Cinderella City: To What Extent is Lisbon's Ruination Compelling? by florencewright

C I N DE R E L LA C I TY TO WHAT EXTENT IS LISBONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S RUINATION COMPELLING?

FLORENCE WRIGHT

CONTE NTS

ABSTRACT INTRODUCTION CHAPTER ONE The Baixa Pombalina, and Forgetting 01 Negative Associations with Ruins 02 Anxiety Woven into Rebuilding 03 Obsession with Health and Progress CHAPTER TWO The Mouraria, and Remembering 01 City of Sensations 02 Appreciation for Ruins Over Time 03 Collective Memory of the Mouraria CONCLUSION BIBLIOGRAPHY APPENDICES Research Method Statement

A B ST R A C T The grand, yet crumbling facades of Lisbon are hiding empty and derelict spaces within. There are 4,600 empty buildings in the central area, with the historic centre of the city being home to fewer than 10 residents (Chamberlain, 2011). The city has had a long history of reoccurring ruination. In this essay I will talk about the different attitudes to ruination in Lisbon, in the eighteenth century, twentieth century, and the present. I will focus on two catastrophic events - the first being the 1755 earthquake: destruction by natural cause, and the second being the demolition of the lower Mouraria by the Estado Novo: destruction by human cause. I will focus on two very different Lisbon neighbourhoods â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the Baixa Pombalina and the Mouraria. One modernised, symmetrical, clean, and one old, chaotic, and dirty. I will use these as settings upon which to talk about progress and ruination. Within these themes I will talk about other related spectrums of cleanliness, and dirtiness, calm and chaos, anaesthetic and stimulatory. Ultimately, I will explore the links between progress and ruination and our mental reaction. Whether it be a positive feeling of intrigue, fascination, awe, or a negative feeling of anxiety, fear, trauma. I will look also at how memory feeds in, how erasure and rebuilding aids forgetting while ruins allow us to remember the past. Inspired by my own recent visit to Lisbon whereupon I found beauty and charm in its dishevelled appearance, I aim to determine to what extent is the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ruination compelling, looking particularly at the Baixa Pombalina and Mouraria, and how does memory of place change over time, allowing us to see the beauty, rather than the trauma of ruin.

I NTRODUCTION On the first of November 1755, the earth beneath Lisbon shook violently for nine minutes. Within the first five, most buildings had collapsed to the ground. A sixmeter-high tsunami “flooded a distance of 250 meters into the city” (Pinheiro, 2019, 159), blocking escape routes and forcing survivors to abandon the injured, who would be crushed, drowned, or burned alive in the fires that had been started by thieves, and would continue to blaze for six days and six nights. As soon as buildings started falling, “Remorseless Villains” (Anon. 1755, 20) had robbed the deserted houses, starting fires so they would not be caught. Another cau se of fire was the candles that had been left burning in the churches, and were then abandoned when the people fled. The sky was as “dark as night” (Pinheiro, 2019, 158) due to the dust and smoke, and once the flames died down, all that remained was “a landscape of ruins blackened by fire” (Pinheiro, 2019, 162). Many lives were lost: the death toll is believed to have been “30,000” (Braun and Radner, 2005, 2). No-one was spared; the King fled the palace in his nightgown and due to the collapse of “three dozen palaces” (Hatton, 2018, 134), aristocrats were forced to live rough. The Spanish Ambassador was “crushed to death” (Anon. 1755, 16) by his front porch, and nine servants suffered a similar fate. “The queen and princess stopped making textiles in order to make ligatures” for the wounded (Pinheiro, 2019, 163). Temporary huts were erected from scavenged materials such as “timber and canvas” (Hatton, 2018, 134). The natural cause of the earthquake was “the subduction of the Atlantic oceanic plate beneath the continental plate.” (Pinheiro, 2019, 160) but citizens believed it was an act of God, and were so traumatised that they ran around “appealing for help from heaven” (Pinheiro, 2019, 155). The area that is now the Baixa Pombalina was obliterated. The Mouraria and Alfama survived, making them the oldest parts of Lisbon today.

C HAPTE R ON E Forgetting Through Erasure In this section I will talk about ruin as a product of destruction, therefore having negative associations with trauma and loss. The Lisbon earthquake of 1755 was a catastrophic event of natural causes. Its scale of destruction had such magnitude that in Lisbon’s “collective memory” (Pinheiro, 2019, 161) it became known to represent all the historic downfalls that preceded it (Pinheiro, 2019, 161).The burnt out, fragmented city that was left behind after earthquake, fire and tsunami was a shadow of former Lisbon. I will look at how the anxiety of the people was woven into the re-building of the city - the new design motives were disaster prevention and ability to escape. I will also look at how this rebuilding was an attempt to erase the old, which was now seen as inhibiting, and forget the past trauma through modernisation and architectural anaesthesia. The chapter ends with a change of setting – I will introduce the Mouraria in order to describe the consequences of obsession with health and progress.

Negative Associations Attached to Ruins Ruination can be a product of destruction, or neglect. In this case it has negative associations with trauma and loss. IMMEDIATE REACTIONS TO THE DISASTER Inevitably, shanty settlements arose before proper construction could take place, and remained for a long time afterwards. Eventually, “9000” shanties were built (Pinheiro, 2019, 171), the reason being that for a long time, nobody “dared remain inside a house” (Braun and Radner, 2005, 156). One man had witnessed his own wife and children be crushed by falling stone, where he watched in horror from the top window of his house, before running for his life to the nearest square in hope that he would be spared (Anon. 1755). The earthquake had instilled fear in the people of Lisbon, and a mis-trust of the structures that had once housed them. In one account of the earthquake, a merchant of Lisbon writes a description of the remains of the city post disaster:

Fig 1. Lisbon in flames, copper engraving

“Mountains of Rubbish and Frightful Fragments of Buildings; Monuments of Devastation and Spectacles of Horror to behold!” (Merchant of Lisbon. 1756. 28). Here the merchant is describing the charred ruins of the city. Notice how he replaces the word ruin with “rubbish” suggesting that structures as ruins are no longer useful, their level of value has fallen to that of piles of waste. When describing the scene, uses words such as “frightful” and “horror”. From this we can see that his opinion on ruins is a negative one, associated with trauma. “Frightful Fragments” describes a synonym for ruin in a way that infers fear proving that the Merchant holds negative associations with ruin. By using the phrase “Monuments of Devastation” he suggests that the ruins were there to commemorate an event of great destruction. The definition of monument is “a statue, building, or other structure erected to commemorate a notable person or event” (Lexico Dictionaries | English, 2020) while devastation can either mean “great destruction or damage” or “severe and overwhelming shock or grief” (Lexico Dictionaries | English, 2020). It is interesting that the two meanings of the word are so greatly entwined, as one often feels grief after witnessing a scene of destruction. The disaster was of such great magnitude that most people believed it to be “a divine punishment” (Braun and Radner, 2005, 64) and so the secondary response after fear was to feel immense guilt, and plea to the heavens for forgiveness. In a letter from a Portuguese gentleman to his friend, a London merchant, the religious reactions to the disaster are discussed.

The gentleman was believed “it was for the Good of the Whole that Lisbon should be thus demolished.” (Anon, 1755, VII). This shows that as well as the immediate shock, and anguish at lost homes, possessions, and loved ones, people felt shame and remorse. Driven into a “religious frenzy” (Hatton, 2018, 129), citizens questioned their beliefs and wondered what wrong-doings had resulted in this disaster befalling them. There was a collective feeling of refusal to accept Lisbon as ruins. “Most Sincerely, your friend and Servant, From the Place which was onceLisbon”. (Anon, 1755, 19). This is how the ambassador of Lisbon signed off a letter to the ambassador of Madrid. Talking about Lisbon in the past tense was a direct refusal to accept the current state of the city. To summarise, the people of Lisbon associated ruins with fear, and loss, as would anyone who has suffered through any kind of largescale disaster. Ruins are almost always found on sites of destruction, so although trauma is associated with disaster and destruction, ruin is a product of disaster, and so ruins serve as “Monuments of Devastation” (Merchant of Lisbon. 1756. 28) to remember devastation both in terms of destruction and grief. Fig 2. Joao Glama Stroberle, Allegory to the 1755 Earthquake

Anxiety was Woven into the Rebuilding of the City The rebuilding of the city was a long slow struggle; Lisbon had been hit not only physically but economically, and there was a lack of capital and resources with which to progress, but there was no other choice. The paranoia of the people in the aftermath manifested itself in the new buildings. Each modification was made to protect inhabitants, prevent collapse, and aid escape. The drive to re-build only came about when the Marquis of Pombal stepped up as leader, after the king became “paralysed by shock and anxiety” (Hatton, 2018 152). The Pombalino style of architecture was thus formed, providing a stark contrast to the “passionate, anarchical impulses” (Hatton, 2018, 154) of the Manueline style that preceded it. Aims of the rebuilding programme were to create seismically sound structures that would prevent destruction of this scale from occurring again, as well as improving hygiene, to create a new “rational and functional city” (Hatton, 2018, 155). CITY SCALE: ORIENTATION OF BLOCKS The first decision regarding the new design of the area, was to orientate each block the same way as the direction of earth movement during the earthquake, so the buildings would be more able to “withstand tremors” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 115). The blocks were built in SW-NE orientation, running parallel to the horizontal shaking of the ground. The planning of block placement at city scale also made a “clear link between the two main squares” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 115) creating escape routes in the event of a disaster. BUILDING SCALE: EXTERNAL FEATURES The building’s height was to match the width of the main street, allowing adequate light and ventilation. Thick walls separated each building from the next, with no openings allowed, and party walls were “extended above the roofs” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 52) to prevent the spread of fire between buildings. Each block had a “courtyard (alfugere)” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 116) which acted as

both a waste disposal area (as opposed to the street, where sewage would have been deposited prior to the earthquake) and as a rescue point in case of disaster. This suggests that safety and cleanliness were now the main design considerations. Each façade was “carefully defined, simple and repetitive” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 116). This was due as much to the lack of capital and resources as it was again, to safety. Decoration that was once thought of as a celebration of wealth and craftsmanship was now seen as an obstacle that may hinder one from fleeing the building. Even the more practical additions such as stone ledges and shutters were forbidden so that in the event of disaster, they would not become detached and crush or “impede the inhabitants in escaping” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 116). The only form of decoration were the patterned tiles, which were made “non-combustible” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 118). As for the stonework, it was designed “with shapes that adapted perfectly to the tensions within the façade” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 117). It was also tied to the main structure so that it would stay fixed in the event of a minor tremor, but in a major earthquake the walls would be released in a more controlled manner. THE PLACEMENT OF WALLS AND STAIRWAYS Like the stonework of the façade, the interior spaces were arranged to achieve a “balance of forces” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 117) that would aid stability. For instance, the placement of the stairwell was to improve “stability in terms of torsion” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 116). They were also often placed nearest to the courtyard to ensure an efficient escape if required. The ceilings were simple and merely consisted of the “wood planks from the floor above” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 118). There was no plaster, and no decoration, again due to the fear that “decorative features could easily be broken away in a tremor and injure the residents” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 118). Wherever possible stone was used, as a method of fireproofing. Stone steps ran from the shop floor up to the apartments to reduce risk of flames spreading. Any doors along the way were covered with a metal sheet (Mascarenhas, 1996, 118).

THE GAIOLA/ CAGE “The structure, called the “cage” or “gaiola” is made up of a series of vertical and horizontal struts joined by diagonal pieces forming Saint Andrew’s crosses” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 118). The gaiola, or ‘cage’ as it is often known, was invented to provide each building with a stable core structure from which walls could be attached to. The idea being that in the event of an earthquake the stable timber framework would remain standing, and only the exterior walls would be sacrificed, rather than the entire building. It did not make sense to try and keep these exterior walls standing as they were too heavy, and it would put the whole structure at risk. Instead, the part of the cage that lay next to the external walls was made up of only horizontal and vertical sections, allowing the walls to be released. “Internally the gaiola panels were filled with irregular stones or pieces of bricks and mud, or just covered with wooden laths, to which wet clay was applied” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 20). This meant the plaster was soft enough to “disintegrate without harming the residents” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 20) while the gaiola and interior spaces would remain intact.

Fig 3. Diagrams showing controlled release of walls (Mascarenhas, 1996, 120)

Obsession with Health and Progress It is important to remember that the earthquake, fire and tsunami of 1755, although it was a terrible event that caused widescale death and destruction, also provided the city with a chance to modernize itself. Running parallel to collective feeling of loss and mourning was the spark of hope, of motivation to re-invent the city in a way that was modern, sanitary, and prosperous. The earthquake literally wiped the slate clean, giving the people of Lisbon a blank canvas with which to start anew. From this opportunity came the forward thinking and innovative design of the Baixa Pombalina, which remains to be seen as an incredible feat of design for its time. It is important to remember that it came out of opportunity, and that the cause of destruction was natural. The city progressed because it had to; it was responding to natural disaster. When talking about progress, it wasn’t just the progression of design in terms of stability and ability to endure tremors, attention was also given to “safety and hygiene” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 114). Ideas around improving physical health were not new; for centuries Lisbon had been known as a “dirty city” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 9), beneath all the grandeur, but no adequate scheme to improve sanitation had been put in place before the earthquake. From the sea, Lisbon appeared to be “a commanding city that rose in white majesty to the view of the admiring traveller” but upon closer inspection he found “a chaos of nastiness, poverty and wretchedness…on every side”” (Hatton, 2018, 201). The realization of the need to design for stability and safety only came after the people’s traumatization of seeing their loved ones crushed by falling stone. And similarly, the realization of the need to design for health only came after people saw how “injury and subsequent disease and illness” (Mascarenhas, 1996, 114) were exacerbated by the narrow, sewage-filled streets, and the dark interiors that harbored grime. It is important to remember also that, prior to the earthquake, nothing was really designed. Things were built during periods of prosperity, streets grew due to “necessity and opportunity” (Hatton, 2018, 128), and were then neglected in periods of austerity. Forward planning, and the idea of questioning how to preserve, and maintain buildings, and prevent them from being ruined, had not previously been a major concern during construction.

So, it became that the two main design drivers of design were safety and health. This, was an incredibly beneficial realization in terms of Lisbon’s progress and is an example of how something positive can come from a catastrophic event. These ideas were incorporated into many architectural decisions thereafter and progress was now a tangible thing. People had realized that if something were to be destroyed it creates opportunities to move forward. In other words, “progress implies the sacrifice of an heroic national history” (Colvin, 2004, 137).

This idea became dangerous in the twentieth century in Lisbon’s Mouraria. Salazar came close to totally obliterating the medieval neighborhood in the name of progress. Between 1930 and 1960 the lower part of the Mouraria was destroyed, under the instruction of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar, the Portuguese Prime Minister from 1932-1968. Salazar created the Estado Novo, a totalitarian government (Goldberg, 2020). The Estado Novo made plans to rehabilitate Lisbon. These plans included demolishing the two oldest districts: Alfama and Mouraria. Thankfully, the program “lost momentum” (Colvin, 2008, 19) due to Salazar’s death in 1970, and changes to the political regime around the Carnation Revolution of 1974, but a plan to protect Lisbon’s heritage was only formed in 1967 by the Camara Municipal de Lisboa and by this time the Mouraria had already “suffered blows of the Estado Novo’s progress” (Colvin, 2008, 19). Salazar had an “obsession with hygiene and progress” (Colvin, 2008, 11) and wanted to “eradicate” (Colvin, 2008, 11) the Mouraria in its entirety. The “woeful quarter” (Colvin, 2008, 12) has long been known for its dirtiness, “tortuous alleys”, (Colvin, 2008, 12) and high crime rates. Prostitution and murder are still associated with the area today.

To summarise, the earthquake of 1755 caused widespread death and destruction. The magnitude of the disaster instilled fear in the people of Lisbon. To them, ruins were the product of disaster and so they had negative associations with trauma and loss. There was a collective refusal to accept the city as ruins.

Ruins became a reminder of trauma. This trauma is evident in Lisbon’s architecture. The fear of the people was woven into the rebuilding, anxiety resides in the fabric of the Baixa Pombalina. It is seen through designs that prevent, protect, allow escape. The orientation

of the blocks, the faĂ§ade design, lack of ornamentation, street width, fireproof materials, cage-like inner structures, and inclusion of squares and courtyards as escape points are all architectural embodiments of anxiety and paranoia with regards to another disaster occurring. The disaster and the shock it provoked led to a collective negative attitude towards ruination. It not only influenced design choices but sparked a whole movement of obsession with health and progress. It allowed the new idea of destroying the old to make way for the new. It was only when Salazar began to wipe out entire neighbourhoods that people realised the importance of history and the city council made plans to protect Lisbonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cultural heritage. This was a major turning point in terms of appreciation for ruins.

The next chapter will discuss why we might find ruination compelling. I will look at historical examples of appreciation for ruin such as the work of Piranesi and Soane, and the modern-day penchant for the old, the worn, and the dirty, looking the Mouraria as a site of dilapidated beauty.

C H A P T E R T WO Remembering Through Ruin Chapter one focused on ruination as a negative process, stemming from a catastrophic event, and so acting as a reminder of loss, and fatality. Chapter two will look at how ruination can be seen as compelling. How do we define the beauty of ruin? Why do people choose to visit ruins? Why do we gravitate towards dirt, and decay as an aesthetic? The setting for this chapter is the Mouraria â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a place that has suffered a history of reoccurring ruination and has been long known as a site of drug use, prostitution, and murder. Today the Mouraria is becoming a notable destination for tourists, and inhabitants of the city. It has been described as a place of â&#x20AC;&#x153;sensationsâ&#x20AC;? (Henriques, 2016, 394) and after years of battling modernisation it is in fact the historical dilapidated nature of the place that makes it appealing to wanderers. How do associations with place change over time? And how has the Mouraria managed to retain rich cultural heritage in collective memory when it was almost obliterated in the twentieth century? In this chapter I will investigate how the Mouraria, despite much of it being knocked down by the Estado Novo, has kept such a vibrant history in the collective memory of the Portuguese, and how this memory is kept alive through sound, and space.

City of Sensations The Mouraria is one of Lisbon’s oldest neighbourhood. It takes its name from the Moors who conquered and settled there in the Middle Ages. It has kept its winding streets and back alleys and is continues to be a culturally diverse area. It is considered by many to have an albeit chaotic charm, although undercurrents of crime are still evident. A recent tourism survey describes Lisbon as a “city of feelings/sensations” (Henriques, 2016, 394). I believe this would be an apt description of the Mouraria in particular. Traversing the Mouraria is a sensual experience, relating to feeling. Its refusal to become modernised has allowed it to retain its ability to evoke feeling in its inhabitants - how? In X-Ray Architecture, Beatriz Colomina states that “Anaesthesia is the removal of feeling, the temporal suppression of the central nervous system in order to achieve lack of sensation” (Colomina, 2018, 31). She suggests “minimizing friction” (Colomina, 2018, 31) through “smooth surfaces of modern architecture” (Colomina, 2018, 31) is a way of doing this. If modern buildings have the ability to evoke feelings of calm, and clarity in the viewer, through surface texture, surely the old, crumbling facades of the Mouraria evoke feelings of chaos and disorder. When viewing the uneven surface of a decaying façade, there is more information for the brain to process as opposed to a smooth surface. If modern buildings are anaesthetics, surely ruins are stimulants? Colomina also talks about the “poverty of experience” (Colomina, 2018, 32/33), relating to modern ideas about design and how they came about after the war – nerves were “shattered” (Colomina, 2018, 31), people wanted to forget, erase their memories of the horrors of war. Design took the form of an anaesthetic - the word “calm” (Colomina, 2018, 31) became imperative to architecture, as if the aim was “stress reduction” (Colomina, 2018, 31). Le Corbusier believed that “the degeneration of the city leads to physical and nervous sickness” (Colomina, 2018, 30). In the case of the Mouraria, how do we overcome this mental hardwiring to feel nervous at the sight of deterioration, decay, death? While the Baixa Pombalina aimed

to erase its past ordeals, and look to the future by rebuilding and modernising, the Mouraria chose to remember. “…smooth surfaces the inhabitant cannot leave any traces, any memory” (Colomina, 2018, 32/33). Here Colomina talks about memory as a tangible thing, suggesting that it can accumulate, attach itself to physical structures. Maybe this is how the spirit of the Mouraria has remained so very alive despite physical demolition. The collective memory of those who have dwelled there over the years is attached to the buildings that remain. Maybe ruins are in fact a tangible form of collective memory, accommodating traces of history. Their form is such due to the physical consequences of past events. For example, stone steps that sag in the middle due to the weight of thousands of feet over thousands of years wearing them down. Historical actions and decisions are immortalised through ruins, which then become monuments to the event that shaped them. The survey also revealed that “walking around” and “museums and monuments” (Henriques, 2016, 394/395) were two of the most popular activities that visitors took part in. This suggests that people are picking up on Lisbon’s rich cultural heritage and are intrigued by it. Heritage that, in the twentieth century would have been discarded by the government to make way for the new, is now one of Lisbon’s main economic assets. How have these attitudes to ruins changed? When did ruins/ fragments stop being an eyesore and start being attractions? At what point in Lisbon’s past did people place an importance on historical monuments? It seems that attitudes towards history and its importance have a direct influence on attitudes to ruin.

Fig 4. Sir John Soane’s Museum

Fig 5. Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1720–1778, View of the Remains of the Dining Room of Nero’s Golden House

Historical Appreciation for Ruin Appreciation for historical ruins is not a new idea. Sir John Soane was among other things, a collector of ruins. He shared Piranesi’s fascination with the ruined, and was able to meet him just before he died, accepting a number of his engraved works depicting monuments and ruins (Hill, 2012, 95). In chapter one, the Lisbon merchant described the ruins from the aftermath of the earthquake as “Monuments of Devastation”. It is important to remember that “demolition is essential to construction” and so “building sites often appear ruinous” (Hill, 2012, 96). So, this fragmented aesthetic isn’t always formed through negative destruction. Progress will always at some point look like ruins. In this sense it may not be specifically ruin we are drawn to, more like an intrigue in the incomplete. When something is left unfinished there is a certain tension – what will happen next? At what point will this thing be complete? Sir John Soane’s fascination with ruin equalled his fascination with construction, it was the principal of “a building’s unfinished state” (Hill, 2012, 96). Or maybe it’s the idea of discovery, of uncovering something strange and historical. Soane was known to construct ruins and then “imagine that the ruins has been discovered, not recently built” (Hill, 2012, 97). This proves that appreciation of the incomplete, the found, and the ruined goes back many years. The difference here of course is that the ruins came from construction rather than destruction, removing the shock of trauma and loss.

Aestheticization of Ruin and the Attraction of Dirt Even in recent years the Mouraria has been labelled as a dangerous neighbourhood: “By 2007, Mouraria was seen simultaneously as an immigrant and typical neighbourhood, dirty, unsafe and heavily associated with drugs and prostitution” – (Gomes, 2014, 3). In the present, it is the Mouraria’s unkempt aesthetic that gives it an unconventional allure. Here we can talk about dirt in terms of the layer of grime that coats the stone and plaster, but also in terms of the undercurrents of crime and scandal. During my own visit to Lisbon I found myself returning time and time again down Rua do Benformoso despite it being known as a dangerous street. I was staying around the corner on Avenida do Almirante Reis next to Intendente metro (also flagged as a danger zone). Although the risky undercurrent was undoubtedly there, it was heavily overpowered by the overwhelming beauty of the area. It was beautiful in a refreshing, unapologetically dishevelled way. I was compelled by the dim-lit, chaotic twisting paths that would suddenly morph into a flight of one hundred steps, or a steep drop. At night the buildings were bathed in an orange glow, and the back-alley bars would come alive.

The aura of mystery surrounding the Mouraria is what Ben Campkin might describe as “the attraction of edgy neighbourhoods” (Campkin, 2007, 74). Parts of it feel delightfully untouched, like you’ve stumbled upon a secret place. As a contrast, the Baixa Pombalina today is labelled the ‘touristy’ area, which when you are in fact a tourist, feels too safe, too obvious. The Mouraria feels like the real Lisbon. There is proof in tourism studies to suggest that many other visitors feel the same way, and there is proof in the media to suggest that we are turning towards “the aesthetics of neglect, decay and degradation” (Campkin, 2007, 79). Examples can be found everywhere, from scuffed trainers and frayed hems to distressed furniture. These days many modern renovations exist in the shells of ruins; it appears that “dirt is in vogue” (Campkin, 2007, 69). As touched on in Chapter One, you may not understand the trauma associated with ruins unless you yourself have suffered a great loss due to destruction. In a similar way, it’s all very well being attracted to the aesthetic of degradation, but what if you have to live with the reality? A charming ‘shabbiness’ in the eyes of visiting tourists is a life of insecurity and unsanitary conditions for the long-standing residents of the Mouraria, who’s houses are falling apart. It is said of the fado music that fills the streets, “the very factors that threaten to destroy fado as a local practice are simultaneously the conditions of possibility for fado to continue” (Ottosson, 2012, 93). Sadly, this may also be the fate of Mouraria’s dilapidated charm.

Collective Memory of the Mouraria Fado is defined as a “performative genre that integrates music and poetry” (Henriques, 2016, 390), but this does not adequately communicate its powerful and immersive qualities. It emerged “from the streets” (Elliott, 2010, 1) of nineteenth century Lisbon. The mournful, yet beautiful song of fadistas can be heard echoing through the back alleys of the Mouraria, Alfama and Bairro Alto neighbourhoods where the art form originated. It integrates ideas of “mythology, history, memory and place” (Elliott, 2010, 1), representing these through song, attempting to “trace the remembered and imagined city of the past” (Elliott, 2010, 2). In terms of ruination, fado songs are like invisible ruins, intangible monuments to tragedies of the past. The lyrics yearn for something that is lost, a “remembered Portugal” (Elliott, 2010, 1). Setting is important to the experience, in some ways fado is “more spatial than historical” (Elliott, 2010, 3/4) as it is meant to involve listening to the melancholic voices, allowing fragments of the old city to appear in view, creating a “memory theatre” (Elliott, 2010, 3/4) in which the listener feels transported to another time. There is a strangeness in the way that the people of Lisbon’s past wanted to move forward, to a better future, and yet today we have such a fascination with history, and in the case of the Mouraria’s inhabitants and visitors, a sensory portal to the past has become an acclaimed attraction. The same feelings of anguish, and loss that the inhabitants yearned to erase after the 1755 catastrophe, are the feelings portrayed and immortalised in fado song. These feelings could be summarised with the Portuguese term “saudade”, a somewhat “untranslatable” word that is said to covey yearning and sorrow. Throughout the Mouraria’s history of reoccurring ruination, the presence of fado is essential in “reaffirming local identity” through “social memory and an imagined community” (Elliott, 2010, 1). Both performing and experiencing fado are ways of maintaining archived social memory (Elliot, 2010, 5) which may be how the Mouraria still has a rich cultural heritage despite physical demolition during the twentieth century. It could also be a way in which memory of place changes over time. For centuries the

Mouraria has been a site of crime, so why are we compelled to visit it today? How has it acquired its charm? A possible answer is that continual “witnessing and recording” has reduced the potency of collective memory relating to past traumas, in the sense that if you see something, and aim to “re-present” it, it is likely that “something of the original event is inevitably lost in the process of ‘getting it down”. (Elliott, 2010, 2). Therefore, the potency of memory is reduced over years of re-telling, due to different interpretations. Fado may be romanticising the idea of sadness, giving a presented version of history rather than a true one. Over time the stories will change, and memories will warp. Perhaps this allows the sight of ruins to become more beautiful than traumatic. The sharp edge of shock is lost and the beautiful side of sadness is allowed to permeate collective memory. “We do not visit those (refuse) mountains, neither in body nor in thought, as we do not stroll through rough districts, mean streets, urban ghettoes, asylum seeker’s camps and other no-go areas. We carefully avoid them (or are directed away from them) in our compulsive tourist escapades. We dispose of leftovers in the most radical and effective way: we make them invisible by not looking and unthinkable by not thinking” - Zygmunt Bauman (Campkin, 2007, 74)

C O N C LU S I O N As discussed in Chapter One, when ruin is a product of destruction, it may have associations with trauma, and loss. Ruination can occur from both fast destruction, and slow neglect. A historic letter described ruins with negative adjectives such as “frightful”, proving that the citizens held negative views of ruins at the time of the 1755 catastrophe in Lisbon. The fear was woven into the rebuilding of the city. Every modification made was due to the trauma felt by the survivors, and the drive to prevent themselves from the same trauma if another disaster was to occur. Descriptions of modifications include repetition of the phrases ‘in case of disaster’, ‘in case of the need to escape’, ‘in the event of an earthquake’ and ‘in the event of fire’. This was designing for prevention, designing out of anxiety, terrified of what could happen in the future. The fundamental aims were safety, and disaster-prevention. The earthquake also sparked a newfound drive for progress. Health was now a consideration, in both the physical and mental sense. Although it was a horrific event, the earthquake had a positive effect on society as a whole; people were now looking forward, wanting a better future. The quake and subsequent fires had conveniently erased everything laying in the way of progress. The slate was wiped clean, so now a new planned city could arise from the ashes of the old. This view propelled Lisbon forward into prosperity, but in the case of Salazar wiping out much of Mouraria between the 1930s and 1970s, it could be said to have gone too far. Where does a positive approach turn into totalitarian control? How does a need for a careful re-building of a damaged area turn into the remorseless obliteration of another? This was the point where the importance of previously disregarded ruins was questioned: should a historic neighbourhood with rich cultural heritage meaning be wiped out in the name of progress? Today the Mouraria, although undeniably still one of the rougher neighbourhoods, is sought out for the very same reason it was almost demolished. Visitors are compelled to wander its maze of cobbled streets, and experience its rich folkloric history through fado – a marriage of sound and spatiality. It seems today we are drawn to the old, the worn, the antique. Whether we visit ruins and

old neighbourhoods due to a fascination with past events that shaped them, or purely due to their aesthetic qualities, we are choosing to look back. The Mouraria’s immersive sense of nostalgia and melancholy is today its largest attraction. Visitors migrate to the edgier neighbourhoods, and the back alleys are now branded as ‘chic’ despite their long history of being overrun with prostitution and crime. This proves that attitudes to ruination have changed over time, through the periods of decline, modernisation, and prosperity. Associations with ruin will be different depending on its origin – by construction, or destruction, and if by destruction, the time elapsed since the event could affect how potent the memories of trauma and loss will be. The process of witnessing and recording aids the ability to forget as much as it aids the ability to remember. Collective memory of place can be altered through passed down re-representations and differing interpretations. Ruins themselves can act as monuments, whether they be constructed or in fact fragments of destruction, to commemorate a person or an event. Through this research I have come to realise that Lisbon’s ruination can be both compelling, and evocative of sadness. The way in which you view ruins depends on your own history and experiences. My own experience of Lisbon left me enthralled by the beauty of ruin, realising that I had a preference for the older, more chaotic side of town. But could this be due to a life of shelter, sanitary conditions, and the cushion of safety? For those who have experienced the falling/burning of buildings, the loss of loved ones and dear possessions, or inadequate living conditions, their associations will be different. They will instead look to be calmed, cocooned, cleansed. We have in many ways forgotten the real meaning of decay and have long seen it as an aesthetic, without seeing its real consequences. This separation of aesthetic to origin and meaning may be what is allowing us to forget the message of fatality in ruin. The fact is, that whether it be positive or negative, ruin has the ability to flood the mind, and evoke emotion within us. More so than cleanliness, than modernity - both are tools to numb sensation, to feel a sense of order. The sight of Lisbon’s ruination is both sad and beautiful at once, like the song of the fadistas.

B I B LIO GRAPHY BOOKS Anon. 1755. A Particular Account of the Late, Dreadful Earthquake at Lisbon Bachelard, G. 1964. The Poetics of Space. Presses Universitaires de France Braun, T.E.D, and Radner, J.B. 2005. The Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 : Representations and Reactions. Voltaire Foundation Oxford Campkin, B. 2007. Dirt. England. I.B. Taurus Colomina, B. 2018. X-Ray Architecture. England. Lars Muller Publishers. Colvin, M. 2008, The Reconstruction of Lisbon, Severa’s Legacy and the Fado’s Rewriting of Urban History. US. Bucknell University Press Elliott, R. 2010. Fado and the Place of Longing. Ashgate Hatton, B. 2018. Queen of the Sea. London. C. Hurst & Co Henriques, C., Moreira, M. C., César, P. A. B. (Eds.) (2016), Tourism and History, World Heritage – Case Studies of Ibero-American Space, Interdisciplinary Centre of Social Sciences – University of Minho (CICS.NOVA.UMinho) Hill, J. 2012. Weather Architecture. England. Routledge Martin, J. 1994. Downcast Eyes. University of California Press Mascarenhas, J.M.D. 1996. A Study of the Design and Construction of Buildings in the Pombaline Quarter of Lisbon. Mateus, J.M. 2004. Baixa Pombalina: 250 Years of Images. Camara Municipal de Lisboa Merchant of Lisbon. 1756. A Second Letter From A Merchant of Lisbon Pinheiro, M. 2019. Lisbon – A Biography. University of Massachusetts Press Rossa, W. 1998. Beyond Baixa. Portugal. Instituto Portugues do Patrimino. Saramago, J. 2012. The Lives of Things. Verso Tanizaki, J. 2001. In Praise of Shadows. Random House

ONLINE ARTICLES AND PDFS Chamberlain, J. (2013). My kind of town. [online] Ribaj.com. Available at: https://www. ribaj.com/culture/my-kind-of-town [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Chamberlain, J. (2011). Response: Don’t let urban art cover up neglect of Lisbon’s crumbling heritage. [online] the Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/ commentisfree/2011/feb/04/street-art-urban-planning-lisbon-portugal [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Corte-Real, M. (2015). Shaping an urban space: the revitalization process of Mouraria in Lisbon. [online] Run.unl.pt. Available at: https://run.unl.pt/bitstream/10362/18468/1/ ShapingUrbanSpaceMouraria.pdf [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Elliott, R. (2020). PHD Thesis: Loss, Memory and Nostalgia in Popular Song: Thematic Aspects and Theoretical Approaches. [online] Eprint.ncl.ac.uk. Available at: https://eprint. ncl.ac.uk/55539 [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Gnomes, P. (2014). Differing approaches to public space and the multicultural in the (re)making of a strategic place: Mouraria in Lisbon, Portugal (2007-present). [online] Academia. Available at: https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/32242794.pdf [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Lexico Dictionaries | English. (2020). English Dictionary, Thesaurus, & Grammar Help | Lexico.com. [online] Available at: https://www.lexico.com/ [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Moore, R. (2017). How down-at-heel Lisbon became the new capital of cool. [online] the Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2017/apr/16/lisbonnew-capital-of-cool-urban-revival-socialist-government-poor-antonio-costa [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Ottosson, Ase. (2012). Fado and the place of longing - loss, memory and the city. By Richard Elliott. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. 2010. 2. 92-93. 10.5429/2079-3871(2011)v2i1-2.12en. Petronilli, F. (2017). YOU’LL SOON BE HERE. [video] Available at: https://vimeo. com/182015533 [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Ross, R., Boykoff, J. and Sinykin, D. (2017). The Street and the World: Rua do Benformoso, Lisbon | Public Books. [online] Public Books. Available at: https://www.publicbooks.org/ street-world-rua-benformoso-lisbon/ [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020]

Santos, E., Pedrosa, P. and Figueiredo, P. (2020). Parallel Cities. Film as architectural tool. [online] Academia. Available at: https://www.academia.edu/4525139/Parallel_Cities._ Film_as_architectural_tool [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020]. Tung, G. (1994). Lisbon’s Chiado: Attentive Restoration, Gentle Innovation. [online] placesjournal.org. Available at: https://core.ac.uk/display/9074539 [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020] Zöllner, F. (2013). The Measure of Sight, the Measure of Darkness. Leonardo da Vinci and the History of Bluriness, Leonardo da Vinci and Optics. Theory and Pictorial Practice.. [online] Academia. Available at: https://www.academia.edu/27153527/The_Measure_of_ Sight_the_Measure_of_Darkness._Leonardo_da_Vinci_and_the_History_of_Bluriness_ Leonardo_da_Vinci_and_Optics._Theory_and_Pictorial_Practice._Ed._by_Francesca_ Fiorani_and_Alessandro_Nova_Venice_2013_pp._315-332 [Accessed 7 Jan. 2020]

IMAGES Fig 1 Anon, 1755, Copper engraving of Lisbon in flames [online] wikimediacommons Available at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1755_Lisbon_earthquake.jpg Fig 2 Joao Glama Stroberle, Allegory to the 1755 Earthquake [online] https://www.neh.gov/ project/gulf-fire-great-lisbon-earthquake-and-forging-modern-world Fig 3 Mascarenhas, J.M.D, Fig 220 and Fig 221, p.120, 1996. A Study of the Design and Construction of Buildings in the Pombaline Quarter of Lisbon. Fig 4 Sir John Soane Museum Interior [online] Available at: https://thecollectionevents.com/ venues/sir-john-soanes-museum/ Fig 5 Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1720–1778, View of the Remains of the Dining Room of Nero’s Golden House, commonly called the Temple of Peace, c. 1756-1778 [online] Available at: https://new.artsmia.org/exhibition/piranesi-rome-in-ruins/ All unnamed images are my own photographs. All maps are my own.

APPE N DIX RESEARCH METHOD STATEMENT Working title: Cinderella City – To what extend is Lisbon’s ruination compelling? 01 – Introducing the subject Site – Lisbon My focus will be comparing the contrasting neighbourhoods of the Baixa Pombalina and the Mouraria. AIMS – 

To look at different attitudes and associations towards ruin over time



To look at the causes of ruination – through construction or demolition, for

instance the 1755 Lisbon earthquake 

To determine how the sight of ruin and degradation affects us mentally, through

memory 

To find out why we may find ruination traumatic, or compelling, and map this

onto the two neighbourhoods My primary research method will be my own psycho-geographical wanderings of the two neighbourhoods on my recent visit to Lisbon, where I collected qualitative data on how the spaces made me feel, as well as a series of photographs depicting ruination. 02 – HOW I WILL PERFORM MY RESEARCH 

Walks around the area – recording feelings



Photography – photographing evidence of the contrasts between the two

neighbourhoods 

Books – reading about Lisbon’s history, as well as recent publications on present

day dereliction  Articles 

Films and videos

READING LIST 

The Poetics of Space – Gaston Bachelard



Downcast Eyes – Martin Jay



Queen of the Sea – Barry Hatton



The Reconstruction of Lisbon – Michael Colvin



The Lives of Things – Jose Saramago



Dirt – Ben Campkin



Weather Architecture – Jonathan Hill



The Architecture of Ruins – Jonathan Hill

PEOPLE TO CONTACT: Jonathan Hill – architect, author, architectural historian, and Professor of Architecture and Visual Theory at the Bartlett. His most recent book The Architecture of Ruins is very relevant to my research, and as he is based in London it may be possible to contact him. Ben Campkin – author of Dirt which features in my reading list. He also lectures at the Bartlett School of Architecture and so through connections with tutors I may be able to contact him regarding his writing. EQUIPMENT NEEDED:  Camera 

Books – access to British Library



Computer to access pdf books and internet research



Photo editing software



Mapping software

03 – WHY AM I USING THESE METHODS By visiting the area in person, I gain primary qualitive research as well as primary photographs. By allowing myself to wander I experience the place in terms of feeling, linking to the main focus of my writing. Books will allow me to back up my thoughts with historical research and findings, and will provide counterpoints and other views to bring into the argument. Articles will allow me to find present day links to add relevance to my writing. It will also provide alternative viewpoints, and will help build a vast wealth of research. Films and videos will provide visual stimulus and may provoke new ways of seeing. They might provide deeper insight, or convey messages more efficiently than reading in some cases. By attempting to contact authors and speak to them in person, I may gain a deeper insight into their work, and have the opportunity to discuss their views as well as my own, to create a richer, more informed piece of writing. 04 – EVALUATION OF METHOD/ IDENTIFYING RISKS 

Walking and recording may produce interesting and unexpected findings, but it is

also time consuming, and there is no guarantee what you will find



Choosing a site so far away (Portugal, as opposed to London, where I am based)

will set my work apart from others, and reduce risk of performing similar research to my peers. Choosing somewhere that I find so intriguing should mean the writing is rich, and an enjoyable process. However, choosing a faraway site also adds risk in that if I need more material, in the form of primary research, I will not be able to visit again with the time constraints. 

If I cannot meet with the authors, I still have access to their books, and so will still

be able to include their views in my writing. 

If I am unable to bring a DSLR camera to the site (travel restrictions, safety) I will

use an iphone camera, but this may reduce image quality

STRUCTURE OF THE DISSERTATION TITLE: Cinderella City SUBTITLE: To What Extent is Lisbon’s Ruination Compelling? TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT INTRODUCTION CHAPTER 1: The Baixa Pombalina P1: Negative Associations with Ruins P2: The Rebuilding of the Neighbourhood P3: Obsession with Health and Progress CHAPTER 2: The Mouraria P4: Ruin and Sensation P5: Attitudes Towards Ruination P6: Memory of Place CONCLUSION BIBLIOGRAPHY APPENDIX RESEARCH METHOD STATEMENT