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

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.