World Atlas of Sustainable Architecture by DETAIL

Building for a Changing Culture and Climate World Atlas of Sustainable Architecture

Building for a Changing Culture and Climate World Atlas of Sustainable Architecture Ulrich Pfammatter Revised and expanded edition Translated by Jim Hudson

Contents

Foreword Stefan Behnisch

Preface Ulrich Pfammatter-Brugger

Genius Loci – Unique Places in a State of Change

Introduction

1.1 On the Place-ment of Building – New Identities

Overview

A A/1 A/2 A/3

The Context and the Design of the Unique Place References to the Cultural Landscape and History References to Cityscapes and Urban Contexts References to the Natural Environment

24 24 27 32

B Processes of Transformation – Generating New Identities B/1 Industrial Landscapes and Industrial Archaeology B/2 The Reinvention of Former Docks B/3 Urban Redevelopment Areas

38 38 41 44

C C/1 C/2 C/3

46 46 51 54

Virtual Reference and Meaning Systems Construction of a District Reinforcing Existing Character Implanting A Virtual World

1.2 Contextual Building Typologies in a Changing Culture and Climate

1.3 Regional Identity and Cultural Techniques in Space, Construction, Material and Form

Overview

A A/1 A/2 A/3

Atria of the Future Atria as New Communication Spaces The Atrium as an Extension of Urban Space The Atrium as Polyvalent Functional Zone

60 60 63 66

A A/1 A/2 A/3

Building in Alpine and Mountainous Zones 92 92 Reinterpretation of Traditional Building Forms 95 Developing Older Cultural Techniques The Transformation of Village and Building Structures 98

B B/1 B/2 B/3

Arcades and Urban Networks Arcades Conquer Vertical Space Integrating Arcades into the Urban Fabric The Network as an Engine for Development

70 70 73 76

B B/1 B/2 B/3

The Place and the Role of Material “As Found” Inter-cultural Construction Technology Earth Architecture The Dramatisation of Local Scenery

80 80 83

C “Plus / minus 40 Degrees Latitude” 112 C/1 Learning from the Vernacular – 112 a Perspective for the Future C/2 Reconstruction and Traditional Cultural Techniques 115 118 C/3 Imitation and Interpretation

C City Malls – New Building Types for a Communication Society C/1 Urban Interiors – Urban Extensions C/2 “Solitary forms” as New Icons for a District C/3 Temporary and Ephemeral Structures Making a Memorable Place

102 102 105 108

Building in Extreme Situations

122

Introduction

124

2.1 Adaptation Scenarios

128

Overview

129

A A/1 A/2 A/3

130 130 133 136

Flood Resistance and Mobility Reconstruction Projects Preventive Structures and Scenarios Learning from the Vernacular

B Living with, and Resisting, Desertification B/1 Earth Architecture: Resistance Against Sand Storms B/2 Ancient Cultural Techniques B/3 Visionary Projects

140 140 143 146

C C/1 C/2 C/3

150 150 153 156

Flexibility in the Event of an Earthquake High-tech Solutions Light-tech Strategies Temporary Low-tech Structures

3.1 Frameworks – Separation of Systems – Resource Conservation 226

Space, Structure and the Climate Challenge

220

Introduction

222

Overview

227

A A/1 A/2 A/3

228 228 231 237

Constants and Variables Structural Frame Systems as a Programme Vernacular Architecture as a Source of Inspiration Separation of Systems as a Sustainable Strategy

B Structuralism – Cultural and Environmental Influences on “Patterns of Life” 242 242 B/1 Socio-cultural Foundations B/2 Spatial and Use Systems: Founding Principles – 245 Development – Perspectives B/3 Spatial and Constructional Typologies and Materiality 248 C Strategies for enduring spatial concepts, 252 adaptable to future uses 252 C/1 Flexibility of Use and Life Cycle Strategies 255 C/2 Variable Spatial and Constructional Typology C/3 Adaptability to Functional and Socio-cultural Change 258

2.2 “Avoidance strategies” – Prevention and Adaptation

160

2.3 The Resistance of Structures to Environmental Forces, Natural Disasters and Other Events

188

Overview

161

Overview

189

A Reconstructable Building Structures for Emergency Situations A/1 Non-locally Based Systems A/2 Flexibility and Modularisation A/3 Adaptable Structures for Polyvalent Uses

162 162 165 167

190 190 192

B B/1 B/2 B/3

Hybrid Systems for Extreme Climates Systems, Modules and Elements Constants and Variables Synthesis: Low-tech and High-tech

170 170 172 174

A Buildings as a Part of the Environmental Dynamic A/1 Traditional Cultures and their Technologies A/2 Building Types for Extreme Climatic Fluctuations A/3 Material Resistance and Technological Intelligence: Alpine Experiments for Protection Against Environmental Extremes

C C/1 C/2 C/3

Global Models and Regional Translations Temporary Infrastructure Projects Shelter and Society “Settled Nomads”

178 178 181 184

194

B Earthquakes, Storms, Catastrophes 198 198 B/1 Self-stabilising Building Systems B/2 Earthquake Resistance: Concepts for Retro-fitting 201 and Upgrading B/3 Sustainable Experiments: Requirements for Skyscrapers 204 C Bulwarks Against Natural Hazards C/1 Responsive and Symbolic Form Generation C/2 Power Plants – Powerful Resistance: “Don’t fight forces – use them!” (Buckminster Fuller) C/3 Resistance of Building Structures, Materials and Technology in Extreme Situations

208 208

3.3 Spatial Climate Control

294

214 217

3.2 Spatial Typology – Adaptation Strategies

262

Overview

263

Overview

295

A A/1 A/2 A/3

264 264 267 270

A A/1 A/2 A/3

296 296 302 308

Environmental factors as “drivers of innovation” Shading Concepts Natural and Supported Ventilation Principles Climate Protection Scenarios

B Building Typology as a Mirror of Cultural and Climatic Dynamics B/1 Spatial and Use Scenarios: Cultural Change and Environmental Influences B/2 “Transparency” – Space and Circulation Zones – Spatial Experience B/3 Box Spaces and Spatial Economy: The “Raumplan” (“Space Plan”) of the Future?

280

C C/1 C/2 C/3

284 284 287 290

Spatial and Use Concepts for the Future The Conquest of Space and Time The “Continuous Space” Experiments with Structured Spatial Forms

274 274 277

The Building as an Integrated System Concepts of Integration High-tech versus Low-tech Green buildings – Eco Cities

B Spatial Climate Zoning B/1 “Form follows climate impact” B/2 Building “Profiling” B/3 Spatial Climate Layers – “Structure follows climate impact”

326 326 329

C Building Envelopes Under “Climatic Stress” C/1 The Climate-Envelope Concept and the “Sustainability Aesthetic” C/2 Spatial Climate Conditioning, Daylight Comfort and Environmental Dynamics C/3 From Building Envelope to “Active Breathing Skin”

336

332

336 339 342

4 The Nature of Materials – and the Future of Materials Technology 346 Introduction

348

5 Architectural Memory: Industrial Culture and Transformation Strategies

458

Introduction

460

4.1 Building Materials and Technology in Transition

352

Overview

353

A A/1 A/2 A/3

The Modelling of Natural Building Materials Timber as a Building Material Bamboo, Straw and Reeds Designing with Natural Stone Techniques

354 354 357 364

B Building Materials from Nature B/1 Loam Construction Techniques B/2 Iron – Steel – Aluminium: over 200 Years of Innovative Development B/3 Glass technology, Systems of Space and Form

368 368

C Composite Technologies C/1 Metal-reinforced Timber Construction, and Paper Tubes C/2 Pre-stressed Structures C/3 Hybrid Typologies

384 384 388 395

5.1 Industrial Heritage and Sustainable Industrial Archaeology

464

Overview

465

A A/1 A/2 A/3

466

Criteria for Evaluating Industrial Heritage Transport and Mobility – Influences on the Transformation of Iconic Buildings of the Industrial Age Economic Change – Presenting Traces of Memory The Re-evaluation of Former Industrial Areas

B Transformation models: Growth – Reintroducing Nature – Densification B/1 Growth Engines for Urban Developments B/2 Bringing Nature and Integrated Spaces back to Urban Areas B/3 Densification Scenarios: Effective and Efficient Resource Use and Functional Representation C The Reinterpretation and Re-evaluation of Architectural Memory C/1 Ecological Concepts C/2 Space – Time – Architecture: History as Reference C/3 Climate-oriented Reinterpretation

371 377

466 469 472

476 476 480 483

488 488 490 492

4.2 Cultural Techniques: Resource Effectiveness + Resource Efficiency

402

4.3 Learning from Nature – Biomimicry: Inspiration and Challenge for a Forthcoming Building Culture

430 431

Overview

403

Overview

A Construction Typology A/1 More for Less – the Tendency Towards Efficiency and Lightness A/2 Appropriate Materials, and Material-based Constructions A/3 Light-tech – Transcultural Learning in the Area of Tension Between High-tech and Low-tech

404

409

A Biomimetic Strategies and Construction Methods: Imitation – Reproduction – “Translation” – Inspiration 432 A/1 The Replication of Natural Forms and 432 Structures Through Technology 435 A/2 Phenomena and their “Translations” 438 A/3 Methodological Learning Models

B B/1 B/2 B/3

412 412 416 418

Materiality – Sensitivity to Material Trends in Timber Technology – a Question of Scale Green Future – Clean Future? The Potential of Hybrid Layered Materials

C Production, Manufacturing and Assembly Techniques C/1 Traditional Cultural Techniques and the State-of-the-art – from Low-tech to High-speed C/2 Transfers and Applications from New Fields C/3 Future-orientated Experiments

404 407

B Building with Nature – Construction and Organizational Examples Imitating Nature B/1 Strategies, Programs, Scenarios B/2 Adaptive Systems B/3 Responses to the Unleashed Forces of Nature: Fire – Air – Earth – Water

442 442 444 446

420 426 428

C Synthesis: Expanding the Boundaries – Macro and Micro Worlds C/1 Systems, Components, Modules C/2 Deformations C/3 Metamorphoses and Hybrid Material Technologies

5.2 Revitalization and Life Cycle Strategies

496

5.3 Rebuilding in the Context of Urban Culture and Environmental Conditions 526

Overview

497

Overview

527

A The Regeneration of Historical Traces – the Tension Between History and the Future A/1 Urban Economic Development A/2 Socio-cultural Transition A/3 Transition Points in History

498 498 501 504

A Overlaying and the “Collage City” – Transparency – Spatial Simultaneity A/1 Urban Scenarios A/2 Historically-Oriented Metamorphoses A/3 Visionary Project Approaches

528 528 531 534

B B/1 B/2 B/3

The Visual Representation of Urban Processes The Integration of Historical Layers Revitalising the Urban Fabric The Conversion of “Urban Anomalies”

508 508 511 514

538 538 541 546

C C/1 C/2 C/3

Prolongation of Lifespan Through Transformation From Industrial Zone to Cultural Landscape From Technology Parks to Event Scenarios From Commercial Site to University Campus

518 518 520 522

B “Creative Disturbances” and the Spatio-Temporal Dialogue Between Old and New B/1 Implants B/2 Dialogue-Based Concepts B/3 Creative Contrasts C C/1 C/2 C/3

550 550 553 556

Appendix Glossary Literature & Sources

420

560 566

Space – Time – Memory “Real-time” Interventions Urban Space and History Envisaging the Future

Journals and Monographs Project Index People & Organisations Index

450 450 453 455

573 574 578 9

Foreword Stefan Behnisch

It is in the nature of any book or text to be subjective. It is given its character not only by the writer, but also by the reader, who sees the work through the prism of their own experiences, thoughts and perceptions. So unavoidably, it will undergo a change every time it is read, and will even change through a second reading by the same reader. And, if well written, it will stimulate the imagination and bring the reader to add their own content to their perception of the work, thus making it their own. This book is highly topical; it concerns itself with the subject of building in today’s rapidly changing world. It describes the issues at a level of complexity which is rarely found in the field of writing on architecture or engineering, offering the reader a variety of ways of approaching the subject. But it also offers a variety of opportunities to broaden their own views, to question their own opinions, and to add to the content of this book. Building for a changing culture and climate. The title concisely defines the breadth of the discussion in the book, which is set out in a series of case studies. The reference to “change” in the title highlights the fact that we must think afresh; what we have experienced and learnt up until now is only partially valid. Building should be viewed in all its diversity and different scales, in the complex connections and differences that exist between the urban and the rural, between infrastructure and high-rise construction. The subject is inseparable from our culture, from our cultural perceptions and expectations, but also from the changes that we will always experience in our cultural and political environment. It is a subject especially difficult to separate from the issues that currently worry us the most – the global changes that develop beyond our control, a leap into the unknown compared to the slow change of the past. 10

The book begins with a discussion of the “specific place”, addressing it with the complex theme of “Genius loci – the unique place in a state of change”. A detailed analysis reveals relationships that we are unaware of in the day-to-day architectural debate, or maybe have forgotten or consider irrelevant. We begin to think not just about what “place” in this context actually means, but also what causes our desperate “clinging on” to a memory of a place. This apparent remembering is really just an adjustment of a memory, revised over time and through our human ability to supplant some memories with others. We make our memories into fairy tales, producing them in Technicolor. And of course, this memory of a place changes through the influence of people and their cultural works, affecting what we have learned and are still to learn. The third chapter focuses on spatial structure and climate challenge. We can think of our built environment as standing for the desires and aspirations of our culture at any current time; increasingly, our buildings seem to physically “disappear”, becoming ever lighter, more open, transparent and flexible. The book continues with a discussion of materials, and future technologies, before considering our architectural inheritance: the transformation of our existing buildings (or socalled “conversions”) that breathes a second or third life into our cultural heritage. The text again refers to cultural history to analyse the present and look towards the future. In the current architectural debate we – as architects, as society in general, and as legislators – concern ourselves largely with the quantitative aspects of building. We refuse to consider the construction of ‘cultural value’, thinking about our built environment purely as a “commodity”. The debate is Janus-headed, looking back wistfully to the “old days”, but refusing to address “the new” the opportunity to develop similar values. An almost self-contradicting discussion takes place, which allows old palaces, and sometimes whole city districts, to be rebuilt in historical detail. Yet at the same time, directives and regulations lead us to buildings that can never achieve the playfulness, diversity, or elegance of the

buildings whose loss so many of us mourn. These attempts to restore or rebuild a lost past are the equivalent of folk music. They will never be the original building, or even a copy of the original brought back to life, but will only ever be a dull replica. Inevitably, the reconstruction will always be historised, never historic. If we want to progress, we cannot discard modern technology. We are bound to it for better or worse; technological knowledge is in our nature. The sustainability debate in its current form is concerned almost exclusively with the quantitative, i.e. questions of energy, energy consumption, energy generation, insulation thickness, airtightness, air change rates and so on. We pay much less attention to the really interesting part – the qualitative aspects. Of course we all tend to labour under the apparently “scientific nature” of the debate, without being aware of it. We look for criteria, ratings systems and checklists, which we can use to make architecture assessable and comparable. Builders, project managers, engineers, and architects too, all love to discuss things in terms of understandable dimensions, attributes that are easily demonstrable and verifiable. We are less keen, at least outside of our narrow world of architecture, to discuss areas or issues that force us to rely on our powers of persuasion, things which stimulate a meaningful debate. Our thinking on the concept of sustainability has greatly narrowed in its scope in recent times. Perhaps this book might serve to open our eyes to other facets of the discussion which have not even been contemplated, at least in the public debate: concepts of place and history, but also cultural relationships and connections. We must find a way to embrace these broader factors. In dealing with the plurality and complexity of the task before us, we – present and future builders, designers, clients and all those with an interest in architecture – are learning that building is not only a finite resource, but is above all a cultural asset, for good or for ill. This last statement comes simply from observation. Regardless of whether a building makes a positive or negative contribution, it is a prominent part of our culture,

helping us to root ourselves in a specific time and place, to show us what we can achieve. When we think of stimulating, culturally vibrant and important cities, we are thinking about architecture. But landscapes and infrastructure also belong in this realm. In our mind’s eye we always picture a particular city’s famous landmarks; not just the older buildings that form part of historic cityscapes, but increasingly contemporary architecture as well. It is safe to say that the volume of development over the last fifty years far exceeds the total of everything built in previous millennia. Building on this scale requires care, which all too often does not happen. Travelling through our cities and neighbourhoods today, you would be forgiven for wondering: what will future archaeologists make of this? What will they assume were the criteria we used in planning and building, in the creation of our culture? In short, what were our values? Many of our current buildings will survive, certainly in altered in some ways, but substantially unchanged. So it is encouraging to see how this book deals with the complexity of the task of planning and building. It looks at the many different aspects of our built environment, avoiding a one-dimensional viewpoint to give a perspective through history to the present, and points toward possible futures. It helps us to weigh up the issues, opening our eyes to those aspects of planning and construction which are less discussed and need to be debated more, in particular the qualitative, cultural dimensions. The “hard” aspects, the practical things – cost, delivery dates etc. – are extensively written about and can take care of themselves. Everyone likes to deal with the “measurable”, even if these factors make little difference to most of us either way. The “soft” or qualitative aspects however – those to do with culture, shape, appearance, location, context, human interaction – these deserve our care and attention.

Preface Ulrich Pfammatter-Brugger

The greatest and most important model for education in the 21st century must focus on how we approach “sustainable design”. Our strategies for the future must be a combination of active intervention in – and adaptation to – our changing climate and culture. The increased socio-cultural and economic globalisation of the past decades has brought increasing challenges, and it has been shown repeatedly that despite their availability, universal strategies and tools have been given few political opportunities to succeed. However, numerous development programmes and initiatives have been implemented at regional and at so-called “grass roots” level, showing in exemplary fashion how these problems could be addressed in order to be both successful and globally effective.1 New ideas for sustainable thinking and practice are emerging from many different sources: pioneers and innovative experimenters, inter- and transdisciplinary teams and schools of thought, cultural movements and academia. These will be discussed in this book. The dominant trend, which promotes the “fixing” and “normalising” of problems using the latest technology, precludes other more methodological approaches. These alternative approaches would only take the “state of the art” as a starting point, to develop versatile, experimental, open and adaptable systems of thought. The “drivers of change” that force us to react, from a passive position, should be met with “redirecters of change”.2 1

The following represent some country-specific examples: O. Kapfinger, A. Stiller (eds.), 2010 (Austria); I. Helsing Almaas (ed.), 2010 (Norway); P.C. Schmal, Zhi Wenjun (eds.), 2009 (China); F. de Mazières, Actes Sud, Cité d’Architecture & du Patrimoine (eds.), 2009 (France). Cf. C. Luebkeman, J. Greitschus, Arup (eds.), 2008 (2006), R. Schwarzenbach, L. Müller, C. Rentsch, K. Lanz, ETH Zurich, Department of Environmental Sciences (eds.), 2011.

This book will show that in the fields of design and construction, architectural and cultural development always has been conceived of and built “sustainably”. No culture has survived, or survives still, without considering its future in spatial-temporal terms. Cultural change has always had a dimension of “green tradition” even if it was not described or perceived as such. Throughout history, strategies for adapting to social, economic, environmental and climate-related changes have led, in many different cultural regions and climates, to highly inventive solutions and developments. These can provide valuable models, and could be termed “learning from the vernacular”.3 In some respects such forward thinking, planning and action has always existed. But today the clock is ticking, and there are seven billion people – “one world” – whose collective future is bound together. Some recent examples of building demonstrate how old customs and patterns of response to social, economic, cultural and climatic changes are being reinterpreted. A variety of new possibilities in terms of spatial functionality, construction, technology and material types are now available and usable. The people and agencies working in the built environment today must focus on becoming “learning companies”, part of a “sustainable avant-garde”, who are capable of forging new sustainable ideas. This book aims to encourage an awareness of sustainability as it is implemented across all areas of planning and design, and the ability to think and act on this knowledge. The conditions that inspire a design, and the factors that influence the planning and building of it, should be challenged. There are both individual and collective opportunities to respond to historical, cultural and climatic changes to ensure that the on-going effects of our actions are sustainable. We need the ability to respond to the many different challenges and conditions in the planning, design, engineering and construction processes 3

Cf. for example: P. Frey, 2010; D.U. Hindrichs, K. Daniels (eds.), 2007; W. Lauber (ed.), 2005 (2011).

of architecture and engineering. We need to respond to the unique character of a place (Chapter 1), to physical hazards and risks (Chapter 2), the function and use of space (Chapter 3), energy and environmental concepts (Chapter 4), structural typologies, material resources and technologies. But also on a broader scale, to respond to urban development strategies, to our existing building stock, and not least to take into account our “built cultural memory” (Chapter 5). This book will explore in genuine depth the sustainable strategies that could be applied, along with the practical work of key figures in the built environment, setting these against historical experiences and traditional cultures. It also aims to revive the discourse around these subjects, and to look at possible architectural interventions, responses and approaches, based on inspirational and exemplary case studies. Achieving this will require the involvement of structural engineers, energy and environmental engineers, innovative designers, construction businesses and specialists, research institutes and universities.4 It is notable that workshops and competitions that invite student participation often demonstrate pioneering thinking, and break away from entrenched patterns of thought and action. They challenge the received opinion that stifles new approaches and development potential. The structure of this book The five chapters reflect important stages in the architectural and engineering-based design process, stages which cannot be sidestepped, and need to be addressed when dealing with sustainable strategies in the built environment. All fields – or design constraints – are constantly changing and demand a clear approach to current and future issues. Using a consistent threefold method, each chapter aims to break down the “big 4

U. Pfammatter, in: archithese No. 4, 2013, p.34 et seq.; U. Pfammater, in: W. Nerdinger (ed.), 2012, vol 2, pp. 559-575; U. Pfammatter, in: U.Kleefisch-Jobst, P. Köddermann, K.Lichtenstein, W.Sonne (eds.), 2012, pp.14-25; E. Allen, W. Zalewski, Boston Structures Group (eds.), 2010; F. Moussavi, et al (eds.), 2009.

problem areas” into manageable parts (Sections 1.1, 1.2, and so on). A further division (A, B, C, A / 1, A / 2, etc.) presents thematic and problem-orientated design issues, which are illustrated with inspiring case studies. The result is a methodical system, which, as Stefan Behnisch notes in his foreword, is always suwbjective to some degree – both as presented by the author, and also as perceived by the reader. In particular this applies to the selection of case studies. A line plotting the course of development over long periods should be shown, but also the links between different cultural and climatic settings – from the ancient period to the present moment. The author proposes that the problem-orientated conceptual model and the process-orientated method should dominate over questions of style. The various case studies also remind us of examples from forgotten or repressed cultural techniques, individuals, and schools of thought; and also of literature.5 These are set out in a broader context to counter the tendency towards “historical amnesia”. Using this book Each case study (a project, or a topic with related projects) is uniquely referenced. The first number refers to the relevant main chapter (1 – 5). The second two digits denote the sequence within each chapter. For simplicity, all the images for a particular case study are numbered from 1 to x. The image sources are given directly after the description, which avoids the inconvenience of multiple pages of image source lists. Quotes marked with an asterisk (*) indicate that an original English version was not available, and has been translated from German by Jim Hudson. The book’s text and images are arranged across double pages, with footnotes and image references alongside these on a page-by-page basis. Cross references to other case studies or topics are highlighted, with different colours referring to different chapters (> 2.1 B / 3 etc.). 5

Some representatives that should be mentioned are: S. Giedion, 1982 (1948); C. Norberg-Schulz, 1982 (1979); A. Lüchinger, 1981; K.C. Bloomer, C. W. Moore, 1980 (1977); R. Banham, 1969; K. Wachsmann, 1959.

Acknowledgements Sigfried Giedion, and Konrad Wachsmann, whose thinking on architecture in its broader social, cultural, economic and technological-historical contexts influenced not just the architectural teachers of this author at the ETH Zurich, but also the author himself. Bernhard Hoesli, Heinz Ronner, Adolf Max Vogt, Paul Hofer, Herbert E. Kramel, and their contemporaries, but also the structuralist movement, the Archigram group and others who created a breeding ground for further research, new interpretations and critical thought on the cutting edge of the future. The work of many of these influenced some of the works described in this book, for instance those of Jean Prouvé, Behnisch Architects or Renzo Piano Building Workshop. Through his work and lectures at the architecture department of the ETH Zurich, and at other architecture schools, the author has endeavoured to communicate the overarching connections between building cultures and technology across different eras and to gain new insights. Thank you to those who contributed towards numerous study weeks, field trips, construction site visits, workshops with students and expert colleagues, and collaborative group projects: Bruno Scheuner, Armando Meletta, Christian Fierz, Karin Bucher, Gianni Birindelli, Florian Niggli and many other colleagues.6 Personal contact with architects and engineers has been very valuable: Stefan Behnisch, Jörg Schlaich, Bernard Plattner (Renzo Piano Building Workshop), Kai Babetzki (Transsolar), Cuno Brullmann, Klaus Daniels, Richard Horden, Peter Marti, Adrian Meyer, Chris Luebkeman with Jennifer Greitschus and Cecil Balmond (Arup), Andreas Vogler and Arturo Vittori (Architecture and Vision), Shigeru Ban and many others. An acknowledgement is also due to those who enrich and stimulate 6

discussion of projects at the various schools of architecture, such as Orlando Monsch and Otto Fiechter, as well as many other colleagues and students. The contacts at, and student workshops with, building industry business show, in so many cases, the innovative, valuable and mostly unsung work which is done in their construction offices and workshops. It is important here to include the firms of Glas Trösch, Sika, Ernst Schweizer, EgoKiefer, neueHolzbau n’H, Schindler, formTL, Tuchschmid and Arup, who financially support this book. A hugely significant contribution was made by the Gerold and Niklaus Schnitter Fund for Technical History at the ETH Zurich for research, and also fritz haller bauen und forschen GmbH. Grateful appreciation is due to the editor of DOM publishers, Philipp Meuser, who I first met in Budapest at the launch of the “Budapest Architectural Guide” and spontaneously agreed to publish the book in English. A big thank you also is due to Yuko Stier for the attractive and meticulous design of the book, and to Robert Slinger for his attentive proofreading. The “Herculean” task of translation was undertaken with patience and perseverance by Jim Hudson: both he and Robert Slinger should be commended for their final text. The University Press at the ETH Zurich (vdf) also did valuable work on the original German edition. Thanks also to the agencies, photographers and colleagues who provided many of the images. Above all I am indebted to my wife, Johanna Pfammatter-Brugger, who was a critical companion in recording many of the buildings in this book, and was so astute in pointing out the strengths and weaknesses of the projects.

October 2011 / October 2013

They are specifically mentioned in the following case studies: 2.04 and 2.21 (evacuation_platform Bern-Matte and Guttannen, Switzerland); 2.26 (peak_lab Zermatt); 3.87 (New Spirit La Chauxde-Fonds and Davos); 4.44 (living_bridge Thun); 4.51 (Tensegrity-structure Frauenfeld); 5.13 (in:ch India / Switzerland) and also 5.33 (Intercultural Centre, Fés Morocco).

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change

› 1.1 On the Place-ment of Building — New Identities › 1.1. A The Context and the Design of a Unique Place

Genius Loci – Unique Places in a State of Change 1.1 On the Place-ment of Building — New Identities 1.2 Contextual Building Typologies in a Changing Culture and Climate 1.3 Regional Identity and Cultural Techniques in Space, Construction, Material and Form

Introduction

Stable conversion in Bergün, Switzerland (architecture: Marques & Zurkirchen, 1994 – 1996): a modernist cube is inserted into the structure of an old barn, respecting a sense of place and the essence of the village Photo by the author

Quotation from Friedrich Achleitner, in: ibid., 1997, p. 102, p. 105 (from the opening lecture of the Tyrol Architecture Forum, published in Architektur Aktuell, no.3, 1995).*

1 ›

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change Introduction

“What is a region? Where does it begin? Where are its borders? Who determines whether somewhere is a region? What distinguishes the different regions? It seems to me to that there is a distinct problem of hybrids. Are there any widely recognised pure forms or types, which can lay claim to real long-term stability? Or is every manifestation a hybrid form from the outset, carrying change within it as a natural state? One could say that we are still in the old world of construction (which still exists, and is where we try to build), but which now finds itself in a very uncertain period of change, in unfamiliar terrain. And that’s without mentioning the modern cultural landscapes which interweave and overlay an increasing multitude of constructional systems. But the fact that we can still distinguish between landscapes, regions, areas and places by their buildings, illustrates that we are dealing with a very complex and uncontrollable set of cultural phenomenon that cannot be easily stereotyped or measured.”

Friedrich Achleitner 1

The place-ment of building – new identities “Genius loci”, the special character of a place, is not always simply definable in objective terms. Every place that has its own specific character is interpreted and reworked differently at different times, and from different cultural viewpoints. In his book “The Belly of Paris” for example, Emile Zola describes the former “les Halles” in the Maquis of Paris, so that a reader today can sense the excitement, the noise, the fresh scents of the morning produce, the stench of its midday remains and the joy of the market bustle, as well as the envy and jealousy of its inhabitants. The author’s detailed description transports the reader back to this distinctive place, even though it has long ceased to exist.1 A “place” exists as much in the imagination as it does in reality. The Galluzo Charterhouse in Florence is a solidly real place. If it were to change, it would be destroyed. The site, with its specific references to the vast landscape around it, inspired Le Corbusier to invent a modern concept for an urban building typology, which included natural elements in the form of “hanging gardens”. His subjective interpretation was widely recognised as being both surprising and convincing; Le Corbusier had transplanted this “genius loci” to the city, translated into another culture. From the peculiarities of the monks’ cells, he abstracted a new spatial structure which he termed the “Immeuble Villas”.2 Without architectural elements, no “genius loci” can be architecture in its real sense, whether it is a naturally formed landscape, a country route or a piece of woodland: space and materials are needed to create a “place” in this sense. The “atmosphere” is essential – the charisma and the feeling of the place. Seasons change this character. Natural events change it, and man-made structures can be desperate attempts to make a place unforgettable. Traces of the past can also be captured in other ways, symbolically or through reinterpretation, one 1 E. Zola, 1957 (1873). 2 W. Boesiger, H. Girsberger (ed.), 1967, p.26 et seq.

example being the reconstruction of Potsdamer Platz in Berlin. Renzo Piano’s design created a “City of Today”, a “senso urbano”, with a Mediterranean feel. The design introduced new but distinctive elements, previously unknown and unfamiliar in Berlin’s urban life, and a total contrast with the “Berlin of Stone” and the deliberate destruction that preceded it.3 Both the perception and the description of a place changes over time, and as a culture evolves. While there have always been painters, poets and writers, over the last 180 years photographers and film makers have depicted distinctive locations.4 In the 1960s came “structuralism”, which drew attention to the socio-cultural context of the site and its depiction. It was prompted in part by the work of Kevin Lynch and Jane Jacobs, as well as the major study by Christian Norberg-Schulz – a classic work on the theory of place and its constituent elements.5 Contextual building typologies in a changing culture and climate Fixed memories of a place can work against the process of identification of that place as something new. New York’s “High Line” and Chicago’s “Loop”, were memorable elements in their respective cities; the High Line was associated with noise and industrial production, the Loop with the rush hour and congested commuting. While the Loop still exists, and will always be what it is, its trains screeching as they still take the same tight curves they have taken for the last 120 years, the High Line has set a new process of identification in motion, as well creating a model for industrial-archaeological conservation. The High Line no longer exists as a transport line and now has a completely new function; the area of the city where it ran 3 See A. Masboungi A. (ed.), 2005. 4 The movie “High Noon”, for example, by Fred Zinnemann, or the novel “Fontamara” by Ignazio Silone. 5 Christian Alexander, 1995 (1977); Christian Norberg-Schulz, 1982 (1979), Jane Jacobs, 1976 (1961); K. Lynch, 1965 (1960). See also, for example, Claude Lévi Strauss, 1960 (1955) and others, as well as section 3.1 / B in this book.

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has been given a new landmark and reference point, which will become part of an interlinked “genius loci”. The interplay of constants and variables in our building culture forms the basis for myriad interventions. Mining regions, for example, encourage widely varying reuses and local projects – an overlaying of dynamic processes. One such location is the IBA Emscher Park, on a former industrial area in the Ruhr Valley region of Germany. Unspoiled natural landscapes, such as alpine and mountainous regions, impose more challenging restrictions. Similar environmental conditions lead to remarkably similar lifestyles and building structures, as illustrated by the examples of the Caribbean or New Caledonian indigenous hut constructions: location, history and cultural techniques lead to forms and variations that are fundamentally similar. Is there still such a thing as a “genius loci”? Just because it brings together many different elements, does this mean a particular place contains within itself the ability to adapt and change? “One thing is certain, the idea of a ‘place’ has to do with many factors: with enduring memory and physical traces of the past; with multiple layers, complexity, spontaneity and distinctiveness; with clarity yet ambiguity; with tradition, memory and familiarity; with whether it is describable or cannot be described; with contemplation, homeliness, solidity, custom and convention; and with an awareness of cliché, blindness, callousness, and more. ‘Places’ can seem to be at once unchanging yet dynamic – not only in terms of physical change – but also as being fixed in time. To put it in simpler terms: nowhere is ever perceived the same way twice. The process of building architecture is inextricably linked to place. It is not only completely dependent on place, but still bound to it even when the architectural program is completely unrelated.” 6

6 Quotation from Friedrich Achleitner, 1997, p.176 (from a Presentation at the Symposium on “Open regions” for the International Society for Contemporary Music, ISCM, March 1996, Vienna).*

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change Introduction

Regional identity and cultural techniques in space, construction, material and form “Regionalism” manifests itself as if it were anchored in a place. Regional architecture, by contrast, is genuine. Friedrich Achleitner is one of the harshest critics of regionalism, observing that it destroys place, denies options for a new sense of identity, of adaptability, and that it is a charade. Whether it is in an urban context or an alpine region, a new structure or intervention should be developed using the existing historic fabric and traditional cultural techniques. The new can never be the old, because neither the tools nor the materials ever stay the same. Even Hassan Fathy’s attempt to rediscover ancient earth construction techniques in Upper Egypt led to new knowledge, new technical possiblities and building forms – the “spark” even jumped across to the socio-cultural structures of the village.7 Cultural techniques swing between the two poles of global temptation and regional “grounding”. Everything seems possible, everywhere. The “International Style” was just a phase, which has since repeated itself. At the same time, there is a growing interest in regional and local identity. Future challenges lie in the scale of recent urbanisation, in poverty, local water and food supplies, in global waste and the destruction caused by man-made catastrophes. The unfettered use of non-renewable resources is no longer appropriate. A new focus is needed, on effectiveness and efficiency, on adaptability, and the intelligent use of cultural techniques.

7 H. Fathy, 1969.

1.1 On the Place-ment of Building â&#x20AC;&#x201C; New Identities

Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Germany, in transition. Fig. 1: Potsdamer Platz transformed by Renzo Piano Building Workshop Photo: the author

Fig. 2: Potsdamer Platz in 1830 Source: Archive: Heinz Ronner / the author

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change

› 1.1 On the Place-ment of Building — New Identities › Overview

Overview The context and the design of a unique place The “localisation” of architecture is inevitable. Whether it is a historic location like the Acropolis in Athens, or a centrally-located “non-place” such as a garbage mountain in Cairo: architectural interventions impact on the affected site and its environment. While the new Acropolis museum makes an obvious reference to the Parthenon, the Al Azhar Park creates an open landscape that forms a set-piece with Cairo’s largest mosque, bringing the previously inhospitable site into a new cultural context. Derelict industrial structures such as New York’s “High Line” or the former MFO-Park in Zurich can be just as inspiring. The “aura” of industrial structures – the factories, markets and livestock buildings, railways lines, port buildings etc. – give an area a geometric structure, typological rules and a building grammar. The same applies to the pattern of urban grain, either when it is a rigid plan, such as the Cerdà Plan in Barcelona, or the more organic urban “Figura” such as the baroque town of Eichstätt in Bavaria. Processes of transformation – generating new identities These can be broken down into three different types. Industrial landscapes with their strong physical forms, such as the former industrial areas of the Ruhr valley, can be used as a structural framework for new use-scenarios by the public. As a result of the logistics of global cargo-containers, disused or downgraded port facilities can be converted to recreational use, taking on new functions for their nearby towns and cities. The former sites of industrial companies, such as Sulzer in Winterthur, Zurich, or the Île Sequin in Paris, are centrally located and shaped the urban zoning and infrastructure of the city that surrounds

them. They were a part of the environment and life of the city’s residents, who identified strongly with such places. The closure of the plants left a hole, not just a physical gap in the urban fabric, but also a hole in the collective consciousness; it had been a part of city life, of the work cycle, with its familiar noise and smells. The transformation of these areas into places of pleasure and fun, clean office work and quiet business, affects the whole city, and creates an identifiable “new land”. Virtual reference and meaning systems Newly created places are associated with economic risks, and take longer to become accepted. While Frank Lloyd Wright’s Broadacre City project was an idealised city utopia, Abu Dhabi’s Masdar City aims to be a laboratory, bringing its plans to life by focusing on universities, research institutes and other highend projects. It’s design is based on energy self-sufficiency, new types of mobility, and a new interpretation of bioclimaticorientated architecture. Potsdamer Platz in Berlin, destroyed in the Second World War and then left deserted, could be said to have more of a Mediterranean feel today. It attracts an international audience, rather than “real” Berliners, who are drawn elsewhere, to the courtyards of the Hackescherhof. Luigi Snozzi’s Monte Carasso is a reconstruction – not to a retro design – a village typology as it should have been, but never was. Renzo Piano and Norman Foster have both been successful in emphasizing existing elements by setting them against new architecture, in San Francisco and Nîmes respectively. Experiments and visionary concepts are also valuable if studied meth odically: they challenge, demonstrate new approaches, and create a breeding ground for projects in the future. Toyo Ito’s library building in the Japanese city of Sendai is one of these, as is the Indian township of Auroville – both can be seen as “built utopias”. 23

1.1. A The Context and the Design of a Memorable Place

1.1. A /1 References to the Cultural Landscape and History

1.01 New Acropolis Museum, Athens, Greece 2001 – 2009 architecture: Bernard Tschumi, Michael Photiadis & Associate Architects structural design, services and lighting systems: Arup project engineering team: Nikolaos Damalitis façade technology: Hugh Dutton Associates

Fig 1: View of the new museum from the Acropolis, showing the lower base of the building, and its upper part, which derives its dimensions and volume from the Parthenon Photo: Helga Pöckl / archive: the author

Fig 2: A contrast across time and materials: a view of the ancient Acropolis through the modern “structural glazing” in the façade of the new museum. Photo: the author

Fig 3: The oldest, most ancient area of Athens is exposed, with the foundation piles for the new museum carefully located Photo: the author

Fig 4: Cross-section of the Parthenon gallery showing the east face of the frieze Source: B. Tschumi, 2009, p. 35

Fig 5: Location plan: the “microplan” in the ancient city plan and today’s urban fabric, and the “macro-reference” of the upper structure to the Parthenon Source: B. Tschumi, 2009, p. 73

Fig 6: Circulation diagram: sketch by Bernard Tschumi Source: B. Tschumi, 2009, p 83

Since 2009, the ascent of the Acropolis has been enhanced by a striking new addition: the new Acropolis Museum. Designed by the Swiss architect Bernard Tschumi, its architectural concept draws on the historic city and the surrounding cultural landscape at the foot of the Acropolis hill. While the base of the building responds to the surrounding urban grain of the city, the upper part references the Parthenon on the Acropolis hill 300 metres away, creating a parallel displacement of the same building volume. The two different parts of the building interconnect. The enormous size of the upper part of the building means it is able to contain the perimeter friezes from the Parthenon in their original layout.1 (Figs. 1, 5) The new museum is built over the exact point where the oldest areas of ancient Athens were excavated. Tschumi’s design, with carefully located foundation piles to take the weight of the building, features a glass floor in the entrance area, so that the excavation site is now permanently visible. (Fig. 3) After entering an enclosed forecourt, the visitor finds that the space unexpectedly opens up along its longer side onto a generously dimensioned atrium space. Featuring a wide staircase, skylight and galleries, the atrium is as graceful as the approach to the Acropolis itself; a virtual recreation of the spatial-temporal experience. As you reach the upper level – the Parthenon Gallery – a direct view of the real Parthenon opens up. (Figs. 2, 4, 6) Despite boasting a vast expanse of exhibition space (14,000 square metres), the museum provides ample circulation area for the huge influx of visitors. Yet for such a large building, the design achieves a three-dimensional clarity and a successful 1 This is in contrast with Berlin’s Museum Island, where the western side of the Pergamon alter frieze (excavated in western Asia Minor, now Turkey) was reconstructed in a concave arrangement, to make it easier to see as visitors walk around it within an internal room; see also P. Weiss, 1975 (1984), vol 1, p15 et seq.

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resolution between volume and mass, while maintaining a panoramic view of the Parthenon. The single spectacular architectural element is the entrance roof, while the rest of the museum design is neutral, so that the exhibition pieces and the spatial experience are allowed to take precedence. Surfaces and internal materials are determined by acoustic requirements so that the space is not dominated by the noise of large tour groups. By virtually replicating elements of the Acropolis, the new museum sets the scene, and acts as a sort of precursor to the main event. The Acropolis becomes a remarkable witness to ancient Greece, and to the prototype of a new “genius loci” at its foot.2 Because the area is so earthquake-prone, special precautions were taken to prevent the destruction of the new museum (> 2.1 C / 1).

1.02 Al Azhar Park, Cairo, Egypt landscaping: 1997 – 2000 building construction: 2000 – 2004 architecture: Sasaki Associates restaurants: Rami El Dahan and Soheir Farid with Serge Santelli landscape architecture: Sites International client: the Aga Khan Cultural Trust, Aga Khan Cultural Services A meeting in 1984 between the Aga Khan and Hassan Fathy at an international seminar (“The Expanding Metropolis: Coping with the Urban Growth of Cairo”) led to a site in the city being chosen for a large-scale park. The 30 hectare site stands in the centre of Cairo, within sight of the Sultan Hassan mosque. It was previously used as the city’s extended waste facility, known as “Darassa Hills”, but it would be transformed into the Al Azhar Park.3 (Figs. 1, 2) As the demolition of the mountain of rubbish and the decontamination of the waste pits progressed, the remains of the defensive structure of the ancient “Ayyubid Wall” were uncovered. This led to some historical forensic work: the remains were not only stabilised, but in some locations actually restored and made accessible. The site of this former dividing wall now creates a link between the district of Al-Darb al-Ahmar and the Al Azhar Park.4 (Fig. 3)

2 B. Tschumi, 2009; www.newacropolismuseum.gr 3 For the project, see Jodidio, Philip. (ed.), 2007, pp. 86 et seq. 4 The project was also supported by the Aga Khan Cultural Trust, 1999 – 2007, see also: Jodidio, Philip. (ed.), 2007, pp. 102 et seq.

The conversion of this former “non-place” into the Al Azhar Park, the largest inner-city recreation and leisure area ever, was achieved under the direction of Stefano Bianca and Cameron Rashti.5 The main axis, with its panoramic restaurant, focuses on the Sultan Hassan mosque. The newly designed landscape is further shaped by the road and footpath systems which follow the park’s topography, by the extensive landscaping of the site, and also by a large lake. (Figs. 4, 5) The combination of lush gardens and fountains suggests that this special place is a modern interpretation of the traditional Islamic garden. 1.5 million cubic metres of earth were removed, and 655,000 plants and trees planted. The two restaurants follow the established tradition of the “courtyard house”; the shading of the façades and the façade technology of “solar shading” translates these simple structures using modern materials and technology. (Figs. 6, 7) The Al Azhar Park project turned a former eyesore in central Cairo – an uninhabitable garbage dump – into vibrant urban parkland. The site has been transformed into a socio-cultural and leisure-orientated district – a revitalisation and conversion into a new “genius loci”, a sustainable place that the mobile young population of Cairo can identify with. The creation of the park simultaneously signifies the regeneration of the local environment, of natural and man-made landscapes, and the integration of the area’s urban population. Al Azhar Park is a link between a modern day “search for an oasis” and a historical reference to the memory of Cairo’s cultural landscape.6

Fig. 1: The ancient citadel and refuse pits, photo circa 1880

Fig. 5: Sultan Hassan Mosque, view from the visitor restaurant

Source: Jodidio, Philip, ed., 2007, p 86

Photo: Christian Richters, from: Jodidio, Philip, ed., 2007, p 91

Fig. 2: The new Al Azhar Park from the air Source: by permission of the Aga Khan Cultural Trust

Fig. 3: Intersection of the Ayyubid Wall with the Al Azhar Park Source: by permission of the Aga Khan Cultural Trust

Fig. 4: Landscape plan, by Sites International Source: Jodidio, Philip, ed., 2007, p 88

Fig. 6: Restaurant façade showing sun filter / solar shading Photo: Christian Richters, from: Jodidio, Philip, ed., 2007, p 95

Fig. 7: Panoramic restaurant, with a reinterpretation of the traditional Arab courtyard Photo: Christian Richters, from: Jodidio, Philip, ed., 2007, p 93

5 The Aga Khan Historic Cities Programme; see also P. Jodidio (ed.), 2011, pp.310 6 Jodidio, philip (ed.), 2007; www.akdn.org

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1.1. A /2 References to Cityscapes and Urban Contexts

1.03 The High Line, New York, USA 2006 – 2009 architecture: Diller Scofidio + Renfro structural engineer: Buro Happold historic preservation engineering: Robert Silman Associates landscape architecture: James Corner Field Operations Lack of space in dense urban neighbourhoods has often led to the idea of using brownfield sites for new green spaces. It even led, in the case of the “High Line” in New York’s Lower Manhattan, to the re-use of a disused 1930s elevated railway line. The line runs at around 10 metres above street level, designed to keep dangerous freight trains separated from Manhattan’s sprawling industrial district below. The former track bed has been transformed into a linear park, with the first phase being opened in June 2009.7 The demolition of the elevated rail line – a piece of the city’s industrial heritage – was prevented thanks to the efforts of the “Friends of the High Line NY” campaign group. The old track bed, running from the Meatpacking District across Chelsea to Clinton / Hell’s Kitchen, is now a 3 kilometres long continuous route for a slower form of movement. The rail network, which ceased operating in 1980, became naturally overgrown, inspiring the design concept of overlaying the old structure with a new organic layer of geometrically laid-out planting. Segments of newly laid rail tracks are set in broken concrete slabs alongside the rusted originals, designed as a sequence for pedestrians. The inspirational, popular and highly compact area provides a welcome route for wandering and for viewing the city.8 (Figs. 1, 2, 3, 4)

7 Client: New York City Department of Parks & Recreation. 8 K. and L. Feireiss (ed.), 2009, pp. 136 et seq.; for the history of the political background and the and the “High Line” transformation project in New York, with a detailed photo gallery and videos, see www. thehighline.org.

Fig. 1: Aerial view of Manhattan’s Westside, with the High Line highlighted

Fig. 4: The “Skywalk” after the opening: the High Line in context

Source: K. and L. Feireiss (ed.), 2009, p 140)

Photo: Brigitte Jussel

Figs. 2, 3: View of the original structure; the High Line under construction Source: Friends of the High Line NY

1.04 MFO-Park, Neu-Oerlikon, Zurich-North, Switzerland 2002 architecture: Burckhardt Partner external realm: Raderschall

Figs. 1, 2: The “vertical green space”: its volume viewed from outside, and its “interior” space.

Fig. 3: Model of NeuOerlikon with MFOPark Architects: S. Ruoss, C. Siress, K. Schrader, from: U. Roth, 2011, p 53

Photo: the author

Opened in 2002, the spectacular scaffold-like structure at the MFO-Park in Neu-Oerlikon derives its form from the orientation and dimensions of a former industrial factory hall belonging to the MFO company.9 Using this approach, the industrial ruins were recorded and re-interpreted to meet the needs of a radically changing area that is cut through by the MFO site.10 (> 5.1 B / 2) This multi-level platform is used for performance activities, recreation, lunch or exercise, and enriches the new, mixed-use district. Visitors must climb 4 – 5 storeys (about 16 metres) to reach the uppermost observation deck, which is as high as the surrounding residential and service buildings. The structure is also a “vertical green space”, with lush planting and shrubs that change colour and intensity over time and with the seasons – a distinctive new landmark in the new city quarter, a “genius loci” with its background of industrial history.11 (Figs. 1, 2, 3) The “High Line” and the MFO-Park stem from the memory of an earlier industrial culture’s association with the city. They are revitalisation and transformation projects, creating new uses and extending the life of old industrial sites. This new life is one of dynamism, movement, spatial experience and a new form of the “genius loci”, the Corbusian “chemin architecturale”.12 1.05 Parks in Barcelona, Spain Park Clot 1992 architecture: Daniel Freixes Following the death of Spain’s General Franco in 1975, the Catalonian capital of Barcelona became more open, and was able to begin thinking about future development. In 1976 Oriol Bohigas, the new City Architect, initiated a massive project to

9 “MFO” stands for Maschinenfabrik Oerlikon, founded in 1876 by Emil Huber-Werdmüller, subsequently taken over in 1976 by the BBC (now ABB), founded by Charles V. Brown and Walter I. Boveri in Baden, Switzerland. 10 The overall design plan was determined in a multi-stage competition. The winners, who also implemented the project, were the then young architect office of Silvia Ruoss, Cary Schrader and Karen Siress, working with Ueli Roth (the original planning office). The jury included, among others, Thomas Sieverts and Günther Behnisch. 11 See the history and development of NeuOerlikon: U. Roth, 2011. 12 For Le Corbusier’s theory and practice of “Chemin architecturale”, see: Samuel F. (eds), 2010; U. Roth, 2011.

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create a “General Metropolitan Plan” (Plà General Metropolità, or P.G.M.) which would put theories into practice, and piece-bypiece gradually improve the urban structure which had been so neglected under Franco. The 1992 Olympics also contributed, as an engine for development, changing the political culture. The programme included the improvement of the high-density blocks of the “Eixample” by clearing out, greening and revitalising the internal courtyard of the blocks. This approach is currently experiencing a second wave of similar projects. (> 3.3 A / 3) Within this context another programme was introduced, which allowed run-down and abandoned industrial blocks and commercial wasteland to be transformed into local district parks. A good example is the Parc Clot, which was created on the former site of the municipal transport company (RENFE). Some historically important structures such as the viaduct-like perimeter wall and an old machine hall are integrated into the new concept, acting as a reminder of the site’s former use. Such interventions represent a change to the “genius loci”, a new kind of Barcelona, regenerated and clean, as well as a versatile public space which can forge a new identity within the surrounding districts.13 (Figs. 1, 2, 3, 4)

Figs. 3, 4: Aerial view of the area before construction; site plan

Figs. 1, 2: Views of the park grounds: there is a tension between geometrical and organic forms

Source: E. Serra, eds, 1987, p.44

Photos: the author

Park Güell 1900 – 1914 architecture and design of external spaces: Antoni Gaudí Prior to this “reinvention” of Barcelona, the only real park had been the Park Güell, by Antoni Gaudí. The architect had come to the attention of Count Eusebi Güell as early as 1878, at the Paris World Exhibition of that year. Five years after graduating, Gaudí was commissioned by the Count to design a country house (1883 – 1887), then again five years later for the Palau Güell (1886 – 1890). In 1900 came the park: the Count’s idea was a kind of “Garden Village”, with 60 villas in a landscaped park overlooking the sea, and set between the city and the suburbs. A marketplace, a reservoir, sports facilities, cultural venues and a church were all planned. However, the upper-middle classes at whom the development was aimed preferred plots away from the city, and in 1923 Güell’s son opened the park up to the urban population. 30 kilometres of trails follow the contour lines of the park along viaducts and bridges, past galleries and caves, squares and terraces, offering many different functions.14 The few houses that were actually built included homes for Güell and Gaudí themselves.15 (Figs. 5, 6, 7) 13 14 15

E. Serra (Ed.), 1987. See G.R. Collins, J.B. Nonell (ed.), 1983, Pl 43; Cat. 38.3. M.A. Crippa (ed.), 2003, pp. 53 et seq.

Figs. 5, 6: Attractions in the park grounds: a panoramic terrace and a route through a cave Photo: the author

Fig. 7: Investment plan, published in 1903, presented at the Société Nationale des Beaux Arts, Paris, 1910 Source: M.A. Crippa, eds, 2003, p 55

1.06 New Architecture in the diocesan town of Eichstätt, Germany Karljosef Schattner: a life’s work 1957 – 1991

Figs. 1,2: Intersection and spatial experience between new and old Photos: the author

Fig. 3: Plan of the town showing interventions by Karljosef Schattner Source: Diocesan Building Office, Eichstätt

Fig. 4: Institute for Journalism, Catholic University of Eichstätt (1985 – 1987): Floor plan, ground floor Source: W Pehnt, 1988, p. 123

After the devastation of 1633 – 1634, by Swedish troops during the Thirty Years War, the diocesan town of Eichstätt spent considerable time and care rebuilding its culture and economy. Eichstätt’s bishops pledged three Episcopal master builders, who would drive forward the restoration of the city, each of whom had a strong connection with Mediterranean culture. They were Jakob Engel (or Angelini), Gabriel de Gabrieli from the Misox (the Italian part of what is today a part of the Swiss canton of Grisons) and Maurizio Pedetti of Ticino (today also a Swiss canton – both valleys formerly belonged to Italy). These outstanding architects rebuilt the destroyed part of Eichstätt in the “Italian Style”. The dynamic use of space, the lightness of materials and subtle use of colour are still evident today, and have virtually become Eichstätt’s brand identity.16 Karljosef Schattner was Eichstätt’s chief planner and architect from 1957 to 1991. Through his numerous building projects, Schattner took account of the specific nature of the “genius loci” – in this case the Mediterranean Italian spirit that this city exudes. Taken as a whole, the extensions and alterations, renovations and conversions, consolidations and spatial rearrangements, additions and repairs to the city’s building stock represent a single architectural master work in the historic urban fabric. His work is careful and clear, and excitingly juxtaposes the old with the new. We can see a comparable approach in the northern Italian work of Carlo Scarpa (an inspiration to Schattner); the Museo di Castelvecchio in Verona is a good example. (> 5.3 B / 3) Schattner’s commissions focused almost exclusively on exposed urban sites in the centre or in the southwestern “extra muros” periphery of Eichstätt. (Fig. 3) Among Schattner’s most notable conversions, renewals and additions are the former orphanage, which now serves as part of the Catholic University, and the “Ulmer Hof”, which is today the faculty of theology library. (> 5.3 A / 2; > 5.3 B / 2) Schattner used a number of “conceptual tools” in his work, focusing on the spatial transition between old buildings and new interventions, forming new junctions between original and new materials using new technologies, and on spatial transformation by juxtaposing buildings from different periods. Using this repertoire, he identified a new vocabulary for joining new modern forms and referencing them to the existing buildings and ensembles. His work modernised the “genius loci”

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of Eichstätt and has given the city a “new spirit of place” (Norberg-Schulz). The historic elements have not been obscured; in fact their significance has been more consciously emphasized. (Figs. 1, 2, 4) The “figura” of the Baroque cityscape was culturally enriched, its historical quality enhanced, through Schattner’s additions and architectural “settings”. The town maintains its vitality through constant change, adaptation and modernisation, expansion and conversion, so maintaining and developing a cultural “pulse” – a “genius loci in change”.17

Günther Behnisch, Behnisch & Partner: The Catholic University Central Library, Eichstätt opened in 1987 The Catholic University Central Library, Eichstätt, by Behnisch & Partner, stands “fuori le mura” in the flood plain of the Altmühltal. It was already clear by the time of the competition that the site, which was outside the Baroque city but within sight of it, would need an exceptional form that contrasted with the town’s existing architecture. Günther Behnisch and his team, with Christian Kandzia from Stuttgart, developed a light, virtually “airborne” form of construction for the project: starting from an atrium-like foyer, three wings extend in different directions into the natural landscape beyond, with the reading rooms forming a fan shape between two of these. (Figs. 5, 6, 7) Behnisch and Kandzia described the site: “As the result of a competition we won the brief to design the library, which was to be built on the river bank outside the town. It is from this location that it derives its external influences – less from the town; i. e., it is less ensconced among other buildings, but there is also less restriction, less constraint, less geometric order, and instead more openness, more chance to find its own identity, more consideration for the forms of Nature, more of ‘natural’ order.”18 (Figs. 8, 9) If the two different approaches (by Schattner and Behnisch) seem to contradict each other, it should be noted that they both represent site-specific and complimentary “connecting pieces” that build a new identity in the face of cultural change. Their work has established itself in the tradition-conscious and conservative town of Eichstätt, and not least in the development of university culture. These projects represent new forward-looking content and trends, applied to renovation and new faculties, bringing a new spirit of building to bear on 16 17 the context of the cityscape.19

16 17

A. Rauch, 1989. W. Pehnt, 1988.

Fig. 5: The library in its surroundings of the Altmühltal floodplain Photo: the author

Figs. 6, 8: Views over the Altmühltal 18 19 floodplain from the reading rooms

Fig. 7: Competition model Source: Behnisch & Partner Architekten, ed., 1987, p. 211

Fig. 9: Location sketch Source: Behnisch & Partner, ed., 1987, inside cover image from commemorative publication

Photos: the author

18 Quote from Günther Behnisch, Christian Kandzia, in: Behnisch & Partner Architekten (ed.), 1987, p. 209.* 19 Behnisch & Partner Architekten (ed.), 1987, p. 209 et seq.; Behnisch & Partner (ed.), 1987 (commemorative publication).

1.1. A /3 References to the Natural Environment

1.07 Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern, Switzerland 1998 – 2005 architecture: Renzo Piano Building Workshop, Renzo Piano, Bernard Plattner structural engineering: Ove Arup & Partners façade construction and Teahouse: Tuchschmid

Fig. 3: Wooden model of the area by Renzo Piano Building Workshop Source: M.E. Foundation, and M. Müller, Bern, 2002, p.15

Fig. 4: View of the foyer Photo: the author

Fig. 1: View of the three museum “hills”, looking East, with Bern’s “Gurten” mountain in the background Photo: the author

Fig. 5: View from the foyer, over a naturally planted “valley” Photo: the author

Fig. 6: Cross-section through one of the “waves”

The form and structure of the Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern, fits into the lower-alpine landscape, with its views of the Bernese Oberland and the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau mountains. From a flat, gently sloping meadow, Renzo Piano and his team created a landscape of small hills, with the museum and its various functions hidden beneath. (Figs. 1, 3) Piano’s argument for the structural design as “waves in the landscape” lies in the number and location of natural parks established in the areas around the Swiss capital of Bern. Maintaining the city’s very high density should mean that the countryside can be reached by bus from the centre in just a few minutes: “You can’t just make something small. Instead you need to integrate the whole thing into your planning. Once you have decided to begin with the concept as a single whole, it no longer acts as merely a building, but more as a place. So from then on we saw the terrain of the site as a sculpture, and worked on the land like a farmer.”20 At the same time, the difference between the Paul Klee Museum and the city’s other cultural institutions is significant. The artist had a special connection to a nearby quarry, and the route to it from Bern led through the “Schöngrün”, where the museum now stands. For Klee, the location is a “genius loci”; he was born in 1879 in Münchenbuchsee, near Bern, was an active member of the Bauhaus from 1920 to 1931, and returned to Bern following Hitler’s rise to power. Anyone who walks from north to south around the “cultivated” natural landscape will experience the dramatic tension between organic nature and architectural design. The museum has been “hewn” from the landscape and grows layer by layer into a landscape of small hills (Fig. 7). This transition is striking: although constructed like natural forms, the whole composition

Source: Zentrum Paul Klee Bern, ed., 2006, p. 51

Fig. 2: The front of the museum Photo: the author

Fig. 7: Transition from the natural to the built structures Photo: the author

20 Quote from Renzo Piano, in: Der kleine Bund v. 27.1.2001 (Ein Hort der Hoffnung, ein Gespräch von Fred Zaugg mit Renzo Piano), reprinted in: Zentrum Paul Klee Bern (ed.), 2006, p.24.*

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emerges as a trilogy of undulating parts. (Fig. 2) The westward open front of the centre is positioned ahead of the actual main museum functions, such as the museum collection, the central forum, workshops and administrative areas, etc. Here one can have a coffee, visit the bookstore, queue for tickets, join a guided tour, and also descend to the basement level with its children’s and art education areas, auditorium and other exhibition areas. (Fig. 4) The three “enclosing waves” are separated by “valleys” where the natural landscape extends between the museum’s “hills”. Here, visitors are reminded that they move in a man-made landscape, that beneath the “museum street” the natural terrain is all around them, and that they are in a transitional space, where the micro-environment overlaps with the macrolandscape. (Figs. 5, 6) Renzo Piano adapted the whole landscape to the new requirements of the museum, with a sculpture park, a hill with a small birch grove, and a “promenade architecturale”, in which the steel beams of the museum’s structure grow gradually from the ground. Piano even references the geometry of the nearby motorway, with a noise-protecting embankment along its side. The whole museum leaves a strong impression.21

1.08 Velodrome and Swimming Pool, Berlin, Germany 1992 – 1998 architecture: Dominique Perrault structural planning: Ove Arup & Partners Dominique Perrault pursued an urban strategy in dealing with nature with the design of this velodrome and Olympic swimming pool complex: “It’s our aim to gently incorporate major facilities within this landscape, without interfering with the skyline and without impinging on the local life of the neighbourhood, but making a positive contribution to its development.”22 The sports facilities had to be incorporated into a small area of parkland, so that this giant building did not destroy the scale of the area by creating an “alien quarter”. The building was therefore sunk below ground level. (Figs. 1a, b, 2, 3) The shiny metallic flat roofs of the circular velodrome and the rectangular swimming pool stand as elementary architectural forms at the same level as the surrounding landscape. They contrast with the organically-formed environment: “These carefully executed, vibrant objects have their own particular 21 M.E. Foundation, and M. Müller, Bern, 2002; Zentrum Paul Klee Bern (ed.), 2006. 22 Quote from Dominique Perrault, in: Dominique Perrault, 1994, p. 72.

Fig. 1a, b: The velodrome, sunk into the green space competition proposal in: D. Perrault, 1996, p.40

Fig. 2: Urban and natural landscapes in contrast 3

D. Perrault, 1994, p.68

Fig. 3: view of the velodrome, as built; in the background the swimming pool, also sunk below ground level e-architect.co.uk

existence within a jewel box-like setting of greenness, where there is neither violence nor exclusion. New constructions will add the distinctive finishing touch to the site.” 23 “Nature” was confronted in this urban context with a large building structure – a dramatic relationship between “nature and culture”. The apple trees signify something familiar in an alien environment. Perrault wanted to experiment with the possibilities of contextual design, an approach which arises in some of his other projects. One example is the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, where a grove of fully-grown pine trees is found in the middle of the city.24 (> 3.3 A / 3) Unlike the Zentrum Paul Klee, where Piano’s architecture grows out of the natural environment and develops a spatial character like the “furrows in a field”, Perrault’s sports complex is sunken, so that it is seen from an unusual perspective.

1.09 Organic Modernity and the South-American Avant Garde The Brazilian Pavilion at the 1970 World Expo, Osaka, Japan 1970 architecture: Paulo Mendes da Rocha

Fig. 1: Photo of model Source: A. Spiro, ed., 2002, p.96

Fig. 4: Early sketch: interior space with view out Source: G. Laganà, M. Lontra, Hg., 2008, S. 132

Fig. 2: Sectional plan Source: A. Spiro, ed., 2002, p.102

Fig. 3a , b: An icon and symbol of Rio Source: G. Laganà, M. Lontra, ed., 2008, p. 132

Fig. 5: Location plan, ground level plan and construction section drawing, with reference to the bedrock beneath Source: L’Architecture d’aujourd’hui, No 319, 1998, p. 57

Da Rocha’s sketches and model for the project depict three raised hills, across which lies a horizontal pavilion structure, supported on each hill by a single point: it is a kind of “customised topography”: “The project for the Brazilian Pavilion at the Expo 1970 in Osaka is an architectural commentary on the relationship between nature and building. Essentially it consists of a platform of concrete and glass, which rests lightly on the landscape.” 25 (Fig. 1) The only visible connection to the “non-organic” landscape is a concrete structure comprised of two crossed arch supports, built to withstand an earthquake: “The design plays with the location of the building, with the urbanisation of the landscape, and is intended as a place to meet, to exert a strong pull.”26 In addition to the pavilion structure above, there are exhibition rooms located in the underground realm beneath the hills. (Fig. 2) The structure of the pavilion element consists of a complex tensioned concrete frame with profiled cassettes arranged in a spanning structure; thanks to the clear resolution of its

23 24 25 26

Quote from Dominique Perrault, in: Dominique Perrault, 1994, p. 72. Dominique Parrrault, 1994; D. Perrault, 1996. Quote from Annette Spiro, in: Ds. (ed.), 2002, p. 96.* Quote from Annette Spiro, in: Ds. (ed.), 2002, p. 96.*

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structural design, it becomes translucent. It is reminiscent of Pier Luigi Nervi’s Palazzo Esposizioni in Turin (1949) and of Louis Kahn’s Yale Cultural Centre for British Art, in New Haven, Connecticut, USA (1969 – 1974).27 Museum of Contemporary Art, Niteroi, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 1993 architecture: Oscar Niemeyer Oscar Niemeyer’s museum is famous for its plastic flowing form located on one of the most prominent points on the coast, standing against the background of Rio’s Sugarloaf Mountain. Even in early sketches, it is clear that Niemeyer’s intention is to further dramatize the rocky outcrop with his “artefact”. (Figs. 3a, b, 4) The structural connection to the natural landscape does not “touch lightly” as it does with da Rocha’s design. A broad platform forms a complementary element to the superstructure, whose base is anchored in the bedrock but whose “stem” stands in a pool of water, so that the whole structure appears to be floating. Two winding ramps – an elusive concrete sculpture – rise to the exhibition level, which provides a panoramic view.28 (Fig. 5) While da Rocha sought to create a “natural construction”, with a dramatic landscape standing beneath a horizontal roof, Niemeyer grounded his “UFO” in a striking rocky outcrop, simultaneously sinking the base in a pool. Both architects used different attitudes and structural approaches to construct a unique place, using either the existing or modified properties of the natural environment.29

28 29

A. Spiro (ed.), 2002; on the Luigi Nervis Palazzo Esposizioni in Turin, see P.L. Nervi, 1965, Tafeln XXIII – XXIX; to Louis Kahns Yale Center for British Art in New Haven, see. H. Ronner, Sh. Jhaveri (ed.), 1987, p. 378 et seq. P. Andreas, I. Flagge (ed.), 2003, p. 100 et seq.; G. Laganà, M. Lontra (ed.), 2008, p. 132 et seq. In the work of both architects, their plastic spatial architecture penetrates the existing natural landscape: for da Rocha, the Mazetti, Millan and King houses should be mentioned (São Paolo, 1970 – 1972), and for Niemeyer, the Casa Niemeyer and the Residenza Edmundo Cavanelas (Rio de Janeiro, 1952 – 1954).

1.10 Sanatorium, Paimio, Finland 1928 – 1933 architecture: Alvar Aalto For this tuberculosis sanatorium in Paimio, Alvar Aalto produced various elements designed to reference the surrounding natural park: “When I received the assignment for this sanatorium I was ill myself and was therefore able to make a few experiments and find out what it is really like to be ill. I found it irritating to lie horizontal the whole time and the first thing I noticed was that rooms are designed for people who are upright, but not for those who lie in bed all the time. Like moths around a lamp, my eyes were constantly drawn to the electric light. There was no inner balance, no real peace in the room which was not expressly designed for people lying in a horizontal position. I tried therefore to design rooms for weak patients which would give the lying people a peaceful atmosphere.”30 (Figs. 1, 3) Among the provisions Aalto made the stay more pleasant for long-term patients were large windows with the glazing at low level, so it was possible to have a natural view from the bed. He also provided for good ventilation, ceiling-level heating, soundproof walls separating rooms from corridors, relaxing colour schemes, patient-orientated furniture and fittings and many other innovations. (Fig. 5) As they arrive, visitors experience the sanatorium as a “white ocean liner”, surrounded by a forest of pine and birch on a small hill. While the entrance complex seems to be the “pulsing heart” of a machine, the building is open at the periphery: all the patient rooms, residential halls and terraces giving onto the open air (A Wing) are orientated to the south, and have extensive views over the forest. (Figs. 2, 6). Aalto locates the public areas of the B Wing in the centre of the sanatorium. The slightly angled stretch of terraces in the south-east is the most spectacular, particularly because of the structural engineering of the concrete. The seven-storey complex consists solely of narrow access corridors opening out onto wide balconies. The design chimes with the vertical forms of the trees beyond – a part of the natural landscape.31 (Figs. 4, 7) Like da Rocha and Niemeyer, Aalto sought to create a delicate relationship between architectural form and the natural environment, and to lend this “unique place” an enduring piece of built culture. Other examples of Aalto’s work worth mentioning are the Villa Mairea (1937 – 1939), the sun-orientated fanshaped form of the “Neue Vahr” residential towers in Bremen, Germany (1958 – 62), and the “Schönbühl” in Lucerne, Switzerland (1965 – 1968).32

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Fig. 1: The sanatorium surrounded by birch and pine forest

Fig. 4: Sun terrace view Photo: the author

Photo: the author

Fig. 5: Plan of a patient room

30 31 32

Fig. 2: The high proportion of windows in south facade open onto nature Photo: the author

30 31 32

Quote from Alvar Aalto in: A.M. Vogt (ed.), 1970, p. 19. K. Fleig (ed.), 1963; A.M. Vogt (ed.), 1970. Further examples include the Muuratsalo summer house (1953), or the draft proposals for an art museum in Shiraz, Iran (1969 – 1973), see Alvar Aalto: A. Kolehmainen, E. Laaksonen, W. Nerdinger (ed.), 2008.

Fig. 3: View of the outside world through a low-cilled window Photo: the author

Source: K. Fleig, ed., 1963, p.38

Fig. 6: Location plan of the whole facility: because the parts of the building are widely spread, it is never perceived as a whole Source: K. Fleig, ed., 1963, p.32

Fig. 7: Construction section Source: K. Fleig, ed., 1963, p.37

1.1.B Processes of Transformation – Generating New Identities

1.1.B /1 Industrial Landscapes and Industrial Archaeology 1.11 The Ruhr Valley Transformation Project: IBA Emscher Park, Germany International Building Exhibition 1988 – 1999 1

Fig. 1: The core of the IBA in the Ruhr valley; the Emscher Park: 70km long, spanning 17 cities Source: Topos, no. 26, March 1999, p.25

Fig. 2: The transformation of the Zollverein / Schacht XII coal mine as an exemplar

Fig. 5: Conversion of industry in a cultivated natural landscape: the staging of “post-industrial spontaneous vegetation” at the site of the Zollverein / Schacht XII coal mine Photo: the author

Photo: the author

Fig. 6: Theatre and concert on the Piazza Metallica

Fig. 3: Light show at the former blast furnaces in the DuisburgNord landscape park

Source: Topos, no.26, March 1999, p.71

Source: A. Höber, K. Ganser, ed., 1999, p.172

Fig. 4: A transformed foundry building in the DuisburgNord park Source: A. Höber, K. Ganser, ed., 1999, p.44

Fig. 7: The Stemmersberg estate in Oberhausen; architektur-fabrikaachen and Ingenieurbüro Kaiser Source: P. Güller, 1999, p.44

The vast expanse of the Ruhr was once Germany’s industrial centre, comparable with the cradle of the Industrial Revolution in the English Midlands, which was centred on the industrial area of Coalbrookdale and the Iron Bridge: the industrial-archaeological icons of that region. When coal and iron ore production moved to Asia and elsewhere, Germany was faced with a dilemma: should it turn this declining industrial wasteland into an archaeological museum, or transform it into a sustainable new place with a future? While nowadays the Midlands predominantly serves tourists as an industrial history museum, the Ruhr Basin, with its immense expanse of more than 30 major towns and cities as well as completely transformed and partially devastated natural landscapes, has taken a more complex approach. (Figs. 1, 5) The plan involved using the International Building Exhibition, better known as “IBA Emscher Park”, as a tool to generate a programme of measures for the long-term transformation of an industrial area into a cultural landscape. The industrial heritage and its landmarks should be ecologically and economically preserved, revitalised and put to practical use. Industrial history tourism was simply not up to the task. New forms, structures and inspirational ideas had to be found. And any plan would have to involve the active participation of the public right from the start. New principles would have to be established before specific projects could be commissioned. The “Zollverein / Shaft XII” mine in Essen exemplifies this process of transformation. (> 5.1 A / 3) The project has similarities with the transformation of Fiat’s Lingotto building in Turin by the Renzo Piano Building Workshop. (> 1.2 A / 2) Both schemes could strive for lasting success by demanding functional diversity, using the site’s structural complexity and a dynamic development strategy. (Figs. 3, 6) At the same time it had to be considered that an entire industrial park was, and will be experienced and perceived as a “genius loci”, despite all the perils, tragedies, health hazards, pollution and destruction wrought by years of industrial history.

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change

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The region’s existing cities needed to be included in the development process to lend the transformed industrial landscape essential support. The key elements of the programme were: the creation of a new town / housing development environment; a new lifestyle in old and new garden cities; a transfer of jobs from the industrial to the service sector; getting new transport networks up and running, and much more besides. Cultural events, educational institutions, recreation and entertainment venues, sports facilities etc. would all serve to breathe new life into the old mining region. (Fig. 7) The various interventions aim to create a dual interpretation of the “genius loci” in the Ruhr’s former industrial area: on one hand there is an emotional dimension, which draws on the industrial history of the area, to create a vigorous backdrop from the physical traces of its industrial past; on the other, superimposed on this, lie the programmatic measures which reflect the current requirements and opportunities of the future. In this way, account is taken of the dynamic of the passage of time in that these projects are integrated with the present. They are platforms to support changing activities, and also starting points for as yet undefined projects of the future.1 (> 5.1 A / 3; > 5.2 A / 1) (Figs. 2, 4)

1.12 Laban Dance Centre, London, England 1997 – 2003 architecture: Herzog & de Meuron One of the most attractive routes from the City of London to Greenwich is by an elevated train line through the “Isle of Dogs”, a former dockyard area. The route continues on through the famous Thames pedestrian tunnel (completed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel in 1843) into Greenwich past the Cutty Sark, before finally turning west into an industrial wasteland of commercial warehouses in the area of Deptford. The Laban Dance Centre was built on an unremarkable site, directly on the creekside. (Figs. 3, 4) This peripheral location inspired the architect to create a seemingly unspectacular “simple shed” form. The complexity of functions and circulation are packaged together in a building that resembles a warehouse, albeit one that is wrapped in a shell of varying colours and technologically advanced materials, reflecting this industrial area. Rather than any direct reference to the clinker brick of the surrounding buildings, the building’s exterior is an unpretentious abstract translation. 1

A. Höber, K. Ganser (ed.), 1999; P. Güller (ed.), 1999; Topos, No 26, March 1999.

The translucent shell of profiled and coloured polycarbonate panels is interspersed with glass window panels, generating a new and distinctive landmark; the formerly low-key yet evocative “genius loci” is emphasised by the presence of this new object. At the same time, the building’s colours also refer to the events taking place inside: “The shadow images of the dancers, which will fall onto the matt glass surfaces of the interior walls and façades, have a magical effect and are part and parcel of the unmistakable identity of this architecture.” 2 (Figs. 1, 2)

Figs. 1, 2: The Laban centre is like a jewel amidst the surrounding warehouses; the use of profiled polycarbonate sheets, an industrial material used as the building’s skin is a metaphor for this location Photo: the author

Fig. 3: The context: an industrial wasteland Source: ELcroquis, no 129 / 130, 2006, p.78

Fig. 4: Location plan Source: ELcroquis, no 129 / 130, 2006, p.78

Quotation from: ELcroquis, No 129 / 130, 2006, p.82.

Genius Loci — Unique Places in a State of Change

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1.1.B /2 The Reinvention of Former Docks 1.13 Porto Vecchio, Genoa, Italy 1984 – 2001 architecture: Renzo Piano Building Workshop structural engineer: Arup Over the last few decades, as industrial production sites and trade routes have relocated, old harbour facilities falling into disuse have become a familiar site across the globe. This poses a dilemma about the future of these lost places. The sites were closely tied to urban structures and were the lifeblood of the port development, thus the hub of global networks – not just in terms of trade, but also for emigration and immigration, tourism, and so on. (Fig. 3) Every European seaport has been affected by the new logistics: Liverpool, Hamburg, Rotterdam, Antwerp, Barcelona, Marseilles, Genoa and others. The consequences for these cities are especially dire, because port facilities occupy such a large part of the total urban area, while at the same time occupying the most exposed and attractive locations. The answer for these sites: transformation by means of new sustainable functions an “icons” in the transition to a globalised culture. Two examples are considered here: Genoa and Liverpool. (Fig. 4) Renzo Piano won the commission for the renewal of the docks in his old home town, as part of the celebrations for the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ landing in North America (1992). His initial focus was to remove the historical barrier between the town and the docks. This barrier was formed from the “marble terraces” housing the customs offices and warehouses, built in 1835, and subsequently added to by a railway line, then in 1965 by a high-level ring-road (the “Sopraelevata”). Piano proposed demolishing the road and replacing it with an alternative lowlevel route. However, he only succeeded in diverting it, and creating a new pedestrian crossing point between the old city and the harbour, at the Palazzo San Giorgio. (Fig. 5) The planning and regeneration strategy for the harbour (alongside the relocation of the original harbour functions to other sites) aimed to create new iconic structures and new uses that been lacking in the city. These included a tent-like structure for sports (“La Tenda”), a biosphere glasshouse (“La Bolla”), a marine aquarium, an attractive lido (“Via del Mare”), and the conversion of the remaining harbour buildings (the former cotton warehouses, for example). (> 1.2 C / 2; > 5.1 A / 1) (Fig. 2)

a) the Molo b) Palazzo San Giorgio c) Piazza Caricamento d) aquarium e) Italian Pavilion f) Via del Mare g) Millo h) bonded warehouses i) exposed edge of old wharf j) Harbour Master’s office k) parking garage l) service spine m) Magazzini del Contone

Fig. 1: View of the city from the port site Photo: the author

Fig. 2: View of the Via del Mare Photo: the author

Fig. 3: New life in Genoa’s disused harbour: a polyvalent space as a new symbol

Fig. 4: Interventions by Renzo Piano Building Workshop in Porto Vecchio, Genoa: site plan Source: P. Buchanan, ed., vol 2, 1995, p.99

Fig. 5: Reconnecting the regenerated port facility with the city, at the Palazzo San Giorgio Source: P. Buchanan, ed., vol 2, 1995, p.105

Photo: the author

Once the redundant sea-loading equipment had been removed, the city could be viewed from a distance for the first time, from a whole new perspective: the hillside’s “vertical beauty”, the silhouettes of houses against the hills, the clustering of buildings down to the harbour – features which had been created through topography, history and architecture. (Fig. 1) Piano’s interventions should secure the future of the old port in its context: “My project for the Columbus celebrations is based on a very simple philosophy (which appeals to the traditional Genoese sense of wasting nothing), namely to create permanent amenities for the city, which even after the festivities are over should enrich and become a part of the city.” 3 Piano’s objectives – lasting assets and a new extension of the city’s life – have already proven themselves. Anyone who walks through the Via del Mare today can discover the vibrant new Genoa, which was long thought of as an ugly city.4 Piano has continued working in the area since 2004, on an entire eight kilometre section of coastline, which includes the container port, an airfield, refineries and more, under the umbrella title of the “Genoa Biosphere”.5 1.14 Albert Docks, Liverpool, England 1839 – 1845 architecture: Jesse Hartley, Philip Hardwick Along with St. Katherine’s Dock in London (> 5.1 A / 2), Liverpool’s Albert Docks belong to the earliest examples of the rebirth of derelict docklands. Both cities were victims of the globalisation of container logistics. Yet for Liverpool, the closing of the docks set the scene for a cultural transformation of the city, as a key riverside site on the banks of the Mersey estuary was opened up to public use. Also The neighbouring Wapping docks also underwent a similar conversion into The King’s Waterfront, a multi-function area in 2008. (> 3.1 B / 3) The Albert Docks have been remade into a fascinating new cultural, culinary and commercial waterfront, with new uses such as the Beatles Museum, a branch of the Tate Gallery, boutique shops, restaurants and bars, a marina and the neighbouring Maritime Museum. (Fig. 1)

Fig. 1: The Albert Docks after transformation Photo: the author

Figs. 2, 3, 4: Industrial building culture and technology: sturdy cast iron columns and transfer cranes for moving heavy cargo to and from the warehouses Photos and archive: the author

3 4

Cit. Renzo Piano, in: Drs., 1997, p.102.* P. Buchanan (ed.), vol 2, 1995, pp.94 et seq.; R. Piano, 1997, pp. 102 et seq.; F. Irace (ed.), 2007, pp. 170 et seq.; a + u, Architecture and Urbanism, no. 3, 1989, pp.132 et seq.; Process Architecture, no. 100, 1992, pp.148 et seq. P. Buchanan (ed.), vol 5, 2008, pp.267 et seq.; Irace F. (ed.), 2007, pp.272 et seq.

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Jesse Hartley and Philip Hardwick’s conversion of the old Albert Docks warehouse buildings, originally built between 1839 and 1845, with their massive, solid design and iconic cargo cranes (known as “Elevators”), stand as industrial icons, encapsulating the “spirit” of the area. They are etched into the socio-economic and urban architectural essence that has accumulated over centuries. (Figs. 2, 3, 4) Liverpool has long been England’s most important export port and shipping centre for the industrial and agricultural produce from its inland areas – the “Midlands”. The city was the destination for the first railway line (from Manchester, in 1830). Liverpool also played a pioneering role in the development of modern office buildings, one example being the work of Peter Ellis. (> 3.1 A / 1) Just as importantly, Liverpool was the departure point for the New World; as attested by the famous Britannia Adelphi Hotel, neighbouring Lime Street Station built by Richard Turner in 1847 – 1849; one of the most innovative buildings of the industrial age.6

For the building culture and technical history of Liverpool, see. U. Pfammatter, 2008, Case Studies 17 (Lime Street station; engineer: Richard Turner) and 51 (Office buildings; architect: Peter Ellis); for the Albert Docks, see The Architectural Review, No. 1080, Feb. 1987.