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.

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

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.

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.

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).