A new landmark on the Brooklyn skyline, TEN Arquitectos’ DBCD (Downtown Brooklyn Cultural District) South building at 300 Ashland, is nearing completion, with tenants expected to move in by the end of the summer. The mixed-use building will feature 379 apartment units and will also become the new home of a number of cultural tenants, including the performing arts organization 651 Arts, MoCADA, Brooklyn Academy of Music cinemas, and a new branch of the Brooklyn Public Library.
Courtesy of TEN Arquitectos
Reacting to its site and context, the 32-story tower has been articulated as three volumes: a central circulation spine and two flanking volumes, where the apartments are located. The tower is skinned in perforated aluminum, which will pick up the colors of the surrounding streets, buildings and sky.
Located in booming downtown Brooklyn, the tower rises from the south section of a triangular site at the intersection of Flatbush, Ashland, and Lafayette Avenues in downtown Brooklyn – its slim footprint allowing the majority of the site to be dedicated to a new 15,000 square foot public plaza.
The building podium is comprised of a series of outdoor landscaped terraces that create public spaces screened from the noise of Flatbush avenue and visually connected to the Grand Plaza. The terraces allow for entrances into the building on multiple levels, and the opportunity for outdoor programming like film screenings, dance performances or farmer’s markets.
Courtesy of TEN Arquitectos
On the ground floors, the building will house 50,000 square feet of cultural space and 43,000 square feet of retail space along Flatbush Avenue. By folding the civic plaza upwards, the retail space can line the full perimeter of the base, avoiding an internalized “mall organization.”
Courtesy of TEN Arquitectos
The bulk of the 32-story tower will be residential, featuring studio, 1-bedroom and 2-bedroom units (20% of which are affordable housing), a 24 hour gym and a 29th floor outdoor roof deck designed by James Corner Field Operations.
By using natural and untreated materials such as wood, stone and concrete, architects Vincenzo Marchese and Petter Nordahl created a combined library, kitchen and workspace without changing the original size of the area.
Section
The walls are elevated in all directions in order to optimize the number of bookshelves. The windows are integrated into the bookshelves in order to create an exciting geometrical space highlighting the beautiful daylight.
Now on display as part of CURRENT: LA’s Public Art Biennial is “The Waterfall Pavilion,” designed by Los Angeles architects wHY’s Objects Workshop division in coordination with contemporary artist Rirkrit Tiravanija. The temporary installation is located at the point where water from Lake Balboa flows via a waterfall into the Los Angeles River, and consists of an open pavilion and a water purification wagon, corresponding to this year’s festival theme of ‘Water.’
When the international conceptual artist Rirkrit Tiravanija was commissioned to create a piece for the first Los Angeles Public Art Biennial, our Objects Workshop worked closely with his studio and the City’s Cultural Affairs Department to realize the artists’ vision for a place of meditation and rest as well as a series of programs ranging from watercolor classes to Chado tea ceremonies. Using available panel sizes and common construction-grade materials to keep costs on budget, we were able to work closely with the engineer and contractor to deliver the project on a tight deadline.
The gesture of the structure recalls the act of walking; the two ‘feet’ of the deck step across a spillway for recycled water. Large stones walk to the pavilion, encouraging visitors to linger. A unified roof with upturned beams creates a simple ceiling plan as well as a clean space to meditate, talk, or fish. A hidden helical pile foundation minimizes the impact of the temporary structure on the park.
The architects used the the expertise of non-profit Water One World Solutions to develop the water purification system, which allows the non-potable water from the river to be reclaimed, purified and publicly consumed. The water was also featured in performances during the festival’s opening weekend.
“I am interested in the potentiality of a terrain that is located in the exchanges between the urban fabric, its users, and the wider context, and in the constant reformulation of this relation of exchange,” said Rirkrit Tiravanija. “For CURRENT:LA I propose Waterfall Pavilion, a relational space that socializes and activates this otherwise forgotten area.”
Site Plan. Image Courtesy of wHY
“wHY has a long history of collaborating with artists on structures, bringing the technical expertise necessary to realize their ideas.” added Kulapat Yantrasast, architect at wHY. “This project is exciting because the Waterfall Pavilion introduces an alternative for the LA River – by crossing the river and cleaning the river, we are connecting people back to something they’ve avoided for quite a long time.”
Section. Image Courtesy of wHY
Other collaborators included Logik Structures (Engineer) and Robert Polo Building Studio (Contractor).
The pavilion is open every day from 5:30 am to 10:30 pm, and will be on display until the conclusion of CURRENT on August 14.
From the architect. Exterior: We rebuilt the 1970’s extension with a pitched roof that visually extruded the pitched roof form of the original building. This was then clad in local Lydd handmade clay tiles to compliment the original peg tiles, which then continue down and clad the walls of the side extension. Conservation style roof windows have then been positioned on the front and rear bringing direct north and south natural light into the roof space. Flush architectural glass windows from Czech Republic have been used throughout to fade into the background, placing the emphasis on the original architecture. A stunning triangular section of glass has been inserted between the original roof pitches creating breath-taking rooftop and countryside views from the master bedroom. Aligned modern doors lead into medieval like wall gardens in a straight vista.
Axonometric
We created a huge 780sqft open-plan living, dining and kitchen space on the ground floor by removing a non-original, central wall that divided the offices from the ambulance workshop/ garage. This created an amazing entertaining space within the full floor plan of the original Ambulance Station. To create division of zones within the space we cast a large concrete plinth in the centre of the room to sit a double-sided wood burning stove and wood store.
The existing I beam that runs along the ceiling above the plinth has been left exposed and the original sliding doors have been perfectly replicated to maintain an industrial feel. The carefully copied ambulance doors bi-fold out onto a large reclaimed timber terrace and the walled courtyard.
The kitchen combines greyed timber cabinets with stunning Carrera Marble worktops and splash-backs. A brushed stainless steel island unit compliments the timber and marble while referencing the use of this material in the medical industry.
We used wide engineered oak flooring on the ground and first floors that then continues to clad the walls of the double height stairwell and bedrooms in the roof space.
The wet-room on the ground floor and large family bathroom upstairs have been tiled with ornate ‘lace- like’ porcelain tiles from Italy. A stainless steel nurses trolley has been used in the bathroom as a vanity unit with a large basin and mirror above.
Introducing movement to drawings and diagrams is an excellent way to show the development and progress of ideas fundamental to a project. Animated GIFs can therefore be a useful tool to improve your project presentation, explaining in a lean way a large amount of complex information.
When it comes to architectural drawings, it’s fundamental to understand what information needs to be highlighted and what is the best way to show it, getting rid of all the extra data to focus attention on the main asset. With that in mind, here is a list of 7 different types of animated GIF that really show off the best of every project.
1) Context
To show specific environmental characteristics in one drawing could be a very complex task. Even if you manage to put in one drawing all the information needed to understand a project’s surroundings, the result can often be messy and over-saturated with information. Animated GIFs are a great tool to show accurate context information in a very clean way.
To graphically explain the idea behind a project can be a real challenge. Whether you want to focus on the underlying volumetric logic or the process of reasoning that takes you from an existing building to a final proposal, animated GIFs can provide a coherent sequence to communicate your approach to the project.
Most projects have more than one level. Even in single story constructions, there is always a ground floor and a roof that can relate to each other in multiple ways, with skylights, roof terraces, and so on. When a project has more than one floor, the inter-level interaction becomes more complex and therefore more difficult to explain. Animated GIFs can be used to show different relations between each level and the whole project or between every level.
Architectural details can have very complex junctions and material specification. Sometimes, one element can be turned to another position, or it can be moved or opened or elevated. Think in a light adjustable facade that can change position according to the weather and amount of light. By using animated GIFs you can portray the whole function cycle of one specific piece, making a much more complete detail.
The program of a project defines a wide network of human relations that develop within the designed space. Diagrams and especially movement can deliver complete information in a simple way.
With an animated GIF the architect can show in one image the complete structure or construction process of the project; from its foundation to the last roof beam, GIFs are a great tool to simply show a building’s structural makeup.
A general animated view of your project is an excellent way to show different stages of your intervention; you can share an internal journey through a building or show multiple ways of inhabiting your design, among other possibilities.
The “Blanche” Chalet, whose name evokes the spirit of the vernacular houses of the region, is situated in La Malbaie’s area of the “Terrasses Cap à l’Aigle”. Its simple and pure architecture gently complements the landscape of Charlevoix in a modern fashion.
The raw concrete materiality of the lower level is a nod to the stone foundations of the old wooden barns that once swept the landscape. This base also serves as the foundation for the main entrance and houses the technical functions of the cottage. Perched on the podium, the upper two levels are clad in a white stained wood, which is reminiscent of lime plaster that was applied to the ancestral homes of the area. The wood is smooth or raw textured and, at times, creates an openwork siding, depending on the façade, bringing lightness and joy to the house.
The four bedrooms of the “Blanche” Chalet are centrally located in order to maximize the panoramic views of the living spaces that are at the top level. The kitchen and dining room are characterized by large 360-degree fenestration, while the living space is housed in a floating overhang whose unique form is reminiscent of the structure of vernacular bridges. This raised volume allows for a direct experience of the enchanting sunsets of Cap à l’Aigle and the shimmering reflections of the estuary of the St. Lawrence within the comforts of the home.
This cottage residence is the expression of the atmosphere sought by its owner. The social nature of the house, its openness to family, friendly, and sometimes professional exchanges are favoured by its composition that sensitively juxtaposes the spaces of common life and the private life (bedrooms). The abundant use of fenestration underlines a constant connection between the interior and nature, including the lake and the forest. The use of natural materials, such as stone, wood, and steel in pure and unique forms links the building to the context and invites contemplation.
It’s the Chilean architect Alejandro Aravena’s habit to look at architecture as a way to help people, and not to simply dazzle them with form. The ethos and practice of Aravena’s Santiago-based firm, Elemental, is essentially the blueprint for each national pavilion at this year’s Venice Architecture Biennale (through Nov. 27), which he is directing. His brief, “Reporting from the Front,” asks a simple question, one that’s increasingly difficult to address: How can the advancement of architecture, given physical needs and local contexts, actually improve the quality of people’s lives?
The question is central to how Aravena approaches his own work. Before he puts pen to paper, the economic, environmental, political, and social dimensions of the built environment are fully taken into account.
This is not Aravena’s first involvement in the Venice Architecture Biennale. In 2008, Elemental won the event’s Silver Lion award for promising young architects. Shortly after, in 2010, Aravena and his firm were tasked with rebuilding the Chilean city of Constitución following an earthquake and tsunami that leveled huge swathes of its urban landscape. For Aravena, this was a pivotal moment for understanding how to solve political and social conflicts with architecture, a skill set that he and his colleagues had been honing for years while building a portfolio of innovative design solutions for public spaces, infrastructure, and public buildings. This social awareness earned Aravena the Pritzker Prize earlier this year, making him the first Chilean architect to receive the most prestigious award in architecture. He is only the second architect ever to win a Pritzker and be director of the Venice Architecture Biennale in the same year (following Kazuyo Sejima, who achieved the feat in 2010).
None of the plaudits or attention seem to have inflated Aravena’s ego. He is not accepting billion dollar commissions in Dubai to build phallic, showy skyscrapers. He is not working on any hotels or casinos for Donald Trump. Instead, he continues to create projects that address problems, especially in the context of growing needs that are developing in our global political climate. The point for Aravena is to improve people’s lives. Surface recently spoke with him about natural disasters, reconstruction, and the scarcity of meaning in architecture today.
Having just finished your stint as director of architecture at the Venice Biennale and recently won a Pritzker, you must be bored to death with interviews.
More than bored. I don’t have that many things to say.
Let’s check. You’re the first Pritzker recipient from Chile. Is that a source of nationalistic pride for you? And if we’re talking about great contemporary Chilean architects, who would you mention?
Well, we are really surprised by the general positive feeling about this award. It’s a kind of collective feeling of achievement—that it happened to all of us, the country. Even in remote places. And here’s the thing: Architecture by definition is a kind of embassy that talks about many different disciplines and institutions. There is a kind of critical mass required to produce quality architecture, and that may explain this feeling. From that point of view, I would say there are many architects in Chile who create that critical mass. Smilion Raditch, Eduardo Castiglio, Jose Cruz, Teresa Molar—the fact that I could easily name 10 is very unusual. I think it’s a very good sign. It’s a good moment in Chile.
Let’s talk about your practice, Elemental. When you’re commissioned by a company, a private resident, a university or a country to design projects, what is the first question that you ask them?
What informs the form of this project? In the end, architecture is about giving form to the places where people live. It’s not more complicated than that. Everything in the end has to have a form. And someone has to give the form to those elements or institutions. With that form, you qualify the lives of people for better or worse for a long time.
Our buildings have to function. They have to be within budget, they have to fulfill a purpose. We begin by trying to understand all the threats; laws, environment, time frame, materials, expectation. We start by designing the question before going into the answer. This is mainly about trying to understand the forces at play.
Is it fair to say that architecture has to exist and find reconciliation in this tug of war between formal considerations and practical ones?
If architecture is about giving form to the places where we live, and life ranges from basic needs to artistic desires, the task of architecture and the difficulty of producing architecture is that it’s not about choosing one or the other, but integrating the two of them. If there is any power in architecture, it’s the power of synthesis. At least that is how we like to perceive it. Not in one single project that we have done, not even social housing, did we forget that life can not just be about mere satisfaction of physical needs. And the other way around; if you just concentrate on the artistic cultural aspect, but you haven’t satisfied basic needs, you don’t even have the possibility to have a life beyond mere survival. So the task of architecture should be that of integrating, and that again is in the text that I provided as part of the Venice Biennale.
Seems risky.
Every single project that we go into has a very high risk of failing, and the only thing that we have is our professional reputation. And yet, we’re willing to risk that reputation in a project if the potential outcome is relevant. And this is what we’ve been trying to do with the Biennale as well. It may not be perfect, but at least we take the risk of trying to address a relevant problem.
Perhaps that’s why your work seems to be a little more down to earth than some of your Pritzker Prize–winning predecessors. You’ve always been in the spotlight for your involvement on different academic and cultural boards, and you participation in various biennales. But now that you’re won a Pritzker, is there any sense of added “starchitect” pressure, and will we start seeing you building weird cookie-cutter museums in places like Abu Dhabi or Azerbaijan?
Not really. Having chosen to live in Chile is already a filter against that. We’re not in the right places. We’re not going to the cocktail parties where you’re “supposed” to go, or playing golf with the right people. We’re a small enough office to still be able to work on the project we want. What I want to do is make a contribution by having a pen in my hand and drawing things. I don’t want to spend my day as an administrator. The kind of office that we have is small enough that I can still be involved in each project that we take care of. Yet we have to be big enough to address complex projects, like the reconstruction of our entire city, Santiago, after an earthquake. You can’t solve that working on your own in a garage. You need a certain number of offices. We are very conscious that time is by far the most limited resource we have, and in that sense, we try to balance one third of our time with social housing, one other third with buildings, and another third with city design.
Rebuilding Santiago certainly must have tested the knowledge of your firm. And I suppose living in a seismic country such as Chile has informed quite a bit of your design.
Absolutely. And if anything is clear, we don’t have all the resources to do things on our own. There isn’t enough money to provide and deliver a middle-class house. We can only provide one portion of that house. It’s a fact, not a choice. When working in scarce environments, like after an earthquake, you have to be able to channel everybody’s capacities; the state, the private market, the families themselves, NGOs, because nothing on its own will solve the problem. And that was pretty much the case with Santiago’s last big earthquake and reconstruction. That’s why we started a participatory process. We had to channel different sources of funding in order to rebuild, and in that case, there was not only scarcity of money, but of time.
Speaking of scarcity of resources, how would you begin to approach the looming issue that is the U.S.’s infrastructure—roads, rail lines, bridges, and so on, which are all basically on the brink of of decay and collapse?
Now that you mention it, yes, I would agree that you’re beginning to have obsolete infrastructure. Not only in physical terms, but also in terms of mobility and expectations. I mean, the car in the ’50s was the notion of modernity and progress and success. Nowadays, it’s a threat to our quality of life. It’s a cultural shift also in the way that infrastructure was designed and how do we define quality of life. At the time, speed was a sign of advancement; now the best trip is the one that you never make. I would also say that there are not enough resources to resolve everything. In cities like ours in Latin America, there is not enough money or space. You have to establish priorities. This is something that I think is very healthy in the urban structure. You have to be very clear about what produces the most public good and what will only benefit a certain constituency on a private level.
What, would you say, in terms of comparative architecture, are some of the stark differences between Western nations and the global south?
The assumption is that in the north there are more resources. In the south there are fewer. I don’t know if that’s the case with Australia, but in general. Africa, South America, compared to Europe and the U.S., let’s say. More resources versus fewer resources is the biggest difference. A scarcity of means forces you to have an abundance of meaning. You have to give a lot of reasons why you’re doing what you’re doing. You can’t do whatever you want just because you want to. You have to justify it and that somehow tempers projects in the global south. Eventually—and this is what we witnessed not that long ago—an abundance of resources may lead you to a scarcity of meaning. More than a difference in facts, it’s a difference in attitude.
What challenges you in more rural or private projects, like a residential home in the wilderness?
It’s not that different than urban housing in that you allow the bigger forces at play to take control, such as nature. There is matter and we organize it into a form, and will our intelligence or sensitivity or constraints so that those materials have one form instead of another.
I’m curious about the way you use space: What’s your favorite room in a house?
The space around the house. I may be talking from the perspective of living in Santiago, which has incredible weather, so the best part of the house is everything that was left in between the house and the limit of the lot; the garden, the courtyard. The “non-room.”
A proposal from AM3 Architetti Associati uses the flow of the natural landscape to create a theater cut into a cliffside in Cefalù, Italy. Situated at the base of the Rocca di Cefalù, the new theater had to respect the importance of both the historical, man-made structures and the greatness of the cliffs and rocky outcrops. The first prize winning design plays with the existing naturally occurring amphitheater, “S. Calogero cavea”, adding a series of lightweight interventions to create a new cultural attraction.
Courtesy of AM3 Architetti Associati
The limestone present throughout the site is referenced by the large circular clearing, which resembles a quarry cut into the jagged landscape. The sparse, untamed vegetation that litters the rock face remains the only flora present, ensuring that the new additions don’t look overly manicured. Within the circular clearing, a semi-circular ‘cavea’ – the seated area of an amphitheater – rises at a low gradient, with it’s highest point closest to the sea.
Courtesy of AM3 Architetti Associati
The internal amphitheater that this arc creates between the rising cavea and the rock face gives a sense of semi-enclosure, as all focus is directed internally. At the focal point on the clearing, before the cliffs begin is a circular plate which acts as the theater’s singular stage. The timber pad has the cliffs as it’s backdrop, and can house theatrical, musical, or other cultural performances. The stage can be used recreationally or professionally, and is serviced by the dressing rooms located below the cavea.
Courtesy of AM3 Architetti Associati
The amphitheater is capped on its uppermost ledge by a path which circumscribes the new theater. Accessible by stairs next to the entrance, the path provides users with a panoramic “mirador” which faces the shore and sea. At the end of the arc, the path extends beyond the clearing and onto a neighboring peak in the cliff face. Another three flights of stairs snake upwards on the cliff face opposite the timber amphitheater, giving access to the original rocky cavea.
Courtesy of AM3 Architetti Associati
The use of oak gives the entire scheme a sense of weightlessness, as the thin layers of wood are laid with gaps between to allow light to pass through. The lightness is reiterated in the reuse of the excavated limestone, which creates a subtle blanket of gray stone across the clearing. The incision of the design into the existing landscape is made seamless by the color, geometry, and transparency of the chosen materials, as well as the sweeping form of the cavea which circumscribes the natural plateau.
From the architect. Italian studio Pedevilla Architects designed a minimal rose-tinted structure that serves as a fire station for the town of Vierschach in South Tyrol.
Built in the remote Pusteria Valley, close to the border of Austria, an obviously simple shaped building is situated alongside the main road. Altough the design prioritizes simplicity and the rediction of detail, the building is in fact an experiment within itself. Realized in light-weight concrete, with a product named LiaPor, the outer shell challenges constructive and static parameters, but deals also with insulation requirements.
While one side is facing the village and contains the spaces for all the fire engines and trucks, the upper and only single-storey elevated front follows the heavily frequented traffic road. The latter carries the main public function of the building and is therefore conducted as a spacious hall, fully panelled in hand-planed pine wood. An external stair case is connecting both floors to each other and gives access to the control room and vehicle hangar below.
The red colour emphasises the originality of the new fire station. All surfaces have been realized with pigmented concrete to remark the building’s monolithic character. Dimensions of the construction remain thereby recognizable from the outside, in fact it even amplifies the structures massive appearance.
The project’s main feature is surely the level of pre-fabrication of its outer shell, which minimized necessary finishing works of the construction and the buildings fitout. Irregularities or divergences in the concrete only adds charm to the material and the character of the building.
Alongside to the mentioned technical functions, the pigmented lightweight construction was accomplished as exposed concrete with high density and is therefore water and frost proof. As to the buildings economic efficiency, particular attention was paid to the attainment of a robust and simple construction, the usage of only a few materials and to reduction of work stages to a minimum. Furthermore the sensible choice of materials ensures a high durability and reduced maintenance costs.
Perspective view of the Zamoskvorechye district of Moscow. Image Courtesy of Strelka Magazine
In this interview Nadya Nilina, a Russian architect, urban planner and educator specialising in large-scale masterplanning and historical preservation, traces the formation of Russian discourse on urbanism and discusses what goals might be set for the future of urbanisation in the country.
Alongside Prof. Dr. Ronald Wall, Nilina is curating the Urbanisation of Developing Countries course as part of the new Advanced Urban Design programme at Moscow’s Strelka Institute, which will provide a detailed critical overview of Russian urban development over the last three hundred years. Urbanisation of Developing Countries is considered one of the key topics in urbanism today and represents a large and complex part of this discussion.
Past Continuous: Historical Roots of Russian Urban Thinking
The Network
If geopolitics did not play into it, settlement decisions would be based solely on the availability of essential resources for survival: natural materials for shelter, water and food. Albeit primitive, this is a potent explanation. Yet the further civilization is from the primitive, the more interconnected and interdependent the settlements become and the less we are able to explain individual settlement decisions independently from a larger network. That is to say, the location of Russian settlements is as much dependent on the survival advantages of a particular place as it is on the position within a larger network of settlements, a network that trespasses national boundaries. Static settlement is but a small part of a dynamic system.
If we cannot talk of a settlement in isolation, we certainly should not be talking about its shape or architecture is a purely local product. By definition, the shape would be influenced by the nature of the network – its directionality and relative security, the kind and volume of vehicles that use it, the role of the location as a node, centre or a transitory space.
Thus, when we talk about Russian cities, I think we should consider them within the global network – the network that is a conduit for ideas, as much as it is for technologies, the know-how, and the actual goods. Despite the relative historical remoteness of Russia and the recent attempts to further isolate the country, the roots of Russian urban ideas lie at the crossroads of many different cultures. The use of wood is connected with the Scandinavian traditions; the regular grid with the Enlightenment ideas borrowed from the West and propagated by the tsars; the 19th century red-brick industrial estates with the exchange of knowledge with England, etc.
Influences
The relationship with other cultures was articulated differently at different times, but in the general discourse on urbanism, the intellectual leitmotif was the ubiquitous reference to “the other.” When we talk about the provinces of the 18th century, the building types, such as municipal buildings, hospitals and residences are often a modest version of these types in the capitals. And the models in the capitals allude to their counterparts in other countries. The building may be built using local materials and techniques, and in that respect it is vernacular, but it often references some greater, and somehow better model.
Standardisation, the dissemination of appropriate models arranged in a hierarchical fashion was a way to give identity not only to individual towns, but to the larger network of towns and entire regions. This use of models was a good way to uphold quality across the board, making sure safety regulations are adhered to and allegiance to the central power, including an aesthetic allegiance, is established.
Clearly, the more physical networks are established, the more movement they are able to transmit – movement of people, materials and ideas, the more sophisticated the local production becomes. At some points in history, we see foreign architects shaping the environment in the most direct way.
Moskovskoe motorway, residential block. E. Levinson, I. Fomin, 1939-1940. Image Courtesy of Strelka Magazine
Spreading the Soviet
Discourse of the “other” emerges in the twentieth century with the establishment of the republics and the importation of the Soviet model of urbanism into the new territories. Here the vernacular traditions were perceived as “the other” – akin to the way Edward Said uses “oriental.” And in the eyes of the coloniser, the “other” was threatening and had to be if not obliterated, then overwhelmed, overshadowed by something recognisable. Thus, we have the ubiquitous microrayon model implemented across the vast territory of the Soviet Union.
The use of standards, as you can see, is not new here. Peter the Great and Catherine the Great attempted to establish the new, modern identity of their empire through the use of building regulations and standards. The Soviets succeeded in the unification of the country by way of urban design to a much larger extent.
The peculiar situation with Russian cities is this. It is the survival of the family or a clan that was at stake in the primitive settlement, we see it in the maps of Siberian settlements. Imperial ambitions, and the wish to create and preserve the image of the empire have been a much more important factor in the creation of Russian cities of the modern age. In fact, strategic decisions and ambitions have often been at odds with the ability of Russian cities to sustain a healthy life.
Another peculiar situation is the creation of the GULAG system and the concurrent emergence of cities, serviced by what amounts to the slave labour. I have worked in places like that. A locational decision for both the city and the GULAG was based on the availability of natural resources and thus urbanisation ensued. Not exactly a way to create a vibrant city, is it?
Then still another category of cities – the defensive outpost, built to symbolise and protect the borders. And finally, the mono-towns, which are a popular subject of discussions today. Cities created to service one kind of industry.
That is the Russian urban heritage: the older ones, often referred to as “organic” settlements, most of which are dying off as far as I know; cities built on advantageous positions with historic cores, Soviet additions and a somewhat diversified, or at least evolving economy, such as, for example, Tver and Kaluga; GULAG-dependent resource extraction towns; mono-towns built around a single industry; and the capitals – manifestations of power and imperial ambitions of different iterations.
Urbanisation in Russia is associated with the colonisation of space in order to realise individual ambitions, on the one hand; with colonisation of space as a way to milk the earth and extract the resources, on the other; and with the way the administration of the country, the political context has been shaped by hostility to the “other” and the need to protect the borders and keep “the others” away and the “locals” at bay. Terror has been an important factor in shaping the cities.
"We have a metro!" – Soviet propaganda poster for Moscow, 1930s. Image Courtesy of Strelka Magazine
Urbanisation: in absentia
For the most part, historically, cities were viewed as instruments that service other industrial instruments and machines. Therefore, the ideas about urbanisation, at least those that have been articulated, are either borrowed from other places, or developed locally with one sole purpose to create the environment to house the workers and deliver them to their places of production in the most expedient manner. This is a form of urbanisation that should probably be called “industrial urbanisation”, or a penitentiary urbanisation. A different way of thinking about cities has been geared towards social engineering and propaganda. The creation of an individual who accepts his own individual right to existence as a part of the greater collective effort to build something – an empire or communism or a united country of the working class. You name it.
But there is very little thinking about the quality of life beyond the basic needs for recreation—rest, so one can work again, and procreation—so the country replenishes its proletariat. There is very little in the way of other urban theory in Russia.
The Russian architectural avant-garde and the period that coincided with the early CIAM and the Bauhaus, was an interesting time for the Russian cities. Original building types, such as the NEP residential cooperatives and communal living apartments – “doma kommuni,” not to be confused with the way apartments were densified after the revolution so poignantly described by the late Svetlana Boym, are of great interest. Albeit, designed with the same idea of providing space for recuperation after hard labor, constructivist projects envisioned a more diversified society. They offered more than the bare essentials. And although one can argue that Constructivists were not 100% original, the exchange between Russia and the West at the time went well beyond borrowing. It could, for a short time, be called a dialogue.
Perhaps the tragic fate of that period and its brightest stars is what makes it so appealing to scholars. The post-war period, especially the first eight years before the death of Stalin was nothing but an attempt to reinstate imperial ambitions. It is an incredibly retrograde, utterly derivative, typically colonial way to reconstruct the country. The style of Stalinist architecture with its classical allusions is the most banal way of reasserting one’s entitlement. A meager attempt to align oneself with the respectful classical heritage is nothing but an insecurity driven scramble for legitimacy.
Personally, I prefer the Khrushchev period, in which the city had a much more real, habitable dimension, and the objects populating it were designed to house people in rather egalitarian fashion. This was progressive, forward-looking city planning with a great attention to landscape and an understanding of the key principles of hygiene and ergonomics.
I am saying this especially, because if you analyse the 1935 Stalin plan for the reconstruction of Moscow, you would notice that it was designed for military parades and giant spectacles. Check out the scale of the streets and blocks. This is not a plan that wants to provide amenity, but one that should inspire a submissive awe amidst severe discomfort. In addition, the endless references and direct borrowings from American models, albeit distorted and repurposed as objects in space. Such are the seven sisters – impressive buildings, positioned somewhat poorly on the ground.
Petrov's plan of St. Petersburg (1738). Image Courtesy of Strelka Magazine
Present Continuous: Urban Planning and Urban Design in Post-Soviet Russia
Womanly Urbanism
As far as fashion for urbanism, I think part of the story, and it is if not a global, at least a Western phenomenon, this surge of interest in all things urban is due to the influx of women into the workforce. Architecture, despite its incredible inroads into democracy, is still a rather misogynist profession. Yes, there are many more women in the profession, and yes, there are many more female principles in firms, etc. But the inequality is still there. And starting with Jane Jacobs, the talk about urban liveability has been a female-driven discourse.
Women are much more attuned to the environment, simply because they have more responsibility for the rearing of children. And the rearing of children requires a certain level of comforts that are provided by urban designers. I know this is a terribly unpopular thought, and I am shooting myself in the foot by saying that, but there are still less opportunities for women in architecture, and more opportunities for women in urbanism, and urbanism is about making the world a better, safer, better lit, and more comfortable place, and somehow that is a more female domain. Especially in some places. So may be that is why urbanism has become so popular. Of course, I say this half-jokingly.
I think the answer is simple. Deindustrialisation and the transformation of the economy towards service economy are to blame. People learned to expect more comfort from their environment. Living in cities is also advantageous from the point of view of human evolution.
There are more options for procreation in cities. And as more young people are flocking to city in search of partners, cool spaces become part of foreplay. In turn, institutions try to keep up with what is interesting to the young people. Institutions need students, etc. It’s all business.
In Russia, the environment was not addressed in earnest for a very long time. Developers made money by building projects and rapid auto-mobilisation created tons of problems. The old fabric was deteriorating, the rich were moving to the suburbs. Then it was time to address the streets and public spaces. And when Russia faced that problem it turned out there were very few specialists. So, the institutions emerged to fill that gap.
A Lot of Work Ahead
Post-Soviet Russia has not really developed any new model of urbanisation. With the exception of a higher level of hostility, now not only directed at “the others” abroad, but at “the other” next door, or still worse, at ‘the other” in the street, what has changed the shape of space is the ubiquitous fences and gated communities. Of course, that has entailed suburbanisation.
I am not sure how much has been done in revitalisation. I think some relatively small efforts by the elite have been laudable. The likes of Strelka, the Red Rose, and the Danilovskaya Manufactura and the New Holland have definitely benefitted the capitals. But, these are tiny efforts when compared with the millions of square meters of neglected, if not totally destroyed heritage. Just think of the extent of real industrial heritage out there. Whole cities, dedicated to the production that has ceased.
I think today the imperial ambitions are back in full swing, while the government is at a total loss as to what to do about the declining, shrinking and dying cities. The capitals are doing ok, and just need a facelift. While the real problem is the time bomb of the ageing infrastructure and deteriorating housing that has no economic model to supports its revival. There is so much work to do and it should be done by intelligent, well-educated, open-minded designers. We need a whole army of those!
Plan of Magnitogorsk. Image via New Town Institute
Sig Nordal 