“The evolutions of revolutionary architecture”

“The neologism is beloved of technocracies, cults and dictatorships; the regime of the USSR had traits of all three tendencies. The lexicon of the USSR sprouted neologisms like mushrooms: Cominform, Comintern, Glavlit, Gosplan, Komsomol, Proletkult, Sovnarkom. VKhUTEMAS was an abbreviation of Higher Art and Technical Studios, a Bolshevik-founded art training school founded in Moscow in 1920. It was set up alongside the even more shortlived INKhUK Institute of Artistic Culture(Institut Khudozhestvennoy Kultury/Институт Художественной Культуры), which only existed from 1920 until 1924, by IZO-Narkompros, the Department of Fine Arts of the People’s Commissariat for Education. Despite being backed by the state, it failed to survive as long as the Bauhaus…”

Read the full 3-book review at The Brazen Head here: https://brazen-head.org/2021/06/11/the-evolutions-of-revolutionary-architecture/

Conserving Concrete

For anyone doubting the appropriateness of concrete as a subject for conservation (perhaps wishing away over a century of architecture), the introduction to Concrete: Case Studies in Conversation Practice provides a rejoinder.

Concrete is one of the most ubiquitous materials of the twentieth century; therefore, anyone involved in conserving modern heritage needs some understanding of the material, its deterioration, and its effective repair. Some 150 years of development of reinforced concrete has produced an extraordinary legacy of structures and buildings.[i]

Concrete is an ancient building material, used since ancient times, refined by the Romans and revived for the development of Portland cement in the 1820s, since when it has been used almost continually.

Regardless of the building typology or construction date, the decay mechanism common to all the projects comes down to the basic issue of the steady progress of carbonation that leads to the eventual corrosion of the reinforcement. The rate of carbonation is affected by factors such as the depth of cover to reinforcement, poor workmanship, and low cement content, sometimes in combination, in each case influenced by the environmental conditions arising from the location.[ii]

The key difficulty for many béton brut buildings is that concrete is structurally integral and also the undecorated surface, thus serious deterioation of the concrete cannot be left untreated and any treatment cannot but alter the appearance of the building. It was only in the late 1980s that a programmatic, scientific approach to preservation of concrete structures was developed by the architecture profession – surprisingly late considering the considerable evidence of deterioration which had been documented before then.

Part of the Conserving Modern Heritage series from Getty Publications, Concrete: Case Studies in Conversation Practice brings together essays by conservators who have worked on projects to conserve and restore concrete buildings. Their experiences provide us with greater understanding of the problems and solutions for this issue which grows increasingly relevant and serious as some classic Modernist buildings are reaching a state of decrepitude. Strategies for corrosion protection and repair include patching, partial replacement and resurfacing. These have the obvious drawbacks of introducing ahistorical or incongruous surfaces. Corrosion inhibiting solutions and electrochemical realkalization are other approaches[iii].  

One ingenious solution which retards corrosion of rebar is remote sacrificial anode (RSA). The electro-chemical process of water corroding steel is delayed by the attachment of a section of grounded metal to the concrete. The electrical charge is thereby transferred to the RSA which corrodes instead of the steel in the concrete. However, electrical resistance of concrete means that it produces a localised effect rather than a solution for large areas. The RSA can be replaced when it is corroded, every 30 years or so. New techniques are being pioneered that involve the installation of meshes that are inside the concrete close to the rebar and connected to an RSA, effectively wiring the entire structure to stabilise corrosion but this seems to be construction application rather than a remedial system. Non-corroding anodes using direct current electricity are alternatives but require mains power or sustainable electrical generators, which are not always suitable or cost effective.

This volume provides 14 case studies of remedial action to restore and renovate concrete exposed to the elements. The first is structures from the 1920s and the last is a Donald Judd sculpture of 1988-91. The examples are free-standing objects, enclosed buildings and exposed open-air structures. They range from utilitarian structures, a church, market, warehouse, zoo, bathing station, school, university, theatre and residence.  Some of these are world-famous structures (the Marseille Unité d’Habitation of Le Corbusier), while others are lesser known. Architects include Oscar Niemeyer, Pier Luigi Nervi and Eugène Freyssinet. 

The structures featured are superb examples of their type, hence the efforts to conserve them. Some techniques could be used to extend the life of less important concrete structures. Halles du Boulingrin, the Reims covered market, features soaring thin-ribbed parabolic arches forming a curved roof – dramatic, aesthetically satisfying and practical. (Such a design had already been used by the architect for aircraft hangars at Orly, Paris.) It is a fine example of Art Deco architecture, built to replace a building destroyed during the Great War bombardment which practically erased the medieval town. It was fully restored and an acrylic-resin membrane applied to the outside to waterproof it. In this case the original building had been painted, so extensive restoration could be done, effectively resurfacing the entire roof and painting it. The installation of micro-processor controlled fans combatted the issue of condensation, which had dogged the original design.

A uniquely complex structure is Villa Girasole, Verona, which incorporated house which that revolved 360° on a circular base of concrete. Constructed between 1929 and 1935, the building was part residence, part art work, part proof of concept. The functioning of the building/machine/sculpture caused the damage to the platform. Regrettably, the essayists do not describe if the house is currently functional. In the case of Niemeyer’s Brazilian church, much of the water damage was caused by builders omitting to include the specified expansion joints. At the Morse and Ezra Stiles Colleges, Yale University, one problem was steel window frame anchorages corroding within concrete walls. The famous Unité d’Habitation in Marseille suffered due to some substandard concrete in places and the thinness of certain details (especially the balcony balustrades) led to cracking and spalling due to corrosion of internal steel. The pilotti were corroded and required resurfacing.

The essays by experts in the projects provide background, assessment of the problems, the potential solutions, conservation work undertaken and the general findings. Technical information is given (including plans, models, diagrams), though not at too great a length. Even the data is understandable to the non-specialist reader. Numerous photographs give us an idea of the original appearance of the buildings, their damage and their current state. There is a glossary included.

Evidence is that building conservators adhere to the principles of minimal intervention, maintenance rather than alteration, avoiding “improvement”, making changes noticeable but not jarring, attempting to keep interventions reversible and other standards that are shared with the best practice of art conservation. This publication shows that there is much that can be done to remedy unsightly, inconvenient and dangerous degradation of concrete structures – though the cost and difficulty may be in some cases prohibitive. Traditionalists, hoping demolition should be the only just destiny for Modernist structures, will be disappointed; for the rest of us, the documented solutions seem pragmatic and acceptable ways to extend the life spans of concrete structures. 

Catherine Croft, Susan Macdonald (eds.), Concrete: Case Studies in Conversation Practice, Getty Publications, 2019, paperback, 236pp, fully illus., $59.95/£45, ISBN 978 1 60606 576 1

(c) 2020 Alexander Adams

To view my art and books visit www.alexanderadams.art

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[i] Concrete, p. 11

[ii] Concrete, p. 17-8

[iii] Note François Botton’s caution: “[…] it appears the effectiveness of the realkanization procedure may depend on the level of corrosion before treatment, or it may simply not last longer than twelve to thirty months.” Concrete, p. 123

“The Melancholy of Obsolete Futures”

“Brutalism has seen a surge in interest among young people keen on bold uncompromising Modernist design. Whole books of moody photographic studies of concrete buildings are snapped up by fans of urban life and retro design. A crop of new books explores the Brutalism of socialist states.

“While Constructivism and avant-gardism in fine art came to prominence during the October Revolution, it was suppressed in favour of Socialist Realism by the mid-1930s. In architecture more adventurous forms and materials persisted, although in the minority. Under Stalin there was a degree of stylistic conformity and austerity, yet adventurous architecture was not seen as “bourgeois formalism” as it was in art. Following the death of Stalin in 1953, historicism receded and a greater variety of art, design and architecture (including Modernist architecture) became possible. While supposedly for the masses, many of the showpiece constructions were moribund from the start: inverted ziggurat hotels that were barely occupied and shopping centres with few consumer goods to offer. Much of this architecture was completed less than a decade before the economic and political collapse of the Eastern Bloc….”

Read the full review online at The Critic here: https://thecritic.co.uk/melancholy-of-obsolete-futures/

Le Corbusier: 5 x Unités d’habitation

Unité d’habitation was a concept of integrated housing developed by Le Corbusier in collaboration with Nadir Afonso. The concept was intended to provide a unified solution to the challenges of modern life by providing for inhabitants by making a single building for vertical living. It was intended as an advance in urban planning by centralising various services and facilities within the residential area, creating a mixed function building. Although initially conceived in 1920, the Unités d’habitation, as they came to be called, were designed over the period 1945 to 1965. Five blocks were constructed in Marseille (1947-52), Nantes-Rezé (1955), Berlin (1957), Briey-en-Forêt (1963) and Firminy-Vert (1965). Although the plan was intended to have universal application, the Berlin block was the only one built outside France.

[Image: Arthur Zalewski, Unité d’habitation Marseille, 2018]

The creation of different zones (including private living spaces, hotel, common passages, a shopping area and a roof with kindergarten, gymnasium, running track, paddling pool, open space and amphitheatre) was intended to provide inhabitants with a wide range of facilities within a single building, making it a convenient and efficient location within which to live. The independence of the design meant that this building could be reproduced in multiple locations, theoretically obviating the need to the costs and time of producing unique architectural plans. The Marseille building was the first. It was the most complex and expensive. Later buildings were cheaper and had lower specifications. It is the Marseille building which has become iconic, with the other Unités overshadowed by the ground-breaking pioneer project. The Berlin iteration was noticeably different, partly due to climatic reasons. There was no open roof space and the shopping area was omitted. The relative isolation of the Berlin Unité – which is twice the size of the Marseille one, and therefore the largest of the Unités – and the absence of shops has made it a somewhat inconvenient and unappealing place to live, apparently. Briey-en-Forêt is on the periphery of a suburban area and residents rely on public transport and private cars to travel outside of the grounds. This seems to be a fault of the situation rather than of the building.  

[Image: Arthur Zalewski, Unité d’habitation Briey, 2018]

The apartments are appealing. The balconies have grand views (particularly in the upper storeys), sense of privacy and good soundproofing gave residents a living experience previously enjoyed by only a few. Unlike other high-rise designs, the Unités tended to foster frequent contact with neighbours in communal areas and did not (automatically) engender alienation. For everyday needs, the buildings (with the exception of the Berlin one) are relatively convenient and self-contained.

[Image: Arthur Zalewski, Unité d’habitation Berlin, 2018]

There is a case to be made that the Marseille Unité d’habitation was perhaps the single most influential Modernist residential structure. The ideas, appearance and materials of the Unités d’habitation influenced the nascent Brutalist movement. The buildings are largely unadorned, much of the structure of shutter-cast unpainted concrete (béton brut). The roofs are flat and the apartments are modular in nature. The internal designs, fittings and even furniture was designed specifically for the buildings. There were no architectural references to past styles and no concessions to local materials. Every part of the building displayed its function in its appearance. The architect attempted to shun the limitations of its surroundings; there was a refusal to compromise to existing architecture. The buildings are not orientated to align with the streets around them. This is in part to permit the buildings to be placed to the maximum advance to residents in terms of views and light, but it is also an act of defiant independence on the part of Le Corbusier.

Artist and photographer Arthur Zalewski has visited all of the buildings multiple times in recent years and photographed them as they are, with inhabitants and current conditions included. The photographs, curated by Peter Ottmann, are currently being exhibited at C834, Corbusierhaus, Berlin (April-November 2019). The photographs in five changing displays will be of each Unité in turn: Marseille, April-June 2019; Revé, June-July; Berlin, July-August; Briey-en-Forêt, August-October; Firminy, October-November.

[Image: Arthur Zalewski,  Unité d’habitation Firminy, 2018]

Zalewski eschewed photographing portraits of the residents, realising that this would make the body of photographs very distinct in character. Instead we get medium-distance shots of figures within the spaces, giving us atmosphere and showing everyday functioning of the buildings. The photographs are distant views of the building, the situation of the Unités within the streets and the landscape more broadly, close views, interiors of different parts of the building and certain sample apartment interiors. The photographs are a mixture of black and white and colour. The shots show the conditions of the buildings today. Compared to many Modernist buildings by less prominent architects, the Unités are in an adequate state of preservation and maintenance, with few alterations and no apparent graffiti. The materials have aged in a largely sympathetic manner, with lichen spotting the stairwell walls in Nantes-Rezé (a block built partially over water, which in these shots is algae covered). The climatic conditions are distinct and contribute to the impressions of the buildings and how they have aged. The sheltered parapets of Briey-en-Forêt have acquired a rich patina of lichens and moss on the untreated concrete. The Firminy’s mountainous wooded location is in contrast with the situation of the Marseille’s Cité radieuse in its arid sunny setting. Briey-en-Forêt’s foggy climate and tree surrounding give the large building an incongruous impression of being hidden and protected.

The only substantial text in this large-format book is the transcript of a three-person discussion between Arthur Zalewski, architect Peter Ottmann and author Anne König. This is published in French, German and English versions. The interview is very enlightening about the varying histories and characters of the five Unités, including information about how the residents view their buildings. This book is suitable for any fan of Modernist architecture, Brutalism and Le Corbusier; it would also appeal to anyone studying social history.

 

Arthur Zalewski, Peter Ottmann (ed.), Le Corbusier: 5 x Unité. Marseille, Nantes-Rezé, Berlin, Briey, Firminy, Spector Books, 2019, paperback, 384pp, 300 illus., English/French/German text, €34, ISBN 978 39 59 05301 3

© 2019 Alexander Adams

To view my books and art visit www.alexanderadams.art

Israeli Modernist Architecture

“There is no Israeli style yet,” said Israeli designer Rafi Blumenfeld in 1972. “We have no original materials of beauty that can inspire style, no great traditions of design.”

In 1948 the new Israelis faced a question of how the build a state from nothing other than an ostensible ethno-religious loyalty binding together disparate émigrés. There was no unbroken geographically centred, national, architectural tradition for Jews. For many framing history, there has been a common perception that there is a correlation between Zionism and architectural Modernism. An assertive form of paradoxically modern architecture was employed for a state legitimised on a claim to an ancient foundational ancestry.

The Object of Zionism: The Architecture of Israel is a study Israeli architecture, with a stress on the early decades of the state’s attempts to establish an identity and provide both symbolic and critical architecture at a civic and residential level. Sections deal with different periods and issues, including original sources and retrospective analyses. Documents are reproduced, so we have a chance to read the original reviews, reports, letters and statements. Reproductions of official reports and journal articles (most in English, but some in Hebrew, German and French) give us a rich range of primary sources. Translations and transcriptions augment these facsimiles. Numerous photographs of locations, models, plans, maps, projections, blueprints and photographs of construction, completion and present states give us visual sources to accompany the text.

Author Zvi Efrat explains that the dispersal of the Bauhaus in 1933 led to many teachers and students schooled in the International Style, materials and techniques. Many of these were Jewish and gravitated to Mandatory Palestine, which led to a flourishing of Art Deco and Modernist architecture, especially in Tel Aviv, in the 1930s and early 1940s. “In Tel Aviv […] modern architecture became both compulsory and compulsive.” The International Style became ubiquitous in the 1930s. (Tel Aviv was later designated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.) The dry climate and high levels of direct sunlight led were sympathetic to the Modernism style of flat roofs, terraces and brises soleils.

[Image:Apartment building, Tel Aviv, 1959, architects: Avraham Yasky, Amnon Alexandroni]

The potentials for a Zionist state had been discussed for decades before the reality presented itself, so the various architectural inclinations had already been advanced prior to 1948. Consensus led to a rejection of colonial, indigenous and quasi-historical architectural approaches. Hannes Meyer wrote a letter in 1937 to his former student Arieh Sharon in Tel Aviv asking if there was a Jewish-national style of architecture. Sharon’s long reply is transcribed in full, with illustrations. Sharon, a Bauhaus graduate and prominent trade unionist, went on to be commissioned to found the Israeli Planning Department. His book Physical Planning in Israel (1951) became the Sharon Plan, which guided planners and architects in the early phase of Israeli history. It set out principles that could be applied locally without central guidance. This replication established a cellular dispersal.

The objectives of a national plan include: siting of agricultural settlements and location of agricultural areas; determination of a rational and sound distribution of urban centres; effective disposition of industry in the various regions of the country; indication of the road network and centres of communication, and provision of forests and national parks.

Sharon identified three determinant factors in the foundation of Israel: land, people and time. Land was limited and varied in climate; people were immigrants from multiple backgrounds and in need of clear realistic objectives and reasonable living conditions; time was short because of the rudimentary foundation circumstances, rapidly rising population level and need to establish a strong economic, agricultural and military framework in the face of foreign hostility.

For a century, cities had been seen as sources of moral and physiological degeneration, causing writers, politicians, journalists and academics concern. The project of Israel would require a plan for numerous anti-urban garden towns (modelled on the British model) to be founded in a landscape that would be transformed. The settlements were seen as society in microcosm and the aspirations of the nation, encompassing all its conflicting values, so they were scrutinised and debated extensively. Zeev Sternhall identified a problem, as he saw it, with the new state idealising rural settlements:

The condemnation of the city and the cult of a return to nature, to the simplicity, authenticity, and rootedness of the village, was always one of the myths of radical nationalism, not of socialism. Socialism was oriented toward the modern world, industrialized and urban.

For Sternhall, inevitable development towards an urbanised society meant that the romantic rejection of the city as the Zionist ideal was in conflict with the travel of history. The implications of extreme nationalism in recent European history were a matter not lost on the Jewish Diaspora. Sternhall goes on to point out that even in the 1920s and 1930s Mandatory Palestine, 80% of Jews lived in towns. Proposals asserting rural settlements as an idealised target for the new nation (which could never have been a principally agricultural in character) therefore were only one instance of the actualisation of utopian symbolism.

Extensive afforestation, irrigation, desalination and soil conservation projects were initiated, turning barren desert into productive agricultural land. The de-desertification of the Negev Desert was a project of irrigation that was directed by the government. The one hand of the Israeli planners cleared former Palestinian villages was a necessary step in the process of creating the tabula rasa which the other hand thence transformed into the site for a Utopian project such as a kibbutz or a garden city. The Object of Zionism does not shy away from the removal of the Arab population in 1948, the later border wall and the illegal Jewish settlements in the Occupied Territories.

[Image: Amal Lady Davis High Dchool, Tel Aviv, 1965-73, architects: Ram Karmi, Chaim Ketzef, Ben Peleg]

The Kibbutzim were first founded in 1910 as an implementation of the communal ideas of Zionism, Marxism and anarchism. (The name Kibbutz was first used in 1921.) Kibbutzim featured communal dining, group childcare, no fences and common public spaces such as libraries and temples. There were no leaders and decisions were taken by democratic vote. In the new state they would be multiplied across the land to enable national self-sufficiency. The national and political imperatives of independence, agrarian reforms and providing work for millions of migrants aligned in Israeli policies for land use in the first decades of the state’s existence.

New building methods were pioneered. “Cannon houses” made by the method of constructing shuttered structures into which concrete was poured by concrete mixers with long barrels which looked like cannon. The architecture of the desert was in the form of Neptun Hotel and the school in Eilat with wind-catching chimneys to control the interior control climates. “Centralization, serialization, standardization, reductivism, and ergonomic efficiency were not merely the idealized concepts and modes of operation of the Zionist establishment; they were its only option.” Various projects are discussed, showing how an entire nation had to be created from very little in a short period of time. Utopianism was sometimes sacrificed to contingency but a surprisingly strong ideological character can be detected in the urban planning of early periods.

Top architects who planned buildings for Mandatory Palestine and Israel included Erich Mendelsohn, Louis Kahn, Philip Johnson and Oscar Niemeyer. Over 1960-5 Isamu Noguchi was invited to design sculpture garden of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem. Philip Johnson designed Soreq Nuclear Research Centre (1956-9). This volume includes theory and projects by Frederick Kiesler, Alfred Neumann, Kahn and Niemeyer. There is discussion of significant buildings such as the Knesset, Israel Museum and Hebrew University.

[Image: People’s culture house, Beersheba, 1955, architects: Zeev Rechter, Moshe Zarhi, Yaakov Rechter]

Later developments included Brutalism (Yafo City Hall (1957-65)) and I.M. Goodovitch’s saddle system, using undulating concrete slabs as roofs. There were advanced schemes that did not meet with success. The Ramot Polin housing (1972) of polygonal prefabricated cells met with considerable professional and press interest but was rejected by residents, who found the spaces impractical and unsettling. By the late 1960s native Israeli architects were rising to prominence.

The soft power of Israel is apparent in the official encouragement of Israeli architects to work in other states, particularly non-aligned countries in Africa. This was associated to Third Worldism and the Non-Aligned Movement and an attempt for Israel to position itself outside of the influence of the USA and USSR. Israel had more links to the USA than the USSR, not least because of USSR’s policy of engagement and support for Arab nations. Planning, concepts, consultancy and architects were exported to Africa and also Iraq and Iran. One of the most notable Israeli-led projects was the luxurious Abidjan Riviera hotel complex of the late 1960s, as part of Ivory Coast’s aspiration to become an international jet-set destination.

A serious and comprehensive survey, The Object of Zionism should become the foundational volume of any study of Israeli architecture.

 

Zvi Efrat, The Object of Zionism: The Architecture of Israel, Spector Books, 2018, cloth hardback, 951pp, fully illus., €62, ISBN 978 3959 051330

© 2019 Alexander Adams

To view my art and books visit www.alexanderadams.art

Utopia & Collapse: Metsamor

[Image: Observation deck at the pond © Katharina Roters]

In 1966, Soviet authorities decided to situate a nuclear power station in the Soviet Socialist Republic of Armenia. Armenian architect Martin Mikaelyan, assisted by Karen Tiraturyan and Griman Hovespyan, designed an entire city of Metsamor from scratch to provide residences for power-plant workers. The site was near an ancient settlement and rural villages but was on previously agricultural land. The power station was situated 4 km from the city and 15 km from the Turkish border. Work on the city and power plant began in 1969. Metsamor is an atomograd – an atomic city, developed in a way similar to the other single-function urban centres of science cities, academic cities and military cities in the USSR. The USSR had no restrictions in term of permission or public expectation and could therefore exercise complete control over the location and design of new cities. The design of Metsamor would include different zones of housing and public buildings. The centrally planned organisation of the city was apparent in the decision to use a central boiler for heating, with a communal laundry and bathhouse planned.

The first phase was executed and the power station was made operational in 1974. However, the city was never completed. A severe earthquake in 1988 and the dissolution of the USSR sealed the fate of the project. The political and economic support for the Metsamor had already peaked by 1990. The completed city was intended to house a population of 36,000. The actual population level reached a maximum in 1989 (11,959). Although the station produces 40% of Armenia’s electricity supply, the town population is decreasing, now down to an estimated 8,000 (as of 2016). The small population is living with facilities that it cannot adequately use and which are falling into decay and abandonment. The contrast between, on one hand, the optimism of the plan and the assertiveness of the execution and, on the other hand, the incomplete state and dilapidation of town is poignant.

Utopia & Collapse. Rethinking Metsamor: The Armenian Atomic City publishes the plans, architectural drawings and archive photographs of the city alongside new photographs of the current condition of the city. Chapters cover the types of buildings, setting out specifications and notable features. Expert essays examine Metsamor specifically and discuss the metaphorical aspects of this stalled utopian project. There are essays on Martin Mikaelyan and a testimony from a long-term resident of Metsamor. For anyone with an interest in Brutalism and Soviet architecture and society, Utopia & Collapse will be a rewarding read. Not least, the new photographs form a melancholy and beautiful journalistic essay on the plight of people dealing with the ramifications of grandiose top-down central planning and economic stagnation. The views of abandoned buildings – with their littered corridors, emptied rooms and crumbling concrete – are juxtaposed with images of the current residents living in buildings modified in haphazard fashion.

The post-Socialist era saw the liberation of building restrictions. This led to the building of extensions (some multi-storey) attached to the back of properties. The city was redistricted – a tacit acknowledgement that the full plan would never be fully carried out. The removal of municipal control of maintenance has generated gaps, conflict and uncertainty with regard to common spaces in shared buildings. Property owners sometimes refuse to cooperate to clean and maintain common areas – a particular drawback in a settlement consisting largely of shared buildings. Open spaces have been neglected or appropriated by families.

All this is in stark contrast to the original plans. There was a city centre placed between the main residential area with kindergartens and a smaller residential area with a school. This original centre is site of the House of Culture, Music School and hotel. In the post-Soviet era locals found that this division – especially with the city in its current unpopulated state – was unsuitable and formed an ad hoc centre in the middle of the main residential zone, featuring small shops.

[Image: View on the city with power plant in the background © Katharina Roters]

The majority of residential buildings were five-storey, five-storey-linked and nine-storey apartment blocks. These were from standardised designs, using prefabricated components including concrete panels and reinforced concrete pillars and beams. This was usual for Soviet-era construction. All had open balconies, most of which have now been covered. Photographs show the mosaic appearance of different panels, blocks, tarpaulins and windows. These blocks were elevated on pillars, allowing free access for pedestrians below the buildings. The ground level was left open until the proliferation of cars and the deterioration of the Soviet system around 1990, which led to open space being used for parking and being partitioned for commercial use. The linked buildings were blocks connected by multi-level walkways. These were arranged around common courtyards, with curved paths and water features, both made from concrete.

The nine-storey buildings had lifts. Soviet typology regulations stipulated provision of two lifts for buildings over nine-storeys, thus the limiting of Metsamor’s tallest structures to nine storeys was a cost-efficiency measure. The balconies of these are closed and incorporate kitchens. The interconnectedness of the courtyards, provision of walking spaces below apartment blocks and the relatively small low-rise accommodation all worked well. Build control is not discussed but this was often low quality in the USSR. Post-Soviet modifications have not been unsuccessful and the incomplete nature of the city has provided residents with a degree of flexibility. It is the absence of funds for maintenance, lack of varied economic activity and low population which are Metsamor’s principle problems.

On the eastern and northern edges of the city were the sports complex and hospital. The large sporting centre (opened in 1980) is now partially overgrown. Its outdoor pool is drained and matted with weeds. The interior basketball court is still used but most of the structures have been proved too costly to maintain. The city has a strange lopsided imbalance due to the absences of important buildings, facilities and people – that ghostly quality of a city hosting fewer than 15% of its envisaged inhabitants. A spectacular tall water tower – elegant in a clean Brutalist fashion – was never built. (A design for it is illustrated.) Construction on a whole residential district was not started.

The five-storey hotel was designed with guest-room windows orientated to face holy Mount Ararat, tantalisingly just outside Armenia’s borders. Between Metsamor and snow-capped Mount Ararat are the giant cooling towers of the nuclear power plant. (The plant itself is not photographed or described in this book.) The hotel had a capacity for 130 guests but now only the lower floor is used, with the upper floors abandoned. The House of Culture (designed 1975, construction commenced 1979, completed 1986) is one of the few buildings kept in its unmodified original state and in reasonable condition. It is the most important communal building for the populace and well attended for events. The building houses the town library and art school.

[Image: Interior view of the House of Culture © Katharina Roters]

There are some photographs which are heartening. The shots of the functional schools and kindergartens show fresh paint in pastel shades on re-plastered walls after renovation. The shabby Spartan kitchen displays a form of genteel dignity in making do with restricted means. The Music School and House of Culture are cared for as well as possible. Instead of the proposed Museum of Nuclear Power, a church was built in the 2000s, funded by ex-patriate Armenians. Yet the moribund character of the ghost city with its vacant buildings cannot help but recall for viewers Pripyat, the abandoned atomograd of Chernobyl nuclear power plant.

The views of walls peeling paint, swimming pools missing tiles, climbing frames reduced to rusted skeletons and the graffiti has been incised on the plaster walls (the city seems relatively free of spray-paint defacement) make a deep impact. The books of photographs of the collapsing cinemas, decaying ballrooms and overrun townhouses in Detroit speak of the decline of an urban centre due to social and economic decline. Utopia & Collapse speaks of the failure of ideological totalitarianism and also the progressivist ideal of completely designed and controlled system being imposed on people. The project of Modernism – most apparent in the Brutalist architecture and centralised urban planning – offers profound problems for us in that it must work against human nature and the propensity of people to want to adapt, personalise and revise in an improvisatory manner. Both the decline of urban centres due to diminution of heavy industry in Detroit and the vulnerability of Modernist schemes in the face of changing political reality in Metsamor provide us with insights into life.

Metsamor faces seemingly inevitable decline, with its population is dwindling. The 1988 earthquake did not damage the power plant but it prompted concern that future earthquakes could cause serious damage. With obsolescence looming, closure of the nuclear power plant has been suggested for 2026. Although the Soviet experiment may be seen a distant event, its legacy casts a long shadow over the lives and land of today.

 

Katharina Roters, Sarhat Petrosyan (eds.), Utopia & Collapse. Rethinking Metsamor: The Armenian Atomic City, Park Books, 2018, 236pp, 229 col./82 mono illus., €48, ISBN 978 3 03860 094 7

© 2019 Alexander Adams

View my art and books on www.alexanderadams.art