these structures arguably continues to teach us of our nation’s history, even during recreational activities, when we don’t necessarily expect to engage with this material. This strategy is a natural one, given its low cost compared to reusing or even removing the buildings, as if we might as well keep them around if they present any sort of cultural value at all. I think it begs additional questions, though: to what degree are visitors engaging with this historical context? Would the commemorative value of these structures be better expressed in a more focused, controlled setting?

Krakow Day 3

Shortly after planning to visit Krakow, I realized that Auschwitz-Birkenau was a day trip away, and decided that visiting this site would be necessary to my research. In studying the role and legacy of spaces associated with human conflict, and the methods of commemoration used to educate people about these events, Auschwitz is an essential example. This was the largest of the concentration camps built by the Nazis during the war, and the most deadly. An estimated 1.1 million people were murdered at Auschwitz-Birkenau alone. As a result, this site is the most notorious, and now, the best-preserved. Though the Germans intended to destroy the site and evidence of its existence, they succeeded only partially (only foundations and chimneys remain of wooden barracks, but the many brick buildings on the site remain largely intact. the crematoriums were blown up, but ruins remain on display).

Experiencing these buildings and understanding how they were used is the main premise of the museum. Several of the remaining barracks now host exhibits pertaining to the site’s history - one, for example, features displays of personal belongings removed from victims: entire rooms full of shoes, kitchen implements, suitcases, etc. These exhibits are simply displayed, however, with just a few informational plaques in each space, allowing photos, objects, and the space itself to tell the story.

Personally, I think this method of narrative exhibition design is more powerful than those intending to immerse the viewer in an alternate, constructed space: being in those rooms and seeing photos and belongings of those who had occupied the space was very powerful. I do recognize, though, that this strategy is particularly successful in a place like Auschwitz, where the buildings themselves are infamous for the events that occurred there - you just don’t need any additional material to convey the gravity of these events. Relying on the emotion of visiting the space itself would not necessarily be the best strategy for all commemorative projects.

In all, this was a very emotional and powerful experience. The material is very clearly presented, and moving through the site - experiencing moments depicted in now famous photographs, such as walking through the ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ gate or through barbed wire corridors - really engages visitors with the emotions of those who lived this experience.

Krakow Day 2

My main priority in Krakow is the site of Schindler’s Enamel Factory, which is shared by a branch of the Krakow Museum, and the Museum of Contemporary Art Krakow.

Pathway leading behind Schindler’s Factory to the Mocak (left)

The Muzeum Krakowa - Oscar Schindler’s Enamel Factory is located in an original factory building on the site, and features an extensive exhibit chronicling the German occupation of Krakow, and a smaller exhibit acknowledging the story of Schindler’s list. The exhibit is immersive, employing several different multimedia techniques to engage the visitor with the material: text and images, video, projection, audio, etc. Each space is designed to evoke a scene related to the information in the space: a reconstruction of a train car, reconstructions of daily life in the Jewish quarter, the simulation of a concentration camp yard and fence. The historical exterior remains intact, which acknowledges the original role and presence of the building, though the design of the interior was removed from this context. While the museum’s material was of course related to the context of the original building, this wasn’t particularly evident as one moves through the exhibition.

The idea to create individual, immersive spaces and experiences for the visitor as they move through a presented narrative is a distinct and justifiable strategy for exhibition design, but given the museum’s location inside a historical building related to its content, I was surprised that there wasn’t a stronger relationship between the building and the exhibition. This style of installation isn’t necessarily my favorite: I felt that the constant overlapping of media and the artificiality of some of the spaces was overstimulating, and didn’t help me engage with the material (I acknowledge though, that this type of exhibition might be more engaging for some people, particularly children. Given that the Home Army Museum also employed this strategy, it seems to be popular here).

I was able to discuss the project with a museum representative, and learned that the building is not actually original, it was effectively rebuilt after the war, and continued serving as administrative offices for a manufacturing company on the site for several years. However, the facade has kept its original appearance, more or less, and the gate at the center of the building is original. Because the building itself wasn’t necessarily in a condition to authentically frame Schindler’s story, and because there was a desire to address the larger historical context of WWII and the German occupation, the decision was made to devote most of the space to the immersive historical exhibition, with a smaller space dedicated to the Schindler story. This space used period-appropriate objects to artistically recreate Schindler’s office because the original had not been preserved, with the exception of the map on the wall, which is actually original (and was featured in the movie.) Original objects from the factory are also featured throughout the exhibit, including enamel products manufactured on site.

I think these circumstances explain the building’s role in the exhibit, and the museum’s attitude toward acknowledging the site context. The significance of the location is certainly acknowledged, but there just wasn’t a great opportunity to convey this information using the original space. I also learned that renovating the building for this use presented great challenges: being a historical building, they were unable to alter it too significantly, putting in just one elevator, and stopping short of the mechanical updates that would have been preferred. As a result, since its opening in 2010 the museum has encountered mechanical and accessibility issues, and is hoping to eventually conduct another renovation. I think this represents an important issue for adaptive reuse: how much of the building needs to be preserved in order to maintain its historical significance? How much needs to be updated in order for the building to be used efficiently and successfully?

The project was relatively cheap (~5 million USD) and has generated 3x that amount in profits, which was unexpected. This is also part of the adaptive reuse trade-off: the more you replace, the more you spend, but the more you prepare for longevity. Ideally, a project like this could be a success by completing a modest renovation on a smaller budget, but I wonder where the line is between current necessity and sacrificing future performance.

By contrast, the Museum of Contemporary Art Krakow employs an exhibition strategy common among contemporary art museums: the space is stark and simple, and each artwork has the agency to define the space around it to a certain extent. The building itself has been very thoughtfully responsive to the site context: its scale and volume reacts to that of the adjacent buildings, and the roof mimics the sawtooth of adjacent industrial buildings. An original factory wall is preserved on the front facade, enclosed by storefront windows to form a dramatic corridor.

Beyond these design decisions, the project doesn’t directly address the historical context of the site, but the museum’s partnership with Schindler’s Enamel Factory next door (consisting of shared tickets for a discount, mutual publications in gift shops, etc.) accounts for this to a certain extent. I bought a small paperback about the history of the site and the development of both museums in the Mocak gift shop.

The insertion of these museums into this formerly industrial neighborhood has had a visible effect in the past 10 years - several new residential buildings have been completed, several companies have moved their office spaces to this area, and several new restaurants have popped up. I’m sure the subject of adaptive reuse as it relates to urban renewal and gentrification would be a really interesting master’s thesis (maybe in another life).

I was excited to find so many examples of projects in Krakow that employ methods of adaptive reuse and commemoration. These four projects are all very different in how they make use of these strategies, and I think each provides valuable insight as to the application of these strategies.

Krakow Day 1

My first stop in Krakow was the Home Army Museum (Museum AK): a museum dedicated to commemorating the efforts of the Polish underground state and Armia Krajowa (“Home Army”) throughout the 20th century. The Polish underground army was the largest resistance force of any occupied nation during WWII, and whose existence was not publicly commemorated until the museum was founded in 2000. The museum reuses a 19th-century barracks building, which was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire’s Krakow Fortress complex.

The renovation is very simple, modernizing the first floor of the building and creating infrastructure for vertical circulation, but featuring the original brick walls of the barracks throughout, recollecting the building’s original state. The centerpiece is the courtyard, now covered by a steel and glass canopy - both a refreshing interlude in one’s movement through the building, and a strategy to modernize the courtyard without stripping it of its original facade. I think this method of adaptive reuse is very successful in this situation: the building’s original context and presence is acknowledged and showcased, while not only meeting the program needs, but updating the interior in a way that creates new focal points throughout.

The installation itself is exhaustive and informative, chronicling the German occupation of Poland and its ramifications, setting the stage for and then closely following the efforts of the Home Army and Underground State. I was very interested to learn so much about Poland’s perspective during this time. I didn’t realize, for example, that the Nazis considered the Poles inferior to the Aryan race, and though not quite placing them on the ‘subhuman’ level of Jews and Romani people, made concerted efforts to exploit and eliminate Polish people in German-occupied territory. Poland lost 20% of its population during the war, more than any other occupied nation. There was a distinct feeling from the exhibition that the Polish collective memory of the war is not only that they were victimized by the Germans (and then the Soviets), but that the Polish people were betrayed by the allies in the aftermath of WWII, their bids for independence unheard.

In all, I thought this was a compelling adaptive reuse project, successful in its acknowledgement of the original building and prioritization of new programming.

Next, I visited the Cricoteka museum, which has adapted the site of a former power plant into a museum of the film artist Tadeusz Kantor. This building employs a mode of adaptive reuse in which a completely new volume is introduced to the site, reacting to the existing building, but maintaining its own distinct materiality and vocabulary of form. These two elements of the building are connected on the lower level, but appear on the surface to be two entirely separate structures.

The new portion of the building is clad in what appear to be prefabricated, perforated corten steel panels. Though modern, I thought the color and texture of the facade reacted well to the materiality of the original building, rather than creating a super high contrast (i.e. the colors go together, and the weathered texture speaks to the age of the original building and materials). The perforations also create really lovely light and shadow effects on the interior, resulting in movement throughout the day, or as the trees outside sway in the wind. This texture and motion may or may not have been a reference to Kantor’s video art, but I think it feels appropriate.

The information pamphlet referenced the building’s original use as a power plant and apparent later uses as a homeless shelter, but I could find no other acknowledgement of this on the site. Though this doesn’t quite fulfill my hopes for a project to address the historical context of the site, I was interested to learn that the permanent exhibit of Kantor’s work reveals that his interests were somewhat aligned with adaptive reuse: The action of wrapping (and of concealing and manipulating objects in general) was central to Kantor’s work. The exhibit “Spectres,” on the upper level, also states the artist’s intent through this work to address the role of various events impacting human history: “reading, in the concatenations of form, the forces governing our age.”

I think the connection between this artistic pursuit and the project’s architectural motifs is probably not evident to the average visitor (and is possibly just something I’m projecting) but I can’t help but feel like it fits. I’m interested in this idea that in the case of museums, the design of the building plays one role, and the design of the exhibition plays another. They can react to one another, or remain totally detached. I am most interested in these examples where the building’s history and design inform the exhibit within, and vice versa.

Rome Days 3 and 4

During the latter half of my time in Rome, I visited several more examples of building reuse and commemoration. First, the Basilica di San Clemente is an essential example of Roman building reuse:

Today at the site of San Clemente, there stands a basilica constructed in the 12th century. This building was constructed on top of a 4th century church, filling in portions of the column grid to support the structure above. In turn, the 4th century church was built atop a 1st century Mithraeum (temple of the cult of Mithra). This building shared a space with a sizeable residential complex, with ancient Roman houses oriented around a rectangular courtyard. This framework formed the basis for the shape of the worship space above. The 4th and 1st century buildings were not discovered until the mid 19th century, when an excavation began to reveal the structure below. You can now tour the excavations, though unfortunately photography is not allowed. The lower levels reveal a bizarre and confusing collection of structural elements: columns interrupting archways, walls haphazardly filling the space between columns, and ancient stairways guiding you from one era to another. It’s fascinating but eerie, and if it existed in America I have no doubt they’d find a way to turn it into a haunted house for the month of October.

https://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2009/11/lower-church-of-basilica-of-san.html

The 4th century level of the basilica. Source: http://mikestravelguide.com/things-to-do-in-rome-visit-the-basilica-of-san-clemente-ancient-temple-of-mithra/

This building is another example of the systemic shift from pagan to Christian cultural prominence around the 4th century, but more than that, I think it’s indicative of the Roman attitude towards existing buildings for the majority of its history: through the middle ages, and even into the Renaissance, ancient buildings were not regarded with much consideration. Rather, it seems that the attitude in instances of reuse would have been one of practicality - simply that if a building already exists, it will be faster and cheaper to modify it (or literally build on top of it) than to demolish it and start from scratch. This attitude is exhibited in several more of the projects I saw this week. I also find it interesting that the different phases of San Clemente weren’t just modified, they were layered - one became the foundations of another. This method of reuse seems ridiculous within our current framework of construction and design: when preparing for a new building, the default is to begin the design with an empty lot, or else to deliberately and carefully reuse an existing building. Ancient cultures, however, seem to have had not only a more practical attitude about this, but building one structure atop another was potentially a deliberate strategy: I’m reminded of the ancient city of Çatalhöyük in what is now Turkey, in which dwellings in the metropolis were built not only right up against each other, but over generations, new inhabitants would build their homes on top of previous levels of the city. Archeologists have excavated layers and layers of homes built this way, uncovering hundreds of years of history in the process. (https://www.canterbury.ac.nz/exhibition/buriedtreasure/tombraiders6.shtml)

What I assumed were fragments of past construction in the top, most modern level of the church.

Rome’s ground level has indeed risen significantly in the past 2000 years, and I wonder how many of its buildings stand on ancient foundations.

Next, I visited the Museo Storico della Liberazione di Roma - a museum documenting the period of German occupation in Rome, with a focus on Italian resistance groups. The building on Via Tasso that now houses the museum was an office of the German embassy, converted into a prison that held as many as 2000 members of these resistance groups over the course of the occupation. The site became well known as a site of torture during the war.

This room demonstrates how the windows were once walled over

The current renovation preserves important elements of the building’s history, and houses a very thorough exhibit chronicling the history of the fascist regime in Italy, as well as the German occupation near the end of WWII. There is also a distinct focus on sharing the stories of those imprisoned on the premises. This is a popular method of both reuse and commemoration for spaces like these: in a building so closely associated with trauma and torture, and which evokes an emotional response from visitors, establishing a museum to honor and educate people about these events is often deemed the most appropriate solution.

So far I’ve seen this same method employed at the Whitney Plantation outside of New Orleans, and will encounter it more throughout the trip. I think this is a valid and productive strategy for addressing the role of these spaces in our current culture, but I’m particularly interested in how this strategy can be combined with others. The McDonogh 19 school building, for example, provides an interpretive center dedicated to commemorating the civil rights movement and the role of the three girls who first integrated the school, as well as providing the infrastructure and programming for other uses that serve the community. Though I’m more interested in McDonogh 19’s strategy, I think it’s still really valuable to explore projects focused on this museum/remembrance strategy, so that I can build an understanding of how this commemorative framework might intersect with others.

Next, I visited the Castel Sant’Angelo - a formidable structure just down the Via della Conciliazone from Saint Peter’s Basilica. The original structure was Hadrian’s Mausoleum, completed in the 2nd century. Beginning in the 6th century, the building was used as a fortress by various parties, eventually undergoing renovations to fortify it. By the 14th century, the papacy took possession of the building, further fortifying the structure, and eventually adding levels of luxurious papal apartments. Throughout this period, this building was also used to house, torture and try prisoners arrested for crimes against the church. Until the end of the 19th century, the building was used as barracks and a military prison.

Model reconstruction of how the mausoleum may have looked originally, in the 2nd century

Model reconstruction of how the building would have looked by the 17th century

This building really reflects its patchworked and complex history. The tour spirals through onion layers of the building’s different uses, with an exhibit focused on how the building itself changed over time. The exhibit also made a point to acknowledge all aspects of this history, detailing the opulence of the papal apartments and the torture that occurred beneath - a more realistic chronicle than I might have expected, given the continued prominence of Catholicism in the city’s cultural identity. The museum also displays a larger art exhibit, and hosts periodic arts and cultural events.

I also stopped by a few other examples of building reuse:

The Theater of Marcellus, originally constructed in the 1st century, was converted into a medieval fortress and apartment complex. The building is still privately owned, and is apparently rented out for private events, like weddings. It sort of baffles me that this ancient site could be privately owned and used - though apparently it does also host some summertime open-air concerts in the space adjacent (not sure whether this has returned since the pandemic).

The back side of the structure, in which most of the former theater is visible

The front side of the structure

Right next door, San Nicole in Carcere is another example of a Christian church built on the site of [three] ancient Roman temples, each dedicated by Roman generals following military victories. Some sources reference an ancient prison on this site, (which would explain the origin of the name, “carcere,”) but I couldn’t find any definitive evidence of this. Like many churches in this city built on the site of Roman temples, the site is primarily used for church services, though there are ways to take a tour similar to that at San Clemente (I struggled to find these, as it seems like the church gives access to third-party groups, but doesn’t conduct the tours itself.) So it seems there is some acknowledgement of the site’s history going on, but it’s not abundantly accessible.

More so than San Clemente, the juxtaposition of old and new at this site is unmistakable: columns from the original temples are exposed on the building’s exterior, and a “new” facade (completed in 1599) is tacked onto the front like a billboard. The seeming haphazardness of the renovations really fascinates me in its contrast to our current attitudes about adaptive reuse. Nowadays if we bother to reuse a building rather than tearing it down and starting from scratch, there is either an effort to make the final product look like it had been one building all along, or thoughtful steps taken to showcase some existing elements, while eliminating others.

Is it just that, motivated by necessity, time and money, these builders didn’t bother to integrate the new building elements with the old, and nobody minded the appearance of the residual elements? Or was this somewhat of an effort to acknowledge the site’s context?

I have been really enjoying exploring these different approaches to reuse and commemoration, and though most of the sites I’ve visited in Rome didn’t check all of my boxes, so to speak*, I’ve learned a lot about the history and variety of these design strategies. I’ve begun noticing trends across these different examples, and look forward to continuing to compare them with other projects as I continue this project.

*My primary case studies ideally fulfill these criteria (referenced in the first blog post):

• building or site is associated with some sort of historical conflict

• the space has been renovated using adaptive reuse strategies

• the project appropriately acknowledges the building’s historical/cultural context

• the project provides space for program that serves the public beyond that of commemoration

In Rome in particular, most of the sites I visited fulfilled 2-3 of these criteria at a time. By the end of this project, I aim to have 5-6 primary case studies that fulfill all of the criteria, supported by the many other sites, which will provide relevant information about each of these isolated strategies and how they interact.

Rome Day 2

The Palazzo della Civilta Italiana, also known as the Colosseo Quadrato (the “square Colosseum” was commissioned by Mussolini for the 1942 world’s fair, which would have celebrated 20 years of the Italian fascist regime. The design of the Palazzo was intended to represent the superiority of the Italian race, as well as the power and success of the fascist regime. The Palazzo is located in the EUR, a district south of central Rome that was intended to be the site of the world’s fair, and ultimately a new, modern city center for Rome. The fair ended up being cancelled due to World War II, but the Palazzo still stands, and recently became the corporate headquarters for for the designer fashion house, Fendi. Fendi has been criticized for their failure to acknowledge the building’s context (https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/oct/22/fendi-launches-hq-in-mussolini-propaganda-building). Fendi’s attitude is that the building’s aesthetics are divorced from its history, and as the CEO states, “For Italians and for Romans, it is completely deloaded, empty of any significance of that period … there was no political activity that took place here. We never saw it through the lens of fascism.” An architecture critic for the Guardian suggests that fascist architecture from this time “propounds a notion of ‘good taste’ that is deeply similar to that of the fashion industry – shamelessly elitist, wilfully sinister, hierarchical, Classical, its apparent minimalism belied by an obsession with the finest possible material and the severest cut”.

The first floor of the building was originally intended to be a free exhibit open to the public, and was so until the pandemic. The initial exhibit, though, apparently made no mention of Mussolini, and celebrated the building’s history through a purely stylistic lens. The building is now closed to the public, and is in fact separated from the public by a ten-foot, guarded fence, which seemed fitting.

I find it ironic that a building supposedly dedicated to the talent and legacy of its people, and apparently preserved in order to reinforce that legacy, is not actually accessible to the average citizen. I am also skeptical of the idea that any art can be completely divorced from its cultural context (even when, as it seems in this situation, this is the popular feeling among locals). I am skeptical too, of the popular notion that art from a problematic context should be completely forgotten - really, one of the main motivations for this research is the hope that by preserving these buildings, we can not only acknowledge and learn from their past, but make good use of the structures themselves. I don’t intend to suggest that a building like this shouldn’t be occupied by a private company, but without any public or educational elements, I would argue that this building isn’t serving the public simply by virtue of being beautiful.

Further, upon exploring the EUR neighborhood, it felt clear that Mussolini’s vision of a modern city center has been unfulfilled, even with Fendi’s presence. I was here midday during the week, and the only souls I crossed paths with were a couple dozen flocking from office buildings to the only restaurant on the block. The rest of the area was like wandering through a Fiat dealership, giving me the sense that this area is mainly used as an office park during the week (I’d be curious to see if it’s any livelier on the weekend, as there is a sports arena nearby - designed by Pier Luigi Nervi). There are few residential buildings, few restaurants, and though an enormous convention center designer by Massimiliano Fuksas opened recently, it felt truly deserted when I walked by.

On my way back to the city center via the Metro, I stopped by Centrale Montemartini, a former power plant converted into an antiquities museum. This was a really fun example of adaptive reuse, and though not directly related to a historical conflict, (though you could potentially argue that the plant is a vestige of the industrialization of Rome during the fascist era, and in fact, like most industrial facilities, this plant did support the war effort) my interest was in the design’s response to both the original structures and its new occupants.

The exhibit features panels guiding visitors through both the history of the power plant and the context of each of the pieces of art. The building has been retrofit to include a framework for lighting and signage, designed to both showcase the art and maneuver around the antique machinery that still occupies the space.

I found the juxtaposition of these two very different types of artifacts really charming, and I think the premise of the building is exciting: this seems like a project model that could be applied to all types of contexts. Industrial buildings certainly lend themselves to adaptive reuse (their scale and infrastructure provides a lot of flexibility for infilling, and I imagine would facilitate updates to the mechanical/electrical systems) and in fact, I’ve found a lot of projects in my research that align with this model, since lots of military buildings offer a similar canvas for reuse, and converting even a problematic space to an arts/cultural use is generally a non-controversial decision. I’ll focus more on projects like this later in the trip.

Rome Day 1

The prospect of analyzing the roles of building reuse and historical commemoration in Rome has been daunting, particularly because the reuse of buildings is so integral to the way Rome has developed over time. While ancient structures are now regarded with care and caution, they weren’t always so precious, and there are plenty of examples of ancient buildings that were reused during the existence of the Roman Empire, for example. The city also continues to change: historic, private palazzos are somewhat commonly renovated for commercial use (https://www.dezeen.com/2021/05/27/foster-and-partners-apple-via-del-corso-store-rome/) and residential buildings continue to be updated whenever and however allowable. In order to approach this wide spectrum of reuse, I began by making a list of sites generally relevant to both themes of reuse and commemoration, prioritizing those with overlap between these topics. I’ve been grouping visits to the sites by location rather than theme, which has helped me reflect on thematic connections over multiple days.

In this process, I’ve tentatively identified a few categories in which these projects fall:

• Reuse in service of war; i.e. buildings converted into fortresses, etc.

• Reuse of war-related buildings

• Reuse as result of religious conflict; i.e. pagan churches converted into Christian churches

Given Rome’s extensive known history, I’m sure there are other categories (I thought about looking into buildings altered as a result of Rome’s various sackings, for example, and struggled to find definitive examples) but within the scope of this project, this is what I’ve been considering so far.

When I finish my time in Rome, I’ll take some time to revisit these categories and reflect on the thematic relationships between the sites, but for now, see below for some buildings I’ve visited thus far.

The Ara Pacis is an altar to Pax, the Roman goddess of peace, commissioned by the emperor Augustus to represent the peace and prosperity of the Roman Empire after decades of war. The altar originally stood on the Campus Martius, and has since been relocated and reconstructed within a pavilion designed by Richard Meier. The project to relocate and encapsulate the altar was originally commissioned by Mussolini as part of his larger effort to preserve and showcase Roman accomplishments in service of the Fascist narrative.

This building poses an interesting challenge in its deliberate response to the form of an existing structure. I think it’s successful in its sensitivity to the altar’s scale, proportions and materials: you can see how the column grid, entry wall and ceiling structure align with the footprint of the altar, and the marble used throughout answers to its materiality. The building is dramatic, but it also relatively simple, using just a few materials and major design elements, and providing for little more than the altar itself, a small exhibit, and ticketing area.

Next, the Pantheon. Not only is this a feat of engineering (good trivia fact: it’s the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world) but it was constructed as a temple dedicated to all Roman gods, as its name literally translates. It was converted into a Christian basilica in 609 AD, after which pagan imagery on the face of the pediment was removed (holes are still visible where this ornamentation was attached) and the seven niches representing the seven celestial bodies of the solar system were eventually populated with statues of Christian figures, among various other minor changes. Christianity became the official religion of the Roman empire during Constantine’s rule in the early 4th century, turning hundreds of years of Christian persecution on its head, and beginning an era of pagan persecution. The Pantheon is one of many examples of pagan temples-turned-Christian, which continue to represent the lasting cultural effects of this period of religious conflict. Ironically, the Pantheon is one of the best-preserved ancient buildings in Rome because it has been in continuous use as a church for so long.

I also find it interesting that some of the core sacred design principles of the Pantheon are in keeping with the Christian tradition: the building represents a perfect sphere, it is exactly as wide as it is tall. Since antiquity, spheres have been central to our understanding of the cosmos, and were associated with the idea of a perfect, continuous universe. The oculus, in addition to the practical application of removing material from the very top of the dome, provides a singular opening for light in the space, potentially suggesting a symbolic connection between Rome and the sun. These original themes are compatible with the Christian narrative, which often utilizes light and dark metaphors to express god’s role. The Pantheon currently displays a painting of Jesus conferring with what I assume are the apostles (there’s twelve of them, anyway) as the oculus shines a spotlight on the group.

Though this is an example of reuse in a different way than a lot of my case studies (the building has retained a very similar use, and remains mostly in original condition) I think the symbolic, religious transformation of the Pantheon speaks to the important role of cultural context in determining the fate and identity of a building.

New Orleans Day 3

On my last day here, I had the opportunity - thanks to family members in town willing to join me - to visit the Whitney Plantation, about an hour drive outside New Orleans. The museum is the only plantation museum in Louisiana (and as far as I can tell, anywhere) that focuses its content on the history of the slave trade, and the experience of enslaved people residing on the planation. Several of the buildings on site are original, though some of the slave cabins have been moved and/or reconstructed.

Engaging with this content in situ was a really powerful experience. The museum does a great job pairing information with exhibits throughout the site, organized in a guided audio tour.

the grounds also host several different commemorative sculptures and memorials.

The museum was hit hard by Hurricane Ida in 2021, and though the buildings sustained some damage, the site is now mostly intact. They’ve also added some panels on the tour acknowledging the need for climate resiliency in the vulnerable Mississippi River Parishes. This area along the river is already subject to battering by hurricanes, and has been experiencing coastal land loss in recent years for a variety of reasons, but is also considered part of the area known as “Cancer Alley,” due its extensive petrochemical industry. The adverse health effects that come from living in proximity to petrochemical plants have disproportionately affected the area’s primarily black population. I think it’s interesting that the museum took this opportunity to address current issues affecting the site - though not directly related to the museum’s content, this example of what is often referred to as “environmental racism” definitely seems relevant to the their mission.

New Orleans Day 2

My primary case study in New Orleans is the McDonogh 19 building, now home to the Tate, Etienne, Prevost (TEP) Center and housing. The school was one of the first two schools in Louisiana to be integrated in 1960. Three six-year-old girls: Leona Tate, Gail Etienne, and Tessie Prevost, were the first black students to enter the school (escorted by federal marshals), which was subsequently evacuated of all white students. The girls attended the school alone for about a year and a half. After hurricane Katrina, the building sat vacant for some years before the Leona Tate Foundation and Alembic Community Development (a developer specializing in affordable housing and adaptive reuse) partnered to purchase the building and convert it into affordable senior housing.

The first floor of the building, as well as the main entryway, will make up an interpretive center dedicated to framing the girls’ experience within the larger narrative of the civil rights movement. The building also features classrooms and office space shared by three nonprofit organizations.

I’ve been very excited by this case study, as it provides a great example of thoughtful adaptive reuse as well as deliberate and detailed commemoration and community engagement. The building was an established fixture in the neighborhood fabric, as schools of similar scale and style dot the central corridor of St Claude Avenue, and affordable housing was not only sorely needed but solidly supported by the community. The interpretive center provides an opportunity to acknowledge the cultural and historical significance of the space, and enhances the building’s use as a sort of community center, as well as a residence.

For more info:

https://www.leonatatefoundation.org/mcdonogh-19

https://www.tepcenter.org/partners

New Orleans Day 1

This is my first time in New Orleans, so to get the lay of the land, I booked a walking tour for my first morning. I was wary of overly sensational or watered-down tours, and ended up booking one titled “African Life in the French Quarter” through Hidden History Tours. The size of the group varies quite a bit, and though the same tour the day before apparently hosted closer to 20 people, I was the one and only person to book for that date and time, and ended up having a 2.5 hour, private tour with a very nice man named Leon. I had hoped the tour would point me towards sites of commemoration, and was not disappointed. I was guided through several examples of notable buildings and monuments that played a role in New Orleans’ colonial history and prolific, pre-Civil War slave trade.

Though we think of the French Quarter as, well, French, I learned that most of the original French colonial architecture was lost in various fires, and the neighborhood was largely rebuilt by the Spanish. This includes the Cabildo, Presbytère, and St Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square (formerly known as the Place de Armes, used for military drills and executions). The Cabildo features cast ironwork that includes vestiges of African Adinkra symbols, which Leon cited as an example of Moorish influences on the Spanish architecture. The square is now punctuated by a statue of Andrew Jackson, one of many examples of historical figures emblematic of white supremacy still honored by statues in New Olreans (though not without pushback from community groups). The square is a lively park bustling with tourists and buskers, and feels somewhat divorced from this history.

A main theme of the tour was the role of the Catholic church in both the colonial rule and slave trade in the area. France’s Code Noir, which governed the colony, stipulated various slavery regulations, and also mandated that all residents be baptized or else face expulsion. Henriette DeLille, a black nun and prominent social reformer in the mid-19th century, represents a counter-movement to the church’s historically problematic practices. She is now immortalized by stained glass depictions in a former baptistry along one side of St Louis Cathedral, as well as by a sidewalk plaque behind the church. I found her commemoration really interesting- though it seems important that the church acknowledges her role, does this acknowledgement change the role of the church in the community?

Side note: I was amused that what is apparently “America’s Oldest Cathedral” has big TVs all along the pews for your viewing convenience.

What is now the Omni Royal Hotel occupies the site of a former slave exchange. The original Hewlett and Bright slave exchange changed hands, and eventually became the St Louis Exchange Hotel around 1841. All that remains of the former hotel-slash-slave exchange (this is such a ridiculous idea to me, and I wonder whether any other slavery exchanges in the south included hotels) is a portion of the facade on Chartres street, preserved and marked with a small plaque.

An original facade of the St Louis Exchange Hotel

So far I’ve been fascinated by the wide variety of and overlap between various cultural/historical periods and architectural styles in this city. The French Quarter is a relatively small area, but because of it’s historical significance, (and tourism value) it seems to have remained at the center of a lot of these cultural discussions.

Summer 2022: Reimagining Residual Spaces of Conflict

At the beginning of 2020, I was fortunate to receive the Branner Traveling Fellowship through UC Berkeley’s department of Architecture, to be completed that summer. Though my plans were delayed as a result of the pandemic - and in the meantime I finished my masters degree and started a job - I am thrilled to finally be able to complete the research this summer. I will be traveling for about 6 weeks, and plan to document my travels here with the intent of reflecting on the sites I visit and organizing my thoughts as I go.

The basis of my research is the idea that war and mass social conflict have shaped the built environment and contributed to our relationships with public space. Spaces that represent conflict are often approached through either erasure or preservation; removed from the collective memory, or suspended in it. This project will explore an alternate approach: the potential for residual structures of conflict to be repurposed through adaptive reuse. The sites I’ll be visiting encompass a fairly broad definition of the term “conflict,” from war, to wartime or colonial occupation, to slavery or genocide. I aim to narrow my research by investigating projects that fulfil two main criteria: utilizing adaptive reuse to create publicly accessible, community-oriented spaces, and appropriately acknowledging the site’s historical context. I will also be visiting several sites that, while not necessarily fulfilling both of these criteria, present useful examples of either adaptive reuse or commemoration.

I look forward to exploring and sharing this project.