To Remember, or to Forget: The Implications of the Monument by Jess Beresford

Contents List of Illustrations

The Theory of Memory

To Remember, or to Forget?

Abstraction and Representation: The Aesthetics of Memorialisation.

Memorialisation on the Grounds of Counteraction

The Temporal Permanence of Remembering

Introduction

I II III IV

Conflicting Desires

VII

‘Between the Lines’

VIII

Remembering the Forgotten

Conclusion

Bibliography

List of Illustrations Front Cover.

Fong, V. 2004. Harburg Counter-‐monument Photomontage. [image online]

Available at: < http://www.arch.mcgill.ca/prof/mellin/arch671/winter2004/student/Fong> [Accessed 6 February 2013] Figure 1 .

Libeskind, D. 1990. Star of David Diagram. [image online] Available at: <

http://www.jstor.org/stable/3171115 > [Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 2.

Libeskind, D. 2011. Intersecting Axis Diagram. [image online] Available at: <

http://kberry.wordpress.ncsu.edu/category/uncategorized/ > [Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 3.

Alamy. 2012. The Memory Void. [image online] Available at: <

http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2012/mar/18/walking-‐tour-‐of-‐berlin-‐architecture

[Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 4.

Rivas, R. 2008. Removal of Last Franco Monument. [image online] Available

at: < http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/dec/18/franco-‐statue-‐spain > [Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 5.

Basu, A. 2007. Valley of the Fallen. [image online] Available at: <

http://www.ayashbasu.com/photoblog/index.php?showimage=250

[Accessed

December 2012] Figure 6.

Unknown. 1990. Disappearing-‐ The Harburg Monument. [image online]

Available

at:

http://realtimecities.wikispaces.com/file/view/memorial.png/276401770/memorial.png

< >

[Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 7.

Unknown. 1986. Graffiti on The Harburg Monument. [image online]

Available at: < http://www.gottfried-‐helnwein-‐essays.com/Dissertation.htm > [Accessed 16 Decemeber 2012]

Figure 8. Available

Falkensteen, E. 2008. Homosexual Holocaust Memorial. [image online] at:

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/gay-‐holocaust-‐memorial-‐erik-‐

falkensteen.html > [Accessed 16 December 2012] Figure 9.

Vinterberg, T. 2008. Screen Shot from Film within Memorial. [image online]

Available at: < http://www.towleroad.com/2008/05/monument-‐to-‐gay.html > [Accessed 16 December 2012]

Introduction To remember and to forget is a reciprocal relationship. The desire to memorialise in the hope of remembering stems from the innate fear of forgetting; (Young 2003) but how and to what extent does memorialisation through architecture help society remember, or to forget, historic events? The presumption that we can imbue a sense of loss and memory through an artefact such as architecture is becoming ever more challenged in a culture that has arguably become desensitised to memorials. As Robert Musil wrote, ‘there is nothing in the world more invisible than the monument.’ (as cited in DeCoste and Schwartz 2000, p.176) Primarily explored in part II ‘To Remember, or to Forget’, the common thread that runs through this dissertation is the questionable importance of remembrance and in what way society should approach the inevitability of forgetting. Ultimately, does memorialisation in a physical sense help society to remember, or does the externalisation of memory instead, encourage forgetting? Memorials will be approached as interventions in space, or ‘material reminders in urban space’ (Hornstein 2011, p.39) and to some extent public art. It should be considered that if ‘architecture does not invent meaning;’ then ‘it can move us only if it is capable of touching something already buried deep in our embodied memories.’ (Pallasmaa 2009, p.136) Therefore, the effectiveness of a memorial in evoking memory is unique to each viewer and partially dependent on his or her own emotional position. Consequently, if an individual has no personal memory of the event, it has evidently less impact as to someone who has a first hand experience. Hence, ‘how and what we remember in the company of the monument depends very much on who we are, why we care to remember and how we see.’ (DeCoste and Schwartz 2000, p.177) Controversial monuments or those that evoke a confused set of memories will form a set of case studies that explore the issue in a range of contexts. The exploration of the aesthetics of memorialisation through the contrasting notions of abstraction and representation will form a basis in which to critique the chosen case studies. The issues of memorialisation are particularly potent in Germany given its traumatic history of the Holocaust. Questions will be raised concerning how a nation such as Germany should remember terrible events it persecuted that given the chance, it would much rather forget. (Young 2003) In response to these issues the evolutionary concept of the counter-‐ monument will be assessed by the way in which it uses abstraction and absence to challenge

the very notion of memorialisation within society. (Young 2003) Temporal examples such as The Harburg Monument Against Fascism, War and Violence – and for Peace and Human Rights, which forced interaction from the public in order to eventually disappear in 1993, question the permanence of architecture within the realms of memorialisation. By challenging traditional memorials of static stone, which hope to set a memory into a physical entity in order to make it everlasting, the Harburg monument disappears. This suggests that there is no better way to ‘remember forever a vanished people than by the perpetually unfinished, ever-‐vanishing monument.’ (Young 1993, p.31) Moreover, this strengthens the argument that the counter-‐monument is actually asking for the memory to be forgotten over time, making the viewer realise that it is a natural process to forget. Young claimed that ‘neither the monument nor its meaning is really everlasting’. (2003, p.237) Because of this, the huge numbers of un-‐memorable memorials that fill our parks, streets and public spaces are becoming increasingly meaningless. For this reason, the debate surrounding memorialisation in the western world turns to how it can stay relevant in the current generations of society. In the case of Spain’s relationship with monuments erected to celebrate the Fascist Victory of Dictator Franco, there are ‘Conflicting Desires’. The removal of Franco’s monuments across Spain sparked debate over the need to remember and the need forget. By removing these monuments some people believed that Spain was in fact, trying to remove and therefore forget the event from its history. However, could these monuments really remain when they had become inappropriate to a generation of society that certainly did not celebrate fascist victory? The aim of the memorial is ‘to ensure a meaningful connection to the past’ (Hornstein 2011, p.9) even when current generations have no connection to the event, so as to make sure they never happen again. The Jewish Museum for example, will be analysed for the particular architectural way in which it combines these notions of building symbolism and exhibition material in ‘Between the Lines’, to form an arguably more emotive and educational way in which to transfer memories to future generations. Within this part questions will be raised as to whether education, facts and figures are needed in order to fully remember and to what extent memorialisation and museum design are intertwined. Continuing in the realm of Holocaust memorialisation part VIII ‘Remembering the Forgotten’ will look at those that until recently, society ‘forgot to remember’. The case study of The Monument to Homosexual Holocaust Victims, Berlin (2008) highlights the desire to physically imbue a memory within architecture in order to acknowledge that it is being remembered. Until 2008, the absence of a memorial to the Homosexual victims of the

Holocaust suggested that they were not being remembered within society. Ultimately however, the need to create physical memorials to ensure remembrance suggests that society is in turn, predicting that without doing so, we will forget.

The Theory of Memory

The relationship between architecture, memory and place forms the basis of our experiences as human beings. As early as 1849 Ruskin stated in The Seven Lamps of Architecture that ‘we may live without her [architecture], and worship without her, but we cannot remember without her.’ Italo Calvino’s novel, Invisible Cities is also one of the earliest works on the topic. The experiences of explorer Marco Polo are documented as he speaks of how he remembers various cities and his observations of the traces and imprints of memory over time. ‘The city does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand.’ (1974, p.13) When recollecting the city of Zora, Calvino explains that ‘in order to be more easily remembered’ it has been forced to remain motionless and always the same.’ As a result ‘Zora has languished, disintegrated, disappeared. The earth has forgotten her.’ (1974, p.17) Within the context of memorialisation, this observation highlights a correlation between the static, motionless nature of traditional monolithic monuments and the way in which they have become ‘invisible’ within current society. There are many significant texts that discuss memory in theoretical terms, Edward S Casey’s seminal writing Remembering: A Phenomenological Study talks of the relationship between memory, body and the impact remembering has on our everyday lives, to the extent that today we have in fact externalised memory. He claims that ‘we have not only forgotten what it is to remember -‐ but we have forgotten our own forgetting.’ (2000, p.2) This further reinforces the argument that an implication of the monument may indeed be its encouragement to forget. Casey covers the various aspects of remembering and forgetting including reminiscing, reminding, recognising and commemorating, all of which form the basis of this dissertation within the realms of evoking a memory through architecture and public art. In terms of questioning memorialisation and it’s ability to force a viewer to remember or to forget, the various works of James E. Young are the most influential regarding the new wave of monuments in Germany. An American Jew himself, Young coined the term ‘counter-‐monument’ in the 1990’s as ‘memorial spaces conceived to challenge the conventional premises of the monument.’ (Young 2003, p.240) In The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meaning (1994) Young delves into the role Holocaust memorials play in forming the collective memory of nations such as Germany, Israel and America. Through a number of case studies, some of which are used in this argument, Young convincingly analyses this new approach to memorialisation. Forming part of the jury for the

design of The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe and more recently for the 9/11 Memorial, Manhattan, Young’s opinions are those highly valued within society. For this reason, almost all text written after this period takes reference from Young and the significant points that he raises on the subject. Daniel Libeskind is one of the pivotal writers regarding the manner in which memory can be imbued within architecture and the way that architecture can be emotionally symbolic. His design for The Jewish Museum, Berlin is widely acknowledged as being emotionally powerful and evocative, but it is the relationship that the building and design process has with his writings that is significant. In his proposal ‘Between the Lines’ Libeskind metaphorically explores all aspects of symbolism within the building. Grounding the design within the poetics of space and text forms a stark contrast to traditional monuments that take a less effective figurative and literal approach. Through Libeskind’s writing there is real sense that Jewish history is poetically embedded into the design, strengthening the architectures ability to emotionally move the viewer and significantly encourage remembrance. Shelley Hornstein’s book Losing Site: Architecture, Memory and Place argues the ‘inseparable relationship between memory and place.’ (2011, p.8) It analyses the way in which architecture can capture and therefore trigger memory, whilst questioning architecture in the broadest sense. (Hornstein 2011) Hornstein’s suggestion that ‘we invest built forms and sites with memory, to have them make permanent and tangible the memory that we dread forgetting’ (2012, p.35) forms the theoretical basis of the desire to memorialise. Covering a range of issues the chapter Memorialising Site: On the Grounds of History is particularly relevant to the argument of memorialisation and the chosen case studies within this dissertation. The complex relationship between remembering and forgetting in relation to cultural memory and the issues of memorialisation in Germany, are explored further in the book Memory, History and Forgetting by Paul Ricoeur. Questioning why some events in history are remembered and some forgotten Ricoeur presents the idea of ‘the appeased memory’ as that which ‘does not seek to forget the evil suffered or committed; [but] seeks rather to speak of it without anger.’ (Ricoeur 2004) Ricoeur is somewhat suggesting forgiveness, but mainly a mutual ground between forgetting and remembering. (Findlay 2009) To some extent the disappearing Harburg Monument (explored in Part V The Temporal Permanence of Remembering) interprets this theoretical concept. By disappearing only when signatures pledging remembrance are inscribed upon the monument it suggests

that you can forget, but only once you have remembered. The aforementioned texts form a theoretical base that underpins the implications of the monument and to what extent memorialisation through architecture can help society to remember or to forget. As Young importantly highlights, it should be considered that ‘the initial impulse to memorialize events… may actually spring from an opposite and equal desire to forget them’ (Young 2003, p.240)

To Remember, or to Forget?

To take the metaphysical idea of remembering and transfer it into a ‘physical object in which we invest that memory’ (Hornstein 2011, p.35) is the main desire and objective for the construction of memorials within our society and urban landscape. Throughout history memorials have aimed to physically represent the past in the hope of preserving a memory for future generations to remember. A network of memorials can be traced through any city with the ‘aim to create a sense of shared values and ideals.’ (Young 2003, p.237) However, Young suggests that Governments are ‘eager to assign singular memory and meaning to complicated events,’ (Young 2003, p.235) resulting in the oversimplification and potential manipulation of the past within the physical architecture of memorials. Young claims that ‘by creating common spaces for memory, monuments propagate the illusion of common memory.’ (Young 2003, p.237) From Young’s theoretical statements it can be deduced that the by instigating remembrance through the oversimplification of the past, society is in fact causing its own forgetting. Within the context of simplification however, surely it is unrealistic to expect a piece of architecture such as the monument to imbue an entire history. After all, can society really remember complex historical events through monuments without simplification? The frantic need to concretise memories in architecture represents the intense fear of forgetting. It is thought that ‘without the attachments to matter-‐ even matter imagined in the places of our minds-‐ the memories fade away.’ (Hornstein 2011, 35) However, to eternally remember is not the natural process of memory; in reality, it is fragile and ultimately forgetful. The Harburg Monument Against Fascism, War and Violence – and for Peace and Human Rights, (analysed further in part V ‘The Temporal Permanence of Remembering’) holds an interesting perspective on this issue. Gradually disappearing into the ground once signatures of remembrance are inscribed upon it, the monument arguably causes society to forget once it has disappeared. However, the interaction of making a pledge along with the monuments transient nature instead strengthens the viewer’s ability to remember. Nietzsche’s work The Uses and Abuses of History for Life (2010) explains the ‘monumental effect’ which is the term given to the way in which history will ‘bring together things that are incompatible and generalize them into compatibility, [so as to] weaken the differences [in order to create] examples of imitation.’ (p.15) It is in fact the selection of what we want to preserve that leads to the forgetting of national memories. Nonetheless, it

is also claimed that in terms of collective memory, ‘forgetting… is a crucial factor in the creation of a nation. The essence of a nation is that all individuals have many things in common and also that they have forgotten many things.’ (Renan 1990, p.11) Therefore, it could be argued that whilst societies may be selective in their remembrance of memory, ultimately it could be regarded as inevitable and to some extent required. In ancient times people believed monuments were used to ‘express the absolute faith […] in the common ideals and values that bound [societies] together.’ (Young 2003 p.236) Today however, the increased heterogeneous nature of societies means that there is an even ‘stronger need to unify wholly disparate experiences and memories with the common meaning, seemingly created in common spaces.’ (Young 2003, p.237) It is further argued by those such as Sigel that traditional monuments represent a ‘limited historical perspective [and a] finished and possibly even ideologically biased interpretation of history.’ (Sigel 2005) The evolution of the counter-‐monument is a direct response to this fear, choosing not to dictate historic events through a literal representation, but instead force viewers to read their own interpretation, the hope is that the strength of the memory is increased. Ultimately, monuments are an intentional embodiment of common memory. It can be acknowledged that within the context of memorialisation it is indeed necessary for society to oversimplify historic events in order to remember them through architecture. After all, monuments cannot offer the historic depth of history books and neither should they try. Instead, the aim should be to form a delicate balance between the evocation of remembering and forgetting.

III

Abstraction and Representation: The Aesthetics of Memory.

‘A work of art or architecture is not a symbol that represents or indirectly portrays

something outside itself; it is an image object that places itself directly in our existential experience.’ (Pallasmaa 2009, p.135) Abstraction and figurative representation are the two contrasting techniques in the construction of memorials. For centuries traditional monuments were designed in the form of figurative representations of the human figure such as brass statues and sculptures. Today however, ‘traditional, figurative or expressionistic formats […] have now been superseded by the use of abstraction and expressive use of materials within space.’ (Saehrendt 2005, p.845) The evolution of the counter-‐monument ‘invites our curiosity about the notion of absence and abstraction.’ (Hornstein 2011, p.33) By using abstraction and symbolism counter-‐monuments ask the viewer to search introspectively, refusing to dictate an understanding. Within this, there is a fear that without the facts and figures inherent in traditional monuments, there will be a lack of education and that the ‘abstraction encourages private visions in viewers, which would defeat the communal and collective aims of public memorials.’ (Young 1989, p.101) Being open to multiple interpretations can arguably mean that the ‘counter-‐ monument’ can ‘accrue new meanings and significance’ over time. (O’Donoghue 2008) Stone Henge for example, is one of the earliest British monuments; A collection of arranged stones it once had a communal purpose within society. Today however, historians have very little knowledge as to what Stone Henge was built to signify, highlighting the fear that in future generations abstraction will cause monuments to become meaningless over time.

The aesthetic concern with materiality derives from the desire to imbue a sense of

lastingness of memory, ’materials alone are nothing, only when they are placed into a certain context do they begin to have a human dimension.’ (Libeskind 1999, p.41) With this in mind ‘it is not at all surprising to discover that many memorials are constructed of stone, the most durable natural substance available in large quantities.’ (Casey 1987, p.226) The materiality of these monolithic forms may represent common ideals, but they also gave an ‘illusion of permanence,’ (Young 1992, p.245) resulting in ‘the monument keep[ing] its own past tightly held secret.’ (DeCoste and Schwartz 2000, p.176) Although the aesthetic desire of stone is to evoke an everlasting, permanent presence, its static nature fails to evoke even the smallest memory. In turn, this demonstrates the need for a more interactive and

communicative approach to remembrance through the ever-‐changing aesthetics of the counter-‐monument. The problems inherent in the aesthetic representation of monuments, memorials and museums are particularly potent in relation to the history of the Holocaust. Arguments raised by critics continuously question how and even if such an event should be aesthetically represented. The enormity of the Holocaust means that any attempt to depict it literally would be untruthful and insensitive. This realisation had a large contribution to the abstract, rather than literal representation adopted by ‘counter-‐monuments’. However, as Theodor Adorno famously stated ‘to write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric’. After all, ‘can the National Socialist crimes really be represented in aesthetic form? And is such a representation justified?’ (Zimmermann 2007, p.2) Within the context of memorialisation in current society there is a clear division between the success of the techniques of abstraction and traditional representation in evoking remembrance. Although abstraction in the case of the counter-‐monument arguably causes memorials to become meaningless over time, it is important to consider that it is a natural process to forget. Ultimately, it is the initial process of remembrance that is of the greatest importance.

Memorialisation on the Grounds of Counteraction

‘Counter-‐monument’ is the term developed by James E. Young in the 1990’s, which refers to ‘memorial spaces conceived to challenge the conventional premises of the monument.’ (Young 2003, p.240) The post 2nd World War period represented a significant shift in the approach to the production of monuments, with questions being raised as to the effectiveness of monolithic or ‘traditional’ memorials in evoking memories. There was an increasing realisation that the vast number of memorials constructed to remember, have instead overwhelmed and ‘withdrawn themselves from our senses,’ (Musil 1998, p.322) thereby resulting in society forgetting. Musil goes on to say that ‘everything permanent loses its ability to impress. Everything that forms the walls of our lives, so to speak the stage set of our consciousness, loses the ability to play a role in this consciousness.’ (1998, p.322) This reinforces the argument that if society does not notice memorials then it will not remember and therefore the unique and evocative design of the counter-‐monument may be the only way to re-‐instigate remembrance. Along side this, the sheer scale of the Holocaust meant that the reduction of such a traumatic event into an ‘exhibition’ or ‘public artistry’ remained ‘intolerable’ for a new generation of German artists. (Young 2003) Their fear was that traditional memorials ‘seal memory off from awareness altogether; instead of embodying memory, they find that memorials may only displace memory.’ (Young 2003, p.96) It is from these intertwining elements and an aim to increase the impact of remembrance through memorials that the abstract techniques of the ‘counter-‐monument’ were born.

The Temporal Permanence of Remembering

Known as the ‘disappearing monument’ The Harburg Monument Against Fascism, War and Violence – and for Peace and Human Rights designed by Jochen Gerz and Esther Shalev Gerz arguably embodies everything in which the ‘counter-‐monument’ stands for/against. Referencing the traditional form of the obelisk the 12m black pillar from a distance appears like any other. However, through its gradual disappearance the memorial significantly undermines the very premise that monuments are permanent. After being lowered a total of eight times the monument disappeared entirely into an ‘underground shaft with a viewing window’ (Jochen and Gerz 1994) on the 10th November 1993, 3 years after its inauguration in 1986. (Fig.6) Leaving the site absent, it symbolises that ‘in the end it is only we ourselves who can stand up against injustice.’ (Jochen and Gerz 1994) Within this context the monument encourages remembrance without attempting to embody it forever. Its temporal, interactive nature aims instead to transfer the remembrance directly to the viewer, and when it has done so, acknowledges that its physical presence should no longer be required. As Young explains, the concept revolves around the idea that there is no better way ‘to remember forever a vanished people than by the perpetually unfinished, ever-‐ vanishing monument’ (1993, p.31) Indeed, this exemplifies that absence can be the most powerful tool in evoking memories. As Jochen Gerz declared, they did not want ‘an enormous pedestal with something on it presuming to tell people what they ought to think.’ (as cited in Young 2000, p.130) Instead, the monument asks for interaction from the public in the form of inscribing their signatures onto the lead coated pillar as a ‘sign against fascism.’ As the signatures increased and only then, (eventually totalling 70,000) did the monument begin to disappear, recognizing that a portion of the public had acknowledged the memory and that an act of

Fig.6. Monument Disappearing

remembrance had taken place. (Jochen and Gerz 1994) The rejection to dictate memory is also reflected in the refusal to comply with standard memorialisation conventions. The monuments unusually chosen location in the suburb of Harburg, described by the designers as a ‘normal, uglyish place,’ (as cited in Young 2000, p.130) forces public interaction. This increases the publics’ ability to notice change and avoids notions of ‘sacred’ space usually associated with memorials and that of Nazi memorialisation. From this it can therefore be deduced that for them, ‘the most important space for remembrance is not that of physicality, but the space ‘between the memorial and the viewer, between the viewer and his or her own memory.’ (Young 2003, p.118) If this unidentifiable space instigates emotion, the viewer is not likely to forget. Furthermore, by placing the monument in the immediate public realm, it created a ‘public forum’ for tourists and locals alike to voice their opinions and not just their signatures. It became ‘an outlet for anger, and it was attacked on several occasions, (gunshots, fires)’ (Esther Shalev-‐Gerz as cited in McGough 2011, p.18) along with spray paint and graffiti. (Fig.7) Continuing to raise discussions even after it had disappeared, the remaining floor plaque symbolically marked absence with an apt reference to a gravestone. By asking for and indeed receiving participation the ‘counter-‐monument’ is achieving much more than any traditional, static

Fig.7. Monument Graffiti

monument ever could. The intentional lack of educational material reinforces the argument that counter-‐ monuments are ‘against the traditionally didactic function of monuments.’ (Young 1994, p.28) After all, monuments are public works of art and a ‘physical and visual embodiment of public feelings and emotions’ and should therefore be considered in their ‘capacity to generate human reactions’. (Doezema 1977, p.9 as cited in Young 2003, p.246) When considering this statement one must subsequently question to what extent traditional memorials emotionally move people. For this reason The Harburg Monument’s approach in demanding interaction and creating a public forum is key to its success in emotionally evoking memories and therefore significantly encouraging remembrance.

Certainly by disappearing over time, there is direct acknowledgment that neither the monument nor its meaning is really everlasting. The temporal qualities highlight the impending need to remember and suggest that the monument itself in control of the impact of remembrance. As Young aptly summarises, the monument aims: ‘not to console but to provoke, not to remain fixed but to change, not to be everlasting but to disappear, not to be ignored by its passersby but to demand interaction, not to remain pristine but to invite its own violation and desanctification, not to accept graciously the burden of memory but to throw it back it the town’s feet.’ (Young, 2000, p.131) With full consideration of these principles, The Harburg Monument Against Fascism, War and Violence – and for Peace and Human Rights suggests what could be considered as the most effective approach to significantly encourage and instigate remembrance through architectural memorialisation to date.

Conflicting Desires

Commemoration as defined by William Painter in The Palace of Pleasure (1569) is ‘a miraculous acte, and worthie (in deede) of sempiternall Remembrauance.’ (as cited in Casey) However, what makes something ‘miraculous’ and therefore ‘worthie’ of commemoration? Furthermore, what happens when these values change over time? Today, memorialisation within architecture highlights the ‘conflicting social desires-‐ to remember and to forget violent national pasts that still linger in the present.’ (Till 2005, p.8) The Spanish Civil War of 1936-‐39 claimed the lives of 450,000 people and for decades Spain has battled over its relationship with the legacy of their dictator, General Francisco Franco. Contained in almost 300 monuments, statues, memorials, plaques and street names is a memory that Spain would seemingly much rather forget. In 2007 the Socialist Government passed the ‘historical memory’ law calling to remove ‘all public symbols of the Franco era.’ (Govan 2008) (fig.4) Although their removal may suggest that Spain is trying to forget its traumatic dictatorship history, such monuments cannot remain when they have become startlingly inappropriate to a society that certainly did not celebrate fascist victory. Furthermore, this reinforces the argument that traditional, static monuments cannot be everlasting within a changing society. The largest and most provocative remaining monument is the 260-‐meter long underground basilica at the Valley of the Fallen. (fig.5) Commissioned by Franco himself it now

Fig.4. Removal of Last Franco Monument

controversially holds his body. Containing both Nationalist and Republican graves, it was built to ‘honour those that died for fascist victory.’ (Minder 2011) Topped by a 150-‐metre granite cross which ‘towers above the mountainside north of Madrid,’ (Nash 2005) the basilica has been regarded as a ‘scar on Spain’s conscience’ (Nash 2005) that instigates an uncomfortable form of remembrance. The difficult symbolism of the basilica highlights the political issues that underpin many monuments and the way in which political history can become instilled and

Fig.5. Valley of the Fallen

manipulated within architectural memorialisation. As Mercedes Cabrera Calvo-‐Sotelo said, ‘the Valley of the Fallen is a very hard symbol to deal with because it is exactly the opposite of a monument of reconciliation.’ (as cited in Minder 2011) However difficult it may be, Spain must now move on from the ’pact of forgetfulness’ that has prevented the country ‘coming to terms with its past.’ (Nash 2005) Today, ‘Spain’s socialist government understands the potency’ (Freedland 2011) the basilica holds. Closed to general visitors since 2009, ‘only those attempting Mass are allowed.’ (Freedland, 2011) Considering this, the closed basilica reflects the nervous silence surrounding Franco’s legacy and the challenges that architectural memorialisation present within a changed social context. The ‘unwritten pact of forgetting’, which remained until 2000, meant that difficult questions regarding the legacy of Franco did not have to be answered within Spanish politics in order to encourage a move towards democracy. ‘In 1977 amnesty law made sure no one could be held to account.’ (Tremlett 2007) This concept relates to the aforementioned ‘appeased memory’, (Ricoeur 2004) which forms a mutual ground between remembering and forgetting as it ‘does not seek to forget the evil suffered or committed; [but] seeks rather to speak of it without anger.’ (Ricoeur 2004) Whilst this may have been the only way to support Spain’s transition towards a more peaceful future, was this forgetting justified and achievable? After all, the removal of Franco’s monuments suggests that one cannot forget while there are physically symbolic reminders within society. The controversy surrounding the basilica and how to deal with the legacy of Franco’s dictatorship in architectural terms, suggests that there ‘has not been closure and there is still a lot of unease about what happened.’ (Minder 2011) Nonetheless, can architectural memorialisation really bring about the closure that is desired? 75 years since the start of the Spanish Civil War, Spain has made a ‘decision to set up a commission to review the future of the Valley of the Fallen,’ (Minder 2011) At present, the re-‐designation of the mausoleum to be turned into a memorial for its victims, rather than a monument to fascist victory, could be the most appropriate architectural solution. However, historian Nigel Townson suggested that ‘it would have made sense instead, to build a new monument to the fallen.’ (Minder 2011) From this, it can be deduced that there is a desire to use memorialisation to instigate closure in both a physical and metaphorical sense. By physically embodying ideological political views within a changed social context Franco’s monuments have become an inappropriate reminder of fascist victory. Their removal exemplifies the need for the ever-‐changing form of the counter-‐monument while suggesting how memorialisation can instigate closure.

VII

‘Between the Lines’ Considered as a ‘Counter-‐Museum’ that blurs the boundaries between memorial

and museum, the symbolic abstract design of The Jewish Museum, Berlin heightens the experience of remembrance within space, whilst seeking ‘to reconnect Berlin to its own history, which must never be forgotten.’ (Libeskind 1999, p.48) Designed by Daniel Libeskind, the then unknown Jewish architect gave his proposal ‘Between the Lines’ in 1989 along with 166 other applicants. Absence within memorial design has already been evidenced as an evocative technique to portray a sense of loss within the architecture. Within this context, Libeskind’s title for the Jewish Museum strongly suggested that it was what he created ‘between those lines of walls and especially the voided spaces, which form the core of the design.’ (Arnold-‐ de-‐Simine 2012, p.22) Intentionally organised around six ‘void spaces’ which make vertical cuts through the building, the abstracted concept ‘embodies the literal annihilation of culture,’ (as cited in Hornstein 2011, p.44) whilst representing that which cannot do so itself. Libeskind’s inspiration for the ‘void’ spaces stemmed from his visit to The Jewish Cemetery in Weissensee, Berlin. ‘The emptiness that I witnessed at the cemetery actually confirmed my idea of the ‘void’ as an architectural device.’ (Libeskind 1999, p.37) The ‘voids’ are ‘created at the intersections between the zigzag line and the disrupted straight line on which it centres, thereby representing the inextricable links between German and Jewish history.’ (Arnold-‐de-‐Simine 2012, p.21) Similar to the disappearing Harburg monument, the technique of absence created through the ‘void’ spaces forms an evocative representation of loss, which results in the commemorative process having to be internalised rather than deflected. Ultimately, this internalisation strengthens the effectiveness of the viewer’s ability to partake in an act of remembrance. ‘Between the Lines’ also gives symbolic

reference

Libeskind’s

conceptual drawings that have significant importance within his design process. As a starting point for the design Libeskind drew interconnecting lines on a map of Berlin, marking

‘former

residences

its

composers, writers and poets, connecting Jews as well as non-‐Jews.’ (Arnold-‐de-‐

Fig.1. Star of David Diagram

Simine 2012, p.22) Creating a grid pattern, that in parts represented a distorted Star of David, (Fig.1) this was then abstracted into the spatial configuration of the building’s plan and combined with the ‘void’ spaces to create powerfully symbolic architecture. Conceptual drawing techniques such as these, reinforced with Libeskind’s aforementioned metaphoric writings, aim to embody Jewish memory within the building’s design in the hope that permanence will successfully ensure that society will not forget. Within the context of evoking remembrance, the main challenge of the museum was to encourage the visitor ‘to visualize what is deemed unimaginable,’ (Arnold-‐de-‐Simine 2012, p.20) without insensitively imitating traumatic events. Libeskind’s technique of disorientation, which focuses on phenomenological experience within the building, gracefully achieves this. ‘It is a memorial architecture that invites us into its seemingly hospitable environs only to estrange itself from us immediately on entering.’ (Young 2000, p.2) The ‘slanted halls, diagonal window slits and claustrophobic spaces’ attempt to evoke that, ‘which was once familiar but is now defamiliarized.’ (Arnold-‐de-‐Simine 2012, p.24) The intersecting underground plan is made up of three axes, (fig. 2) which have no correlation to the above ground

Fig.2. Intersecting Axis Diagram

plan, further disorientating the user. The first axis (‘Axis of Continuity’) ends with a staircase leading to the exhibition space. The second (‘Axis of Exile’) terminates with the ‘Garden of Exile’, a 12° slanted outdoor square with concrete columns towering over the visitors. Finally, the third, (‘Axis of Holocaust’) also known as the ‘Voided Void’ (Arnold-‐de-‐Simine 2012) is entered through a heavy metal door and a ‘bare, concrete space’ that ‘leaves only a glimpse of light’. (Arnold-‐de-‐ Simine 2012, p.24) This forms a disorientating dead end and represents unreachable hope. Similarly, the ‘Memory Void’, (fig.3) in which the floor is covered with screaming metallic faces, forces the visitor to pass through the space uncomfortably. It is through these spaces that a phenomenological experience is created that evokes an understanding and emotion within the viewer, without imitating trauma. After all, the most effective form of remembrance is that of emotion. Fig.3. The Memory Void

Moving on from the design process, in 1998 the building’s construction was completed. However, with much debate over the content of the exhibitions the Museum was left empty until September 2001. In these two years the empty museum ‘attracted 250,000 visitors, 15,000 in October 1999 alone.’ (Smith 2010, p.152 as cited in Arnold-‐de-‐ Simine 2012, p.20) Such vast numbers of visitors to an empty museum strengthened the belief that the building itself had become a monument in its own right, due to the emotive symbolism and imbued memory inherent in the buildings design. There was in fact debate over whether the museum should be filled with exhibits. ‘The idea was put forward to keep the empty shell of the building as it was, instead of building Peter Eisenman’s design of the Holocaust Memorial.’ (Pieper 2006, p.242 as cited in Arnold-‐de-‐Simine 2012, p.20) ‘To ‘ornament’ the building with exhibitions would only obscure the basic nature of the place.’ (Hornstein 2011, p.40) Nevertheless, now full of exhibits it is still believed that ‘the visitor experiences the place primarily as a memorial.’ (Hornstein 2011, p. 40) In response to this and in stark contrast to public views Libeskind states, ‘the Museum is not a memorial, despite the fact that there are dimensions of memory built into it. The museum is a museum-‐ it is a space for the encounter of history: a building and not a memorial.’ (Libeskind 1999, p.32) He also goes as far as to say ‘I do not think that the memorial is about education.’ (Libeskind 1999, p.33) This denotes that for Libeskind, there is a distinct difference between the intended function of a memorial and that of a museum. Despite the opposing opinions, the building is designed to embody the memory of Jewish History within its walls; the museum undoubtedly pushes the boundaries of memorialisation within an educative context to the greatest effect. The coalescing of memorialisation and education ‘suggests that there is an increasing desire to add both a moral framework to the narration of past events and more in-‐depth contextual explanations to commemorative acts’ (Williams 2007, as cited in Jones 2011, p.214) The exhibits provide the figurative representation that is feared to be lost within abstract memorials, raising questions as to whether museums have taken over the role of the monument. Indeed, the building may not be a memorial in its own right but it certainly evokes memory and remembrance far greater than any traditional monolithic monument. Daniel Libeskind’s design of The Jewish Museum emphasises the way in which memorial, monument and museum overlap within the functions of today’s society, while exemplifying the success of the phenomenological experience of absence and disorientation in instigating emotive remembrance.

VIII

Remembering the Forgotten Until recently, Germany had a collective amnesia in relation to the remembrance of

homosexual victims of the Holocaust. They were left ‘forgotten’ and ignored within the country’s vast realms of memorialisation. Targeted by the National Socialists who, in 1935 made ‘all male homosexuality a crime, […] there were more than 50,000 convictions.’ (Foundation Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (FMMJE) 2012) Remaining illegal in both East and West Germany until 1969, ‘a simple kiss could land you in trouble.’ (Inscription on plaque located near memorial) Designed by artists Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, the Memorial to the Homosexuals Persecuted under the National Socialist Regime opened on May 27th 2008 in Berlin. It aims ‘to keep alive the memory of injustice, and to create a lasting symbol of opposition to enmity, intolerance and the exclusion of gay men and lesbians.’ (FMMJE 2012) Previously considered as the ‘forgotten victims’ due to the absence of a memorial, the monument highlights the desire to physically instill a memory within architecture in order to make public remembrance evident within society. Taking direct and intentional reference from the neighboring Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe designed by Peter Eisenmann; the form presents a singular concrete stele in Berlin’s Tiergarten Park. A small, adult height window in the cube stele allows the

Fig.7. Homosexual Memorial

viewer to see a looped film, the first of which depicted ‘two men embracing in an endless kiss.’ (FMMJE 2012) (fig. 9) Changed every two years, the video gives the memorial a temporal and evolving quality, which reinforces the argument that monuments really can be everlasting. Elmgreen and Dragset, in support of this concept, stated that ‘a memorial should have the character of a living organism subject to dynamic change rather than a static and final statement,’ in which traditional memorials have been accused. (as cited in FMMJE 2012) The monolithic form of The Homosexual Memorial references traditional monuments while counteracting their static nature with the changing

Fig.8. Still from film in the Memorial

form of the video. A potent example of how future counter-‐monuments really can remain current within society. Although key to the memorial’s design, the internal video evoked major controversy. In September 2008, less than three months after opening to the public, the internal video screen was smashed and vandalised. This reaction, similar to that of The Harburg Monument, emphasised that homosexuality is still a controversial issue in Germany. By creating a physical memorial, the hope is that remembrance and to some extent, architecture, will help society to move on. After all, ‘even resentment is a form of memory.’ (Young 1992, p.281)

Conclusion The implications of the monument in relation to society’s ability to remember or forget historic events has various effects within each of the given case studies. It is certainly acknowledged that ‘we invest built forms and sites with memory, to have them make permanent and tangible the memory that we dread forgetting.’ (Hornstein 2012, p.35) However, it has also been considered that ‘the initial impulse to memorialise events… may actually spring from an opposite and equal desire to forget them.’ (Young 2003, p.240) The evolution of the counter-‐ monument in Germany has resulted in a much clearer awareness of the temporal nature of memories and the illusion of permanence. The most potent example of which is The Harburg Monument Against Fascism, War and Violence– and for Peace and Human Rights, that notifies the passerby ‘of its own impending sinking,’ (McGough 2011, p.31) while importantly suggesting that it is a natural process to forget. Issues of forgetting were explored further through the removal of Franco’s monuments in Spain. Their inappropriate celebration of fascist victory challenged the presumption that memorials are everlasting within a changing social context while suggesting how architectural memorialisation can bring closure to difficult historic events. Analysis of The Jewish Museum highlighted the way in which the function of memorial and museum, along with the aesthetics of absence and symbolism, can intertwine with education to transfer memories to future generations in a more effective manner. Furthermore, the ever-‐ changing, adaptable qualities that are so beneficial to the counter-‐monument’s design are exemplified with the changing video in The Memorial to the Homosexuals Persecuted under the National Socialist Regime. Within each of these cases, abstract symbolism along with the refusal to dictate what the viewer ought to think, instigates an interpretation of memory that is unique to each individual, suggesting how the counter-‐monument’s design can re-‐ instigate remembrance most effectively within society. Ultimately, through the exploration of the theoretical concepts and case studies, if anything is certain, it is that the ‘perpetual irresolution’ over ‘which kind of memory to preserve, how to do it [and] in whose name’ may in fact be the best way to engage in memory. (Young 1992, p.270) After all, whilst there is debate, society is not likely to forget.

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