Project Baltia magazine n37 brick

review of architecture and design from finland,
estonia, latvia, lithuania, and north-west russia
brick
Kenneth Frampton:
critical regionalism against
destructive absurdity / 25
Tarja Nurmi: brick a boom / 42
Aleksandr Popadin: City K. / 142
Stepan Vaneyan on architecture
and death / 150
KTA. The Waste Temple / 162
Leonhard Lapin.
Born out of emptiness / 167
37
16+
English version: projectbaltia.com/en

ers, a sewing machine… Nor did Renault leave his garden alone: he
poured everything in it from concrete, including the trees. ‘He did not
contest God s creation: he simply recreated it, to make it more comprehensible
to the mind. Concrete is a true ‘intellectual substance , an ideal
Platonic material! However, it has no qualities of its own. If we are
talking about ‘concreteness as character, this does not sound at all attractive.
So it is hardly surprising that today the concrete world of residential
architecture is busy swapping concrete for brick, looking for salvation
in the properties of its seemingly defeated opponent. It is no
longer sufficient to use metal as the tectonic base for concrete. What
probably makes the difference is fire. Without this primary element no
essence can be completely realized. Of course, Novalis described water
as ‘wet flame , but we also remember that the Spirit moved over the waters.
In trying on brick to see how it looks, architecture, although today
still mostly concrete, is preparing for its reincarnation.
Brickness can probably exist all by itself, but without brick it will find
it difficult to be convincing. Stripped of the qualities that are inherent in
it, brick will be completely lost. Is this not why silicate brick has always
been perceived as a second-class material…?
There is a story of a miracle performed by Saint Spiridon: bearing
witness to the nature of the Holy Trinity at the First Ecumenical Council,
he took a brick, raised it above his head, and squeezed it: a flame
shot upwards to the sky, water streamed to the ground, and his hand
was left holding clay. ‘Three elements, but just one brick, pronounced
the sanctifier.
With
this 37th issue we conclude the 15 years of Project Baltia
s existence. Have we reached and fully explored the unknown
land of which wrote Pliny the Elder and which gave its name to the
Baltic Sea and then to our journal? Yes and no: every ‘project is a utopia.
And yet the thousands of works of architecture shown on the pages of
our journal have helped us see more similarities than differences in the
architectural situations in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland, and North-
West Russia. We have analyzed buildings in our region and – following
the advice of Kenneth Frampton – have everywhere sought manifestations
of ‘critical regionalism . The dramatic transformation that our planet
is undergoing today will lead to architecture changing as an art and
to changes in the ‘architecture of the world too. Will this be a ‘new world
order , or will mankind be able to find a new way of building, living, and
thinking, tuning in to the complete ‘Fourfold (as Heidegger describes the
entirety of the universe: between sky and earth, the divine world and the
environment of mortals)? The words of our Baltic publishing house will
certainly find a new form – and moulded and fired, will stand as another
brick on the shelves of our libraries.
Vladimir Frolov
Diogenes, we are told by his namesake Laertios,
once argued with Plato, who asserted that there are ideas of things. ‘I see
a table, but I don t see any tableness, objected the cynic. Plato appealed
to his opponent s reason, proposing that we should not trust exclusively
empirical perception. This ‘brick issue of Project Baltia on the one hand
notes the ‘material turn taken by architecture, a change of direction in
which one of the most notable manifestations has been the spread of a
‘new brick style . The critic Akos Moravansky, who in 2018 published Metamorphism.
Material Change in Architecture, emphasizes the new significance
which the physical aspect of construction has acquired in the light
of disappointment in the trends of the 2000s with their focus on dematerialization
and enhanced reality. Today, however, it is clear that a fascination
with textures and colour has by no means meant a shift away from
‘smartifying the city or reduced the role of digital communication in perception
of architecture. A brick wall is a fine background for photo sessions.
‘Here, there s nothing but brickness, a modern Diogenes might object, directing
the beam of his flashlight at the thin layer of brickwork covering up
the concrete structure underneath.
Plato, of course, was not at all talking about the kind of ‘brickness
which the market demands today. What he had in mind was not eyecatching
qualities but ‘eternal, cerebral eide (ideas). What is the uniqueness
of brick, its ‘meaning-generating force, to use the words of Aleksandr
Stepanov (p. 29)? Not merely, of course, the fact that it is ‘the second
most ecological material after wood, as Kenneth Frampton explains in an
interview for our journal (p. 26). Brick s character is bound up with the
means of its production. Brick is manmade, as opposed to a creation of
nature: it is artificial. At the same time, the technology of its manufacture,
which has remained unchanged over the centuries, is simple and
natural. Moravansky quotes the opinion of the 20th-century Spanish engineer
Eduardo Torroja that brick was the first material created by the
human intelligence using all four elements: earth, air, water, and fire (p.
34). It is possibly precisely for this reason that Aalto s love for brick was
as strong as his affection for wood, as is testified by his experimental
house in Muuratsalo. At the centre of this house and in the middle of the
courtyard is a fireplace, a home for fire and a combination of the chthonic
and celestial worlds.
According to Gottfried Semper, to whom Moravansky also refers, construction
using brick follows the principle of tectonics that derives from
the ancient use of wicker partitions to divide space and is opposed to
stereotomy (the art of the mason). In this case what we are talking about
is a Modernist treatment of the wall as a curtain. And that means that
this kind of ‘tectonic architecture is not so very different from glass architecture
and also lends itself to the ‘decoration of urban space (see
Teatrograd, the 36th issue of Project Baltia). House construction in our
time (p. 41) suffers from ‘a libidinous attraction to the attainment of
maximally expressive originality (Frampton). Clearly, the spread of the
loft aesthetic that has accompanied the reconstruction of industrial and
other buildings (p. 107) is an expression of this tendency. ‘Loftification
involves not just laying bare coarse texture but also working with what
has been lost; it often itself leads to destruction, even if it remains part
of global urbanization. However, as shown by the history of the city fortress
of Koenigbsburg/Kaliningrad (‘K city ), brick architecture has always
been ready to resist the ruination that follows military action (p.
141). Possibly, the true uniqueness of brick lies in its amazing ability to
regenerate. The scattered remains of broken buildings are gathered together
into new structures; old brick only seems to make new buildings
stronger (p. 74).
This is not the character of brick s main competitor, concrete, the triumphal
victor of the 20th century. In his book Symbolic Exchange and
Death Jean Baudrillard tells the story of Camille Renault, an eccentric
cook from the Ardennes who had the idea of recreating his living space
by making all the household objects in it from concrete: ‘… chairs, draweditorial

Events 4
Brick 25
Critical regionalism against destructive absurdity. Interview with Kenneth Frampton 26
Aleksandr Stepanov. Brick and its meanings 29
Danil Ovcharenko. A brief history of brick 31
Vladimir Frolov. ‘My name is red’. Brick and its colour in architecture today 34
House building 41
fi. Tarja Nurmi. Brick a boom 42
fi. Lahdelma & Mahlamaki. KYMP office building, Helsinki 44
fi. K2S. Yuliveiska church, Юливиеска 48
fi. Rudanko + Kankkunen. Sipoonlahti school, Sipoo 52
ee. The warmth of natural clay. Interview with Margit Mutso 56
ee. Arhitekt Must. Health centre, Suure-Jaani 58
ee. PART Architects. Tunnel and pedestrian bridge, Tartu 62
ru. Yevgeniy Novosadyuk.Vitruvius in brick 66
ru. Studio 44. ‘Patio’ and ‘Cour d’honneur’ residential complexes, Pskov 68
ru. St Petersburg is a brick place. Interview with Mikhail Mamoshin 70
ru. Tektonika. Church of St George the Victorious, Tsvylevo , Leningrad region 74
ru. GK MPI, TOBE Architects. ‘Botanika’ residential complex, St Petersburg 76
ru. Zukauskas Architects. Docklands loft district, St Petersburg 82
ru. B2. ‘Maxidom’ shopping centre, St Petersburg 85
ru. Semren & Mansson: holistic architecture. Interview with Magnus Mansson and Maria Broman 88
ru. Tatyana Brovkina. Brick: a mix of instincts and technologies 91
lt. Architekturos linija. Street block in Paupys, Vilnius 94
lt. Donatas Rakauskas. ‘Egle’ residential complex, Palanga 98
lv. Artis Zvirgzdins. Contemporary brick architecture in Latvia 102
Reconstruction 107
ru. St Petersburg brick heritage: between Scylla and Charybdis. Interview with Margarita Stieglitz 108
ru. Grigoryev and partners. ‘Four horizons’ and ‘House on a Bend in the Neva’ residential complexes, St Petersburg 111
ru. Artem Nikiforov. ‘Depot no. 1’ business centre, St Petersburg 114
ru. ludi_architects. Reconstruction of ‘Building 12’, Novaya Gollandiya, St Petersburg 120
ru. Serious Project. SHKAF library and art residence, St Petersburg 124
fi. Tommila Architects. Soiva. Metropolia pop and jazz conservatory and University of applied science, Helsinki 129
lv. Sudraba Architects. Hanzas Perons cultural centre, Riga 134
ee. KAOS Arhitektid. Viljandi park hotel, Viljandi 138
City K. 141
ru. City K. Interview with Alsksandr Popadin 142
Discussion 149
‘Architecture and Death’
Stepan Vaneyan. Architecture to death and death to architecture: the architectonic body between Logos and Tanatos 150
Vilen Kunnapu. Emotional death and mandala 154
Valeriya Tolkacheva. Death in the big city 156
Andrey Larionov. Brutalism and death. The morgue on Detskaya ulitsa 159
KTA. The Waste Temple 162
Born out of emptiness. Interview with Leonhard Lapin 167
Competitions 169
ru. Yekaterina Liphart. Poetry in brick. Results of the 2nd All-Russian ‘Brick’ competition 170
ru. Yekaterina Liphart. ‘Redthread’ and ‘Urbangrove’. The results of ‘AAG. Mendesohn’s architectural studio’ workshop 179
ru. Yekaterina Liphart, Darya Byvshikh. ‘Soft power’ of Russian science. Results of ‘Strelka medium: science quarter’ foresight 185
ru. Ilya Mukosey: consultant’s afterword 188
Design and technology 189
The brick age of ornament. Interview with Yuri Khitrov 190
Chief architect of ‘Zodchestvo’. Interview with Aleksey Komov 194
Mariya Fadeeva. 30 years of office design in projects by ABD architects 196
Aleksandr Velikodniy. KNAUF: working with bric 199
Yelena Maslova. Landscaping: your quality forecast 202
Is it possible to ‘touch’ the light? A laboratory of lighting experiments by aledo 204
Catalogue 206
3 сontents
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s Bart Goldhoorn
at the presentation
of the first issue of
Project Baltia in Tallinn.
2007
s Sergei Tchoban
leads the 4 th
Diogenes’ Clausura.
2018
t Aleksey Levchuk
at the presentation
of FLAKES at Moskva
Restaurant. 2009
t Brian Hatton
reads a lecture at
the Drevolyutsiya
Festival. 2016
s Vladimir Frolov
and Andis Silis at the
Latvian Museum of
Architecture. 2008
t Elizaveta Parkkonen
at the ‘Ofis.
SPb’ Festival. 2018
t The photographer
Alisa Gill at the
opening of the Baltic
Libraries exhibition.
2021
photo: Alisa Gill
t Kimmo Lintula
leads the 16 th Diogenes’
Clausura at
SPbGASU. 2019
s Ilze Martinsone,
Vladimir Frolov,
and Artis Zvirgzdiņš
at the opening of
NORDIC BLOCK, an
exhibition at the
Latvian Museum of
Architecture. 2017
t The critic and
curator Mariya
Fadeeva at Tochka
Gallery. 2021
photo: Ivan Chernykh photo: Marina Nikiforova
1
Baltia
An end and a beginning
In June 2022 Project Baltia
will celebrate its 15th
anniversary and halt publication
of its journal in
response to the complex
international situation.
Project Baltia was set up by
the art historian Vladimir Frolov
and the Dutch architect Bart
Goldhorn in 2007. The journal’s
objective was to keep an architectural
record for the Baltic
region (five countries). Its
headquarters was St Petersburg,
the largest megalopolis
on the Baltic and a centre of international
cooperation in the
field of economics and culture.
The journal’s second stronghold
was Finland, whose architectural
school at that moment
seemed the most vigorous. Latvia,
Lithuania, and Estonia,
united by a shared Soviet past,
were looking for their own
paths for development, trying
to fit into the global agenda
while also taking strength
from their national roots. The
prototypes for our journal were
media covering the Scandinavian
region as a whole, as well
as the Swedish journal Forum.
Later, the Norwegians created
a further North European project
– Conditions, which proved
short-lived. The format of this
type of media is broader than
local but narrower than global;
this makes it possible to work
with a relatively large and complex
part of reality without having
to deal with an excessive
scale or number of phenomena
and without the risk of being
confined by the always too specific
situation that exists on a
narrow local market.
Over the 15 years that our
journal has existed, we have
published 37 issues and held
dozens of exhibitions all over
the region. The numerous competitions,
seminars, lectures,
and discussions we have organized
continue to be among
the best attended in St Petersburg,
principally due the richness
of their content. Balticum,
our publishing house, will continue
to operate, and we will
continue to organize events,
but, due to the conspicuous political
contradictions that exist
between the countries which
are its subject, Project Baltia
magazine is no longer possible
in the form it has had since
its first publication. Nevertheless,
we hang on to the hope
that the journal can be reborn
in the future; when this might
happen is not something we
can predict.
We are grateful to all who
have helped publish this
unique journal, and, above
all, to the architects, critics,
and photographers without
whose work no publication
would have been possible.
Here there is space to mention
only a few names: the architects
Oleg Romanov, Pekka
Helin, Sergei Tchoban, Evgeny
Gerasimov, Vladimir Grigorev,
Mikhail Mamoshin, Nikita
Yaveyn, Feliks Buyanov, Kirill
Asse, Vladimir Linov, Ilya Filomonov,
Wolfgang Kiel, Kari
Kuosma, Netta Bjoek, Andis
Silis, Aleksey Levchuk, Vilen
Kunnapu, Villem Tomiste, Mihkel
Tüür, Karin Hallas-Murula,
Miia-Liina Tommila, Magnus
Monsson, Sergei Padalko, Olavi
Koponen, Marco Casagrande,
Tomas Grunskis, Ronaldas Paliakas,
Juha Miaki-Jullilia, Sami
Rintala, Ilva Frid, Lyubov Leonteva,
Elena Mironova (ITR),
Stepan Liphart, Petr Sovetnikov,
and Vera Stepanskaya; the
architecture critics and historians
Aleksandr Rappaport, Juhani
Pallasmaa, Hans Ibelings,
Aleksandr Stepanov, Vladimir
Lisovsky, Sergey Sitar, Dmitry
Sukhin, Lyudmila Likhacheva,
Anna Matveeva, Konstantin
Budarin, Dmitry Kozlov, Tarja
Nurmi, Anita Antenišķe, Artis
Zvirgzdiņš, Ilze Martinsone,
Triin Ojari, Mihkel Karu, Andres
Kurg, Ljutauras Nekrošius,
Tomas Butkus, Brian Hatton,
Daniyar Yusupov, Dmitry
Golynko, Tomas Ivan Tryaskman,
Timo Keinianen, Anni
Vartola, Staffan Lodenius, Esa
Laaksonen, and Panu Lehtovuori;
and the photographers
Raimondas Urbakavičius, Tuomas
Uusheimo, Ansis Starks,
Tõnu Tunnel, Kaido Haagen,
Aleksey Naroditsky, Alisa Gil,
and Aleksey Bogolepov. We
thank you all sincerely for supporting
Project Baltia and for
taking part in its work.
A separate thank you is due
to those who at various periods
in Project Baltia’s history
have helped manage the project:
Anna Belodedova, Dina
Grigoreva, Nataliya Georgieva,
Aleksandra Anikina, Anastasiya
Kasatkina, and Elena Lebedeva.
The operation of the
journal was especially effective
when the team included Ariadna
Arendt, Kseniya Litvinenko
(Kroll), Anastasiya Basova,
Kseniya Butuzova, Olga Zhitlina,
Marianna Strunnikova, Ilya
Arkhipenko, Lyubov Rodyukova,
Anastasia Karkotskaya, Karina
Kharebova, Polina Svetozarova-Mezhevich,
Kseniya Surikova,
Valeriya Tolkacheva, Liza
Strizhova, Marina Nikiforova,
Gregor Taul, Elizaveta Parkonnen,
Danil Ovcharenko, and
Evgeny Lobanov.
An international publication
would have been impossible
without the dedicated work of
our translator and English-language
editor, John Nicolson.
We also, of course, thank
all the commercial companies
which have given our journal
long-term or one-off support
by advertising or organizing
an event with us. Project Baltia’s
international activities
have long since overstepped
the borders of our home region
(five states), and we have taken
pleasure in working with
all kinds of organizations representing
western culture in
Russia (including the Netherlands,
France, Germany, etc.).
We would like to say a particular
thank you to the Association
of Finnish Architects'
Offices (ATL) for holding the
festival ‘Finnish Architecture
Days’, which has become a regular
fixture in the calendar, and
to Sani Kontula-Webb, the director
of the Finnish Institute
in St Petersburg, in particular,
for her support in both word
and deed. Dialogue between
professionals from different
countries is absolutely necessary
and essentially never fully
stops. In putting a temporary
end to our international project
in 2022, the year of the 350th
anniversary of the birth of Peter
the Great, we believe that
what Peter started will live on;
all flags will once again come
back to visit us – to Russia’s
cultural capital on the banks
of the Neva, an influential spiritual
centre in north Europe, a
place of respectful and productive
interaction between East
and West.
The team that works on Project
Baltia today is the publishing
team indicated in the
colophon. It includes our untiring
literary editor and proofreader
Andrey Bauman and
graphic designer Elena Bobicheva;
project manager Ekaterina
Liphart; book-keeper
Viktoriya Chapurina; photographer
and graphic designer
Alisa Gil; as well as our new recruits
Darya Shekhovtsova and
Varvara Shmeleva. Our team
will continue working. Mainly,
we shall be focussing on:
publication of balanced, professional
material in the field
of architectural theory, analysis,
and criticism; presentation
of important projects and
buildings; and organization of
a wide range of events aimed at
improving the quality of modern
architecture in our Baltic
city. The old is ending, but the
new is coming and has the old
to thank for its entrance into
this world.
The Editors
5 events
6 events

2
Estonia
Digital-build
The sixth Tallinn Architecture
Biennale (TAB) of
2021 has been postponed
to 2022. The results of a
two-stage open competition
for the installation
became known last year:
the winner was "Burlasite"
from the Australian
duo Simulaa and Natalie
Alima. Yet this installation
was later replaced
by HEARTBLOB group’s
"Fungible – Nonfungible"
whose design is soon to
be put into practise.
The Tallinn Architecture Biennale
will be open to the public
on 7 September 2022, and its
installation will be on display
until 2024 in front of the main
façade of the Estonian Museum
of Architecture.
The first winner was a wooden
structure produced by a 3D
printer from local timber waste
products mixed with a biodegradable
polymer. Mycelium
spores that would completely
envelop the entire structure
were then supposed to be injected
into the finished wooden
frame. The the object's appearance
would then depend on the
process of the fungi's growth.
Burlasite's creators claim that
their design starts with the hut
archetype and at once subverts
it, since the wooden frame
would gradually decompose
and give the installation's determining
element over to the
mycelium structure: "Reformed
through bespoke generative algorithms
the base structure is
no longer a hut, but something
closer to the Grotto or the subterranean
root growth of a tree."
Despite the considerable beauty
of the concept and full compliance
with the philosophy of
eco-sustainability and – to a
certain extent – Latourian Actor
Network theory, the work
turned out to be, apparently,
too difficult to put into practise.
The new winner of the competition
was the project of the
Austrian group IHEARTBLOB
Fungible Non-Fungible. At our
request, the director of the Estonian
Museum of Architecture,
Triin Oyari, commented on the
jury's final selection:
"The installations of the Tallinn
Biennale each time reflect
a fresh and innovative idea, allowing
us to imagine possible
future architectures. The
modularity of structural elements,
co-creation and the
so-called user revolution are
topics at the forefront of contemporary
architectural discussions.
IHEARTBLOB's Fungible
Non-Fungible pavilion represents
a new, decentralized
approach to architectural design,
production and financing,
where the community
becomes both designer and investor.
This leads to a structure
that has an equality that
develops and grows The facility
will be the first installation
to receive funds entirely from
t Simulaa and Natali
Alima. Burlasite.
Project for the installations
competition
at Tallinn Biennale of
Architecture 2022.
This project was first
declared the winner
but was subsequently
rejected by the
organizers
v IHEARTBLOB.
Interchangeable –
replaceable. Winning
project in the installations
competition
at Tallinn Biennale of
Architecture 2022
the blockchain, using non-fungible
token technology (NFT – a
generative tool that allows individuals
to design and "monetize"
the process of creating
digital objects and authenticating
ownership of them). All installations
of the Biennale are
set in a prominent place in Tallinn’s
city centre, opposite the
Estonian Museum of Architecture;
they thus become spatial
accents that celebrate the inventive
and experimental power
of architecture. The objects
attract curious citizens and invoke
thoughts about how we
will build in the future."
Note that the theme of TAB
2022 is: "Edible; Or, The Architecture
of Metabolism." The Biennale
and its competition, as
well as its aim, is termed "Slow
Building" – to rethink and revise
the logic of the circular
economy and how such logic is
reflected in the field of design,
architecture and the creation of
the urban environment.
The Editors
3
Russia
The ice and flame of utopia
Perhaps the main news
for St Petersburg in the
field of urban planning in
2021 was the announcement
of Gazprom’s plans
to erect two new skyscrapers
that will form
an ensemble together
with the already existing
Lakhta Centre (462 metres
high).
In May 2021 Gazprom announced
its intention to erect
the 703-metre-high Lakhta
Centre 2, the second tallest
building in the world after the
Burj Khalifa in Dubai (828 metres
high), and then in December
the press published the
news that Gazprom ‘is discussing
with the St Petersburg authorities
the possibility of
building a third cloud-scraper,
555 metres high, in Lakhta.’
The architect of the highest element
in this tripartite complex
is the Briton Tony Kettle,
with whom Gazprom worked
on the first Lakhta Centre (Kettle
was head of RMJN, the authors
of the first project for the
landmark building). Judging by
the character of the formal design,
the newest spire might be
designed by the same firm, but
this has nowhere been officially
announced.
It is unusual that the
703-metre-high colossus (the
number refers to the year
in which St Petersburg was
founded) was shown in the project
proposal as if standing
amidst the waters of the Gulf of
Finland; however, this does not
mean that it will actually be
built on an artificial island. The
design site Dezeen asserts that
the location for the skyscraper
has not yet been determined.
After the erection of a third element,
writes Rosbalt, the city
will be able to lay claim to the
title of ‘capital of skyscrapers’.
The video presentation of
Lakhta 3 likewise provides no
clue as to the building’s location:
all we can conclude is that
it has a complex, even excessively
elaborate structure.
All three high-rise buildings
have something in common:
above all, they share the motif
of the spiral, which brings to
mind all kinds of associations –
from DNA to a drill or propeller,
or perhaps a Gothic spire.
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7

image: Gazprom image: Gazprom
Images like this are also to be
found in both works by Francesco
Borromini, the master of
Baroque, and Russian church
architecture. Of the abovementioned
structures, the first
(already realized) seems the
simplest, and the last the most
intricate.
It is clear that in spite of the
projects’ historical allusions
and masterful engineering,
their appearance in the Lakhta
landscape will increase the visual
pressure on the historical
centre of St Petersburg. What
is planned now is no longer a
solitary high-rise but a new financial
City – in terms of urban
planning, a classical example
of a ‘city within a city’. Unlike
Moscow City, the Lakhta version
is situated at a distance
from the city centre, forming a
kind of alternative centre (the
‘heart of the new Petersburg’, to
quote Kirill Smirnov, editor in
chief of the newspaper Petersburgsky
dnevnik).
In the first issue of Project
Baltia in 2007 (theme: Water)
we published an interview
with Rem Koolhaas, a participant
in the competition to design
the first skyscraper, which
was then planned for a site in
the district of Okhta, where the
Swedish fortress of Nienshants
had stood. The competition
was won by RMJM. Koolhaas
said that he had been inspired
by the work of Malevich and
late Soviet Modernism. In the
same issue the theoretician
Aleksandr Rappaport pointed
to another aspect of the
planned landmark – its link
with the element of fire. ‘Rising
up like a ghost, the image
of Gazprom’s skyscraper reminds
me of the fate of a dam:
this building is precisely a new
temple for worshippers of fire,
venerators of the fiery, gassy
s Tony Kettle.
Concept for the
Lakhta Centre 2
skyscraper (height:
703 metres). 2021
s Tony Kettle.
Concept for the
Lakhta Centre 3
skyscraper (height:
555 metres). 2021
v RMJM, Gorproekt.
Lakhta Centre,
mixed-use complex
in St Petersburg
(height: 462 metres).
2018
element which has intruded on
the marriage of Earth and Water,
River and Stone… The force
and charm of the Baltic landscape
derive not from towers –
here the clouds sail by low
enough as it is – but from the
thick covering of forest and the
experiences of being lost and
finding shelter.’
However, the associations
with fire are here joined by
others – relating to the theme
of ice, cold, and frozen water.
The fact that the proposal
shows the 703-metre-high
building springing directly
from the smooth expanse of
the gulf merely underlines its
belonging precisely to this element.
In a sense this is a revival
of the image of the Ice House
which Empress Anna built to
entertain her court. That skyscrapers
have a media effect
as opposed to a purely pragmatic
role is unquestionable.
The cold northern light has to
be clearly visible not just to all
inhabitants of St Petersburg
but far beyond Russian’s borders.
As far as we may judge,
the geopolitical idea of the project’s
initiators is precisely to
strengthen St Petersburg as a
global centre. However, 2022
has placed the world before
the problem of post-globalizational
development, which only
reinforces the informational opposition
between the various
centres of force.
The indeterminacy of the geographic
locations of the new
elements in the triad of highrise
buildings allows us to
understand a further – less evident
– meaning of the project.
This relates to the problem of
form and content in architecture.
The realized skyscraper
has yet to be occupied by users
and for the moment serves only
as a sign or monument (here
we might see analogies with
an obelisk or sculpture). This
prompts us to ask: does a utopia
become less utopian when
it has been realized in the
flesh? Is it actually possible to
live in a project or a full-size
scale model of a building? As
Aleksandr Bryullov, the 19thcentury
Petersburg architect
used to say, ‘in the floor plan
we walk; in the cross-section
we breathe and live’ – a hint at
the responsibility which rests
on architects working on ‘abstract’
sketches and diagrams.
Architecture as a component of
technological civilization with
its inescapable progressivism
tends towards realization of
absolutely everything that has
been planned and towards trying
everything that is possible.
However, as a high art of
form, it also knows that harmony
is based on moderation,
which in its turn relates to ultimate
truth. At the same time,
projects and structures, like
other works of art, are always
essentially a reflection of the
consciousness (and the subconscious)
of human communities,
and for this reason lack of
moderation in the former is a
clear sign of the state of mind
of the latter.
Vladimir Frolov
4
Finland
Memories of wood
Lyypekinlaituri (part of
the South Harbour) in
the centre of Helsinki has
finally acquired the new
architectural content it
was waiting for – in the
form of a wooden pavilion
by Verstas Architects.
photo: Anton Galakhov (ru.wikipedia.org)
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9

photo: Tuomas Uusheimo
The pavilion was built as the
starting point for the Helsinki
Biennale of 2021. The
festival was held on the island
of Vallisaari during the
summer months. Previously,
this site had featured in the
competitions for ‘Multi-coloured
harbour’ (2011) and the
Guggenheim Museum (2014–
2015). The future of the South
Harbour as a whole is still at
the planning stage: yet another
competition is currently underway.
The pavilion that opened
in the summer of 2021 is a temporary
solution.
Helsinki Biennial is a contemporary-art
event organized
by the city of Helsinki together
with Helsinki Art Museum. Last
year’s festival was the first,
postponed from 2020 due to
the pandemic.
When the biennale finished,
the pavilion, which takes the
form of a small spiral cliff, continued
to function 24 hours a
day and all year round, offering
visitors a chance to look at
the city from different heights.
The pandemic has made minor
architectural forms more relevant
than ever: the numerous
restrictions on how people can
meet have led to interaction in
cafes and restaurants increasingly
being replaced by outside
meetings; the city centre (periodically)
has fallen strangely
empty.
This skilfully executed
wooden structure was made at
a small boatyard and shipped
to the site by raft. Interestingly,
the entire design process
was three-dimensional. Instead
of traditional two-dimensional
architect’s drawings, use
was made of a 3D model based
on volumetric clay forms. The
pavilion looks its best when
seen against the background
of wooden boats. During the
winter, when boats and yachts
stop visiting the harbour, the
pavilion acts as the city’s collective
‘memory of wood’.
Elizaveta Parkkonen
5
Lithuania
Language of the landmark
After considering the
33 works submitted for
the competition (www.
vilniusconnect.lt), the
international committee
declared the winner to be
Green Connect by Zaha
Hadid Architects.
Second prize went to B&M Architects
of Finland; third place,
to SBS Engineering Group.
Fourth place was taken by a
wu Verstas Architects.
Temporary pavilion
at the Helsinki
Biennale. 2021
t Zaha Hadid
Architects. Competition
proposal for
reconstruction of the
railway station in
Vilnius. 1 st prize
11
joint project by Archinova
(Lithuania) and PLH Arkitekter
(Denmark). Fifth place went to
Shenzhen Aube Architectural
Engineering Design (China).
The bids competition announced
in March 2021 for the
development of Vilnius Railway
Station and adjacent territories
is part of a project to renew
the railway infrastructure
in the Baltic states. The cost of
modernizing Rail Baltica’s infrastructure
from Warsaw to
Tallinn is 5.8 billion euros. The
intention is to build an electrified
two-track railway line. The
competition to design Vilnius
Station was commissioned by
LTG Infra, which operates Lithuania’s
railways network, and
the administration of the city
of Vilnius and run by the consulting
company Civitta and
the Lithuanian Association of
Architects.
The jury noted the finished,
highly detailed quality
of Green Connect, emphasizing
‘the value of the suspended
bridge, which elegantly projects
movement in its smoothly
curving lines.’ However, they
recommended that Zaha Hadid
Architects reconsider the positioning
of the arc, which here
seems ‘slightly random’. The
form of the amphitheatre echoes
the outlines of the bridge
– another feature that pleased
the jury, which noted the care
taken over articulating the urban
structures in this project.
‘The project truly captures the
spirit of a modern station, creates
a modern public space,
and makes a good fit with the
historical context. This proposal
unifies the language of the
landmark; this is landscape design
that offers new possibilities
for using Vilnius’ spaces.’
Implementation of this project
will create a modern passenger
terminal and other
infrastructure. Taking on the
role of new city centre, the
complex will also solve the
problem of Vilnius’ coherence:
it will unite central parts of the
city which were separated by
the construction of the railway
in the 19th century.
The station’s historical
buildings will be incorporated
in the future complex. The
most interesting of these is
photo: Tuomas Uusheimo
Коллекция: Copper/Brass
Цвет: Dark Green Copper Patina
Жилой комплекс «Артхаус» в Санкт-Петербурге
Заказчик: СК «Красная Стрела» (первоначально – ООО «Адамант»)
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Авторский коллектив: М. А. Мамошин, А. Х. Богатырёва, П. В. Веряскин, Д. Ю. Гришко,
А. М. Мамошин, при участии Е. Д. Бекетова, А. П. Федченко, Ю. С. Хомяк
Местоположение: Санкт-Петербург, Звенигородская ул., 7а
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театра (проект ООО «Архитектурная мастерская Мамошина», 2015) и Багратионовским сквером. В основании здания – естественный камень
(цоколь, первый этаж), дальше «кирпич», сверху – «медное» мансардное двухэтажное завершение, созданное из изделий компании Cladding Solutions.
Цвет панелей, используемый в проекте, – Dark Green Copper Patina.
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the passenger terminal building,
erected in 1861 to a design
by the French architect Pirelli.
Destroyed during the war,
the station building was reconstructed
in 1950 to plans
by Petr Astashin (Leningrad
branch of the USSR Institute
of Transport Planning) and later
restored by the well-known
Lithuanian architects Romualdas
Šilinskas (1965) and Vytautas
Čekanauskas (2003).
Liutauras Nekrošius
6
Russia
The conservative option
At the beginning of 2022
we discovered that instead
of realization of the
plan to create a new park,
Tuchkov Buyan Park, construction
of the Supreme
Court complex had resumed
on what used to
be Vatny Island in St Petersburg.
The authorities’ decision met
with fierce criticism from the
public. Despite civil servants’
protestations that the project
will involve the creation of a
green recreational zone as well
as court buildings on the banks
of the Malaya Neva, citizens
were annoyed by the abrupt rejection
of the idea of a large
public space in the centre of St
Petersburg.
The reasons for Petersburgers’
dissatisfaction are clear:
first, the park was a kind of
present to the city in the run
up the elections; second, its
functional programme was
based on numerous surveys
of public opinion. A serious international
competition had
been held, won by Studiya 44,
together with the Dutch landscape
designers West 8 (see:
Project Baltia, 2021, no. 36,
pp. 207-214). Unsurprisingly,
when a decision is taken behind
the scenes without consideration
for the opinions of
local inhabitants, they take a
dim view.
u Zaha Hadid
Architects. Competition
proposal for
reconstruction of the
railway station in
Vilnius. 1 st prize
v Coop Himmelb(l)au.
Competition proposal
for SKA Arena on the
site of the SKK in
St Petersburg. 1 st prize
Yet if we put aside these political
and ethical considerations
and look at this new plan
for urban development of Vatny
Island from a purely professional
point of view and on
its merits, then a more important
and positive circumstance
comes to light.
This is that the city of St Petersburg
has refused to indulge
the public’s desire for the creation
of a landscape attraction
with hills and glass cubes (a local
Zaryadie Park) right in the
middle of St Petersburg’s main
architectural ensemble.
We should remember that
in previous eras St Petersburg
likewise rejected such exotic
projects. A century ago, for instance,
it turned down plans
to build a gigantic stadium on
Vatny Island in the Russian
Revival style and a cyclopic
project for an Art Nouveau
concert hall on reclaimed land
at the tip of the island. So,
there is nothing new in the
city choosing the conservative
option.
Danil Ovcharenko
7
Russia
Deconstructing Leningrad
This summer brought the
results of an architecture
competition to design an
ice arena to replace the
demolished SKK sports
and concert complex, a
recognized masterpiece
of Soviet engineering.
More than 18 months passed
from the moment when the Petersburgsky
Sports and Concert
Complex (formerly, the
V.I. Lenin Sports and Concert
Complex) ‘unexpectedly’ collapsed
– one day before it was
due to be classified as an architectural
monument (architects:
Nikolay Baranov et al.,
1980; demolished in 2020).
On the site of the destroyed
icon of Leningrad Modernism
a new ice arena is being
built at high speed. Construction
work began, locals point
out, long before the results of
the international competition
were announced. The image of
the ice arena evolved from a
‘bandaged tin’ (in the original
sketch by masterskaya Litvinova)
to the aerodynamic deconstructivism
of the project by
Coop Himmelb(l)au (the winner
of the competition), which
was inspired, say the Austrian
architects, by the art of the
Soviet Avant-garde. Concepts
were also submitted by three
other firms of architects: Asymptote
Architecture from the
USA (sources of inspiration:
‘Higgs boson… and the work of
Naum Gabo, one of the leaders
of the global Avant-garde), the
Finnish architects M.A.R.K. Architect
Seppo Mantyla (whose
concept references Yury Gagarin’s
flight into space and is
tectonically close to the look
of the lost building), and Zemtsov,
Kondiayn, and Partners
(‘the image of the starry sky
and the Milky Way’).
The structure and overall
layout of the arena in the winning
project refer to ‘Tatlin’s
Tower’, the dynamics of whose
structures may be compared
with the movement of a man
skating through a stadium. The
Austrian architects also designed
a park with mixed-use
areas for all-year-round use;
the structure of the paths was
inspired by a graphic composition
by El Lissitzky. Despite
the image’s expressionism, the
new design for SKA Arena has
a whiff of formalism about it:
we detect a striving to surprise
regardless of irrationality of
structure, technical complexity,
and expense (the estimate for
construction costs has already
ballooned by 12 billion euros).
The architecture of the original
SKK arena was, by contrast, notable
for its economy and rationality
and use of innovation
to reduce expenditure and simplify
construction.
The simple form, tranquil
lines, austere rhythm, and
symmetry of the lost SKK
building reminded people of
the Apollonian principles present
in the rationalized ordering
of life under socialism with
its planned economy, a system
which subordinated everything
to a single intention.
The competition project selected
by the client and the
jury reveal an image which is
the exact opposite of the latter:
based on Dionysian principles,
it symbolizes the
dynamic equilibrium and controlled
chaos of the market
economy. Like the Soviet Union
during its last years, the
old SKK building fell into disrepair,
began to be used for
purposes other than that originally
intended, and was eventually
knocked down. It took
with it the life of a young welder,
a sacral victim of the grasping
god of the market. The new
project is inevitably becoming
a symbol of everything that
killed off the USSR, even if its
authors set out to laud in architecture
the creative energy
that fuelled the creation of the
Land of the Soviets.
Evgeny Lobanov
8
Latvia
Architecture, death, and
nature
The beginning of 2022
brought the announcement
of the results of the
‘Columbarium: Chamber
of Memories’ competition,
organized by Bee Breeders
Competitions in Riga.
u Coop Himmelb(l)
au. The SKA Arena
proposal and the
authors’ source of
inspiration: Vladimir
Tatlin’s Tower (Monument
to the Third
International)
t The SKK (sports
and concert complex
in St Petersburg).
Architects: I. Chayko,
N. Baranov, F. Yakovlev;
engineers:
L. Yakhontov,
E. Poltoratsky (1980;
demolished in 2020)
u Coop Himmelb(l)
au. Sketch for the
SKA Arena project
The theme of death has worried
mankind over the entire
course of its history and is reflected
in the architecture of
different people and cultures.
Today, when European civilization
is undergoing an unmistakable
spiritual crisis, modern
architects’ quests in the field
of burial structures are of particular
interest. Participants in
the competition were required
to submit plans for a 500-niche
columbarium and a complex
landscape design for a ‘Forest
Cemetery’. The competition
was backed by Riga’s parliament,
which expressed an interest
in realizing one of the
winning projects.
First place and the ‘client’s
favourite’ prize went to Christopher
Taylor, an architect
from South Africa, for his project
Halo. Taylor’s idea was for
a circular burial chamber sunken
into the cool underground
and situated in the middle of a
pond. Its roof will be planted
with flowers which will bloom
at different times, creating a
constantly changing crown of
blossoms and scents linked to
the changing seasons.
The second prize was won
by Mengru Wang and Raphoto:
Yuri Palmin
13
events
14 events

s Christopher
Taylor. Aureole.
Competition project
for a columbarium
and hall of memory
in Riga. 1 st prize
sw Mengru
Wang and Rachel
Reinhard. Under a
blanket of plants.
Competition project
for a columbarium
and hall of memory
in Riga. 2 nd prize
chel Reinhard from the USA.
Their project, Under a Blanket
of Plants, refers to Latvian
folklore, in which death is
regarded as a holiday of life
and unification with nature
(while the landscape form unexpectedly
resembles the
green roof of the building of
the California Academy of Sciences
designed by Renzo Piano).
Finally, Matej Gurka from
the Technical University of
Košice (Slovakia) took the third
prize – together with the BB
Green Award and BB Student
Award – for ‘Urn Field: Line
and Decomposition’, which
features a linear stone path
(deconstructed on one side)
symbolically linking life with
death and nature.
The editors of Project Baltia
direct readers’ attention
to Crossing, a project by SLOI
ARCHITECTS from St Petersburg
(architects: Ilya Ermolaev,
Valentin Kogan, Aleksey
Oleynik; 3D modelling: Aleksandr
Rykachov), which did
not win an award but is interesting
from the point of
view of form creation. From
the spiral pattern of the paving
(which resembles a vortex,
a galaxy, or a drawing of
a Tefal frying pan) sprout fishlike
volumes of different sizes
that refer, say the authors,
to the image of the canoe or
space capsule (a hint of the
boat slipping through the
waves of the Styx).
Evgeny Lobanov
9
Russia
Dormitory district on
reclaimed land
In April 2022 a sketch
of development of the
northern part of the area
of reclaimed land at the
western end of Vasilievsky
Island was submitted
to St Petersburg’s Urban-
Planning Council. Decision-making
on what the
city’s ‘sea front’ should
look like has been going
on for more than 15 years.
The initial urban-planning
idea behind the land-reclamation
project was developed
by the American company
Gensler as far back as 2006.
It involved creating two cores
of development in Nevskaya
guba (Neva Bay): a southern
core for housing and a
northern core comprising a financial
district (City) with a
cluster of skyscrapers.
These ambitious ideas,
however, were derailed by the
run of economic crises that hit
the country. To begin with, developers
of different stripes
built on the southern part of
the area, turning it into something
like Kudrovo or Murino
in Leningrad Region. Subsequently,
in 2015, the Petersburg
architects Soyuz 55, led
by Aleksandr Viktorov, developed
a new planning project
for the norther tip of the reclamation
area, replacing the
planned financial City with a
standard dormitory district.
xt SLOI ARCHI-
TECTS. Crossing.
Competition project
for a columbarium
and hall of memory
in Riga. Choice of
Project Baltia
s Matei Gurka.
Field of urns: line
and decomposition.
Competition project
for a columbarium
and hall of memory
in Riga. 3 rd prize
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15

Even then, the decision of
the St Petersburg architects
to build only residential buildings
on such a prominent site
failed to win the sympathy
of citizens themselves. There
were proposals to put the campus
of the State University here,
but now a final decision has
been taken to build the university
campus in Pushkin (Tsarskoe
Selo). Architectural plans
for this project were, incidentally,
presented at the same
April meeting of the city’s Urban-Planning
Council. With regard
to Vasilievsky Island, in
2015 the architects assured
the public that detailed planning
would make this urban
setting more diverse. Judging
by the sketch submitted seven
years later, however, only a little
has changed – and not for
the better.
In Viktorov’s proposal there
was still a hint at the Leningrad
approach to urban planning –
for instance, the alternation
of towers and horizontal slabs.
This is missing, however, from
the current proposal. The positioning
of prominent architectural
features no longer follows
compositional principles but
merely complies with insolation
requirements and the goal
of maximizing the quantity of
floor space for sale.
Danil Ovcharenko
s ARHIS Arhitekti
предлагает аккуратные
интервенции
современных форм
в контекст старой
застройки
10
Latvia
The Latvian "Estrada"
The results have been
summed up for the annual
Latvian Architecture
Award (LAGB).
The Latvian Architecture Award
not only celebrates outstanding
achievements in the field
of architecture, but also raises
public awareness. The 2021
award was given to works reflecting
modern processes and
trends in the context of Latvian
architecture, where a key role
is played by respect for historical
heritage and the ability to
restore the past authentically
with attention to the smallest
detail . At the same time,
knowledge of traditional materials
is combined with the introduction
of innovations.
The Grand Prix was awarded
to the refurbishment of the
Bolshoi Stage (Mezhaparks,
Riga) in a design created by
the bureau of Austris Mailitis
and Juris Pogi. According to architectural
critic Artis Zvirgzdins,
editor of the portal A4d.lv,
this building of national significance
costs tens of millions of
dollars and is very impressive,
though it is only used twice
u Master plan for
the northern part of
the reclaimed area
in the Neva estuary
to the west of
Vasilievsky Island
in St Petersburg
Top: Soyuz 55.
Proposal for site
plan. 2015
Bottom: LSR,
Evgeny Gerasimov
and Partners, B2,
URBIS, INTERCO-
LUMNIUM, Z & K.
Sketch for development
project
zt Austris Mailitis
and Juris Poga.
Proposal for reconstruction
of the
Large Bandstand in
Riga. Grand Prix at
the annual Latvian
Architecture Prize
every five years for the national
song festival. In Latvia, this
type of open-air bandstand is
called an "estrada".
The winners of the Latvian
Architectural Award in 2021
were Stuku Barn (created by
Andra Schmite), for the refurbishment
of an office building
on Miera Street (Gatis Didrihsons
and Ineta Solzemniece-
Saleniece: Didrihsons arhitekti)
and the MAD architectural
space (NRJA bureau).
Artis Zvirgzdins comments:
"In the last two years, the presence
of Covid has introduced
changes to the award procedure.
Previously, the ceremony
was held in May. A couple
of months before, the competition
was announced and a
local jury compiled a shortlist
of around 10 buildings.
The competition ended in an
awards ceremony held on Friday
as the culmination of ‘Architecture
Week’ – a whole
series of events presenting designs,
lectures, and discussions.
An international jury
was then supposed to spend
three or four days visiting the
buildings from the shortlist
and make their final choice.
In 2020, Covid forced postponement
of the award and
the event was held only at the
17
end of October. In 2021 it was
postponed till the end of August.
About this year, so far
nobody knows."
Anna Rybalka
11
Russia
Conscious Constructivism
From 2 February to 9 April
2022 ‘Mind Building’, an
exhibition first shown at
the Venice Biennale in
2018, was at Alvar Aalto’s
library in Vyborg.
Alvar Aalto’s library in Vyborg
is a unique monument of 1930s
Finnish Modernism which is
now situated in Russia. After
a long restoration which concluded
in 2013, historical circumstances
have helped turn
the library into an important
platform for intercultural interaction
in the region.
The Finnish architects who
designed the library buildings
shown in Mind-Building were
inspired by Aalto’s work, but
the library architecture of our
time differs from the architecture
developed by the master
of Modernism. The exhibition
introduced visitors to 17 Finn-
МАТЕРИАЛ,
ВДОХНОВЛЯЮЩИЙ
АРХИТЕКТОРОВ
Легкие и эстетичные панели LTM для
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и практичные решения. На двух заводах
компании ООО «ТД ЛТМ»
установлено европейское оборудование
последнего поколения, позволяющее
изготавливать высококачественные
панели с уникальными
свойствами: плиты устойчивы к экстремальным
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ударные нагрузки и внешние
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LTM украшают фасады современных
небоскребов и даже целых
микрорайонов в десятках городов.
Учитывая тенденции развития строительной
отрасли, специалистами
компании ООО «ТД ЛТМ» была разработана
новая линейка панелей
Cynop Natura Collection для воплощения
самых разных архитектурных
решений: от привычного классического
до более современного
и ультрамодного. Материал создает
неповторимый образ здания, а комбинирование
нескольких видов фактур
с разнонаправленным рисунком позволяет
«играть» с формой, придавая
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Центральный офис
ООО «ТД ЛТМ»:
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Тел.: +7 (484) 399-62-73
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на территории Санкт-Петербурга и Ленинградской области
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photo: Katya Nikitina
t The photographer
Alisa Gil and the
architect Aleksandr
Belik (Serious Project)
at the opening
of Baltic Libraries, an
exhibition at Tochka
Gallery (SHKAF
library and art residence)
t The architect and
architectural theorist
Evgeny Lobanov studies
the exhibition
ish libraries built at various
times, with the earliest dating
to 1881 and the most recent
to 2018. The exhibition’s
curator was the architectural
historian Anni Vartola; the exhibition
design was by the architect
Tuomas Siitonen and
the graphic designer Johannes
Nieminen. After adaptation to
the space of Aalto’s building,
the exhibition conceived for
Venice looked just as fitting in
its new home.
The decision to give the
project about libraries a booklike
appearance seems obvious,
but the working of the
details made this apparently
obvious move complex and
rich in meanings. In order to
initiate a conversation about
the building as a whole, visitors
were presented with specific
details: as if shrunk in
size, they found themselves
on a bookshelf, surrounded
by pages; as they moved from
one stand to another, they
leafed through chapter after
chapter. The exhibition catalogue
was also an art object;
its double-page spreads were
demonstrated to the exhibition’s
‘readers’. Thus the architecture
of the house of books
was shown through the architecture
of the book itself.
The name ‘Mind-Building’
reflected not just the exhibition’s
content but also the
path taken by the visual narrative.
The Russian translation
‘Konstruktuiruya soznanie’
(‘Constructing consciousness’)
emphasizes process; ‘Construction
of consciousness’ or
‘House of reason’ would pers
Sani Kontula-
Webb, director of
the Finland Institute
in St Petersburg,
at the opening of
Mind-Building, an exhibition
at the Aalto
Library in Vyborg
s Sini Parikka,
producer at
Architecture
Information Centre
Finland
s The exhibition is a
synthesis of architecture,
photography,
and book design
haps have been more accurate.
The curator in effect invited
readers to pass along a ‘path
of thought’ – to glance, so to
speak, into the head of the architect-reader.
P.S. Interestingly, Project
Baltia recently took its own
look at the subject of library
architecture: from 12 November
2021 to 28 February 2022
an exhibition named ‘Libraries
of the Baltic region’ was held
at architectural photo-gallery
Tochka (part of SHKAF library
and art residence). Here visitors
were shown five projects
for libraries from the five countries
in our region (see: gallerytochka.ru/library).
The main
thoughts behind the two exhibitions
are an understanding
of the library as an active
and central element of the urban
environment and the need
to make sense of the library’s
place in modern architectural
discourse.
Darya Shekhovtsova
12
Russia
Deep Order
In the summer of 2020,
the Street Art Research
Institute and the Danish
Institute of Culture in St.
Petersburg announced an
open competition for the
creation and implementation
of art projects in
urban coastal areas. The
competition was as part
of a joint international initiative
on the part of two
institutions: "Waterfront /
Vodnaya linia". Over the
past two years, several
winning projects have
been put into practise
in St. Petersburg and its
suburbs.
The competition’s participants,
which could be both individual
creators or collectives, were
asked to develop objects for
the city's coastal zones that
would bring citizens to the waterfront.
By the decision of the expert
council, including experts
in the field of urbanism
and architecture, four projects
were selected. These
were then implemented in different
St. Petersburg locations.
"Vodophone" by artist
Anna Martynenko was installed
on the Pirogovskaya
Embankment. This is a special
device that allows you to
listen to the sound of splashing
water. Birdwatchers can
enjoy iron-worker Alexander
Gorynin's "Duck House" on
the Pryazhka River designed
photo: Ivan Chernykh
19
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photo:: Ilya Davydov
er look at the most ordinary
details of the Old City. There,
especially around the borders
of the elements – water and
earth's firmament – is born
the very particular, not quite
material, beauty of the Northern
Venice."
Each implemented Waterfront
project demonstrates how,
with the help of tactical urbanism,
it is possible to transform
marine and other spaces without
costly investments.
Ekaterina Liphart
13
Russia
The city and eternity
Project Baltia presented
‘Nevskaya kupel – 2022’
(Nevsky baptismal font
2022), an exhibition
by the photographer
Andrey Chezhin, at
the architectural
photographic gallery
Tochka at SHKAF Library
u Art objects by
Boremir Bakharev
and Aleksandr
Gorynin as part of
Waterfront, a project
in St Petersburg
x Andrey Chezhin.
Photographs from
the series Neva Font.
1994
1. URL: spbdnevnik.
ru/news/2022-
06-16/v-fotogaleree-tochka-v-peterburge-otkrylas-vystavka-nevskaya-kupel-2022
(last accessed:
16.06.2022).
2. For a modern translation
of Pushkin’s
The Bronze Horseman,
see http://www.tyutchev.org.uk/Download/Bronze%20
Horseman.pdf
for two webfooted families.
Daria Pilevina, the third finalist,
placed a "Barbecue Collector"
on the Vasileostrovsky
reclamation area, addressing
the problem of pollution
of shorelines with disposable
barbecue sets.
Finally, an object d’art by
St. Petersburg designer and
Higher School of Economics
lecturer Boremir Bakharev appeared
on the corner of the
Smolenka River and Makarov
Embankments. The installation
"Composite Water Object"
is a Corinthian capital fixed
on a rusty metal pipe sticking
out of the water and marked
with traces of graffiti. The
capital that protrudes above
the water surface seems to
be a wreck from some sunken
city that has came to the river
surface from the depths of
ages past. According to architectural
critic Vladimir Frolov,
Bakharev's object "...exhibits
the genius loci of St. Petersburg,
urging us to take a closand
Art Residence. Here
we publish remarks by
the exhibition’s curator,
Vladimir Frolov, editor
in chief of Proekt Baltia,
published in Peterburgsky
dnevnik. 1
The main focus of the attention
of the author of Nevskaya
kupel is the city on the
Neva. To be more precise, the
city flooded by the Neva after
the latter has clearly burst
its banks. When Chezhin
took these photographs in
the middle of the 1990s, he
was, of course, not recording
a real flood. There has probably
not been a flood like the
one depicted in these photos
since the times of the Littorina
Sea. Chezhin simply
combined two exposures in
a single frame: one click for
the architecture, the second
for the water. When we look
at Chezhin’s photos, we see
that not only do the images
of the city in the top part of
the ‘pictures’ differ, but the
aquatic element at the bottom
is also different in each case.
Of course, there is no avoiding
the allusion to Alexander
Pushkin. And the figure of
the Bronze Horseman in one
of Chezhin’s most successful
shots captures the formula
of St Petersburg: ‘on a waveswept
shore, remote, forlorn’…
stands only he, Peter. 2 Peter’s
creation has been flooded
by the elements. There is
also sky. Which is from the
same direction as architecture
– and, with the latter, resists
the all-erasing aquatic
element. The latter may probably
be seen as a symbol of
time, and the sky as a symbol
of eternity. What lies between
them is, then, an unerasable
part of St Petersburg: that
which should remain even if
everything earthly disappears.
The most surprising thing for
me as the curator of this exhibition
was that in addition to
the canonical Falconet, Rastrelli,
Rossi, and Voronikhin,
Chezhin ‘saves’ – by placing
them in his pictures – a road
sign, cables above a bridge…
What could this mean? How
have purely infrastructural artefacts
managed to squeeze
through into eternity, to become
part of cosmic order?
I don’t know the answer to
this. Hints may probably be
discovered in the steampunk
aesthetic, in which progress
has stopped, but certain of
its elements (whose functioning
does not even depend on
steam but on a magic of some
kind) are nevertheless present
and are extremely important
– as signs of the time.
And if time did not lapse into
eternity, there would be no
point to it. Peter the Great,
who on 9 June would have
been 350 years old, said: ‘I
heal my body with waters and
my subjects with examples.’
Chezhin seems to be adding:
‘Water will in time wash
away everything inessential,
and Peter’s example is indeed
eternal.’
Vladimir Frolov
21
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Alongside the ensembles of
impressive architecture in the
centre of St Petersburg, the
city also has expanding new
districts. Between these two
worlds is the so-called ‘grey
belt’ – the ring of manufacturing
areas that surrounds the
historical centre. A city within
a city, a kind of ‘third St Petersburg’,
this ring serves mostly
as a transit route for pendulum
migration and a refuge
for processing factories and
subsidiary manufactories; it
needs repurposing. MLA+ has
published Neraskrity sery Petersburg
(‘Unexplored grey Petersburg’)
on overt and hidden
opportunities for developing
the city’s heritage. The book
presents the conclusions of a
study into the grey belt and the
results of the PromLab summer
laboratory, held by MLA+ in
summer 2021. Interest in studying
St Petersburg’s distinctive
urban plan was sparked by an
international competition held
in 2016 – ‘The Grey Belt. Transformation’
– in which MLA+
was one of the winners (for details
of the competition, see
the 27th and 28th issues of
Project Baltia).
‘The grey belt is in danger!
The buildings in the grey belt
are a valuable material rephoto:
Alisa Gill
14
Russia
Unexplored, unassuming,
un… inspiring?
In spring 2022 the St Petersburg
office of the international
architecture
firm MLA+ published
Neraskrity sery Petersburg
(‘Unexplored grey
Petersburg’) on the subject
of the city’s industrial
belt.
source! Demolition should be
the last resort! We are for preserving
what is valuable! We
are for a delicate and flexible
approach to working with
the grey belt,’ say the authors
of Neraskrity sery Petersburg.
They go on to describe the history
of the grey belt’s formation
and the present tendency
for this area to be built up with
monotonous housing. The relevance
of this study to today’s
life is clear: approximately
15,000 hectares of industrial
land have no development
strategy at all and are gradually
passing into the hands
of developers; listed industrial
buildings are crumbling;
instead of implementing a concept
for a compact city, St Petersburg
is sprawling beyond
its limits.
In the first part of the book
the emphasis is on the importance
of the existing diversity
of actors and interested
parties active in the grey belt.
The authors take the view
that manufacturing functions
should not be moved to the
edge of the city: they help diversify
the economy and are
a potential source of innovation.
‘The city of the future is
a city which manufactures.’
Light industry should develop
side by side with services and
the knowledge economy since
this is the kind of balance
that typifies a strong urban
economy. The study demonstrates
a method for evaluating
the multifunctionality of
economic sectors called ‘Tinkers,
Makers, Services’. The authors
conclude that for the
sake of solidarity, collaboration,
and new discoveries, conditions
must be created in the
grey belt to promote the co-existence
of absolutely different
economic sectors.
s Andrey Chezhin
at the opening of
the exhibition Neva
Font 2022 at Tochka
Gallery
x Illustrations from
the book Neraskryty
sery Petersburg
(Undiscovered
grey St Petersburg)
reflect the nomadic
nature of urbanising
processes
The second part of the book
deals with valuable elements
in the ‘grey belt’ that create
the identity of each particular
territory. The study identifies
the following as of particular
importance: the image of
the area that exists in people’s
consciousness (‘vernacular
districts’), development
morphotypes, spatial organization,
attractions, semantic
vacuums, and listed buildings.
Particular attention is paid to
the possibility of transforming
the grey belt from a barrier
between the centre and the
periphery into a transport corridor.
The grey belt also possesses
resources that are
highly important for the city,
such as green zones and waterways.
The study’s authors
insist that the uniqueness
of these industrial areas excludes
a one-size-fits-all approach
to their revitalization.
Each individual plot requires
an individual approach taking
into account all possible
contexts.
The third part of the study
presents various development
models to be used at
five sites: LPO Eskalator, the
Ludwig Nobel Factory, Nevskaya
manufactura, Kirovsky
zavod, and Izmaylovskaya
perspektiva. These were chosen
as test sites for the Prom-
Lab summer laboratory, which
took a look at various forms
of property, scales of investment,
and formats of interaction
with sites, owners, and
citizens in transformation of
an area. For instance, for Nevskaya
manufaktura, which had
been damaged by a fire, a
temporary-use scenario was
proposed; for Eskalator the
approach proposed was to
unite owners in the form of a
BID (business improvement
district).
The book closes with several
interviews with experts,
which largely review the main
problems and potentials of the
grey belt.
Neraskrity sery Petersburg
also provides extensive and
easily comprehensible coverage
of ways of solving similar
problems in other countries.
The urban approaches de-
23 events
24 events
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scribed are characterized by
an attentive attitude to industrial
sites, a quest for and definition
of identity, and civic
engagement in the transformation
process. The results of the
laboratory were not architectural
and urban-planning solutions
but scenarios for use.
It is symbolic that Margarita
Stiglits’ book of 2021 on
the city’s industrial heritage
is called Neparadny Peterburg
(‘Unassuming St Petersburg’).
The prefix ‘non’ or ‘un’ chosen
for the titles of both books is
a reinforcing element that accentuates
another, less customary
dimension of the city.
Unassuming, unexplored St
Petersburg, however, remains
part of the whole – the compositionally
structured city consisting
of ensembles. So it
would make sense for the grey
belt to look for a middle way
between bowing to all kinds
of interests and preserving
the city’s character as a work
of art.
Liza Strizhova
BRICK
advertising
z Cover of the book Neraskryty
sery Petersburg.
Contributors to the book:
Anastasiya Kalinkina,
Darya Karyakina, Anastasiya
Kozel, Ilya Arzhnikov, Diana
Leontieva, Mariya Mozgunova,
Ekaterina Nekrasova, Regina
Garifulina, Polina Gromyko,
Angelina Ermachkova,
Elizaveta Zhelaeva, Anastasiya
Zaytseva, Svyatogor Ishchenko,
Ekaterina Pestryakova, Mariya
Pogodaeva, Regina Salikzyanova,
Polina Sizova, Aleksandra
Smirnova, Kristina Shavkunova,
Anna Yagina, Sofiya Babenko,
Ekaterina Bobrova, Sofiya
Bardanyan, Sabina Gallyamova,
Darya Ganova, Polina Mishago
25

KENNETH FRAMPTON: CRITICAL REGIONALISM
AGAINST DESTRUCTIVE ABSURDITY
Collocutor: Vladimir Frolov
graphic: Polina Shevchuk
One of your most influential programmatic ideas has been
critical regionalism. This term was introduced in your essay
‘Towards a critical regionalism: six points for an architecture
of resistance' 1 (1983). This resistance was targeted against the
condition of globalization and something that we might call
artistic entropy. Today we are living in a situation where the
bipolar world no longer exists, the communist utopia has lost
its attraction, and a new, hybrid biopolitical regime based on AI
technologies is being established. Does the concept of critical
regionalism still represent an effective alternative?
Although one can hardly deny the triumph of Neoliberalism,
following the demise of the Soviet Union, your question
seems to assume that neither the People’s Republic of
China nor the vestiges of the postwar European welfare state
continue to exist. I am not sure what you intend exactly by the
term ‘hybrid biopolitical regime’, particularly given the relative
incapacity of AI to deal with the ongoing crisis of climate
change.
In using the term hybrid biopolitical regime I am referring
to Michel Foucault and perhaps even more to Giorgio Agamben.
In ‘Leviathan and Behemoth’, a chapter of Stasis. Civil
War as a Political Paradigm Agamben depicts the gigantic
Leviathan – the state – in today’s global social condition
as a political body that exists as a multitude and not as a unity
(demos). I think that today’s world produces a sort of phantom
of unity (globalism) which is indeed an ‘ism’ since it is
not real. The real world is becoming more and more disconnected,
while connection is reinforced in the virtual sphere,
which is controlled by AI (this is what I mean by hybrid). I fully
agree that AI is incapable of coping with the problem of nature
and even with the city as second nature. This is why socalled
smart cities do not have a comprehensible architectural
image, unlike previous utopias: from Renaissance to Modernism.
We have covered this in detail in a previous issue of Project
Baltia. 2
Project Baltia, founded in 2007, is a regional architectural
media which may also be considered as one of the outcomes of
your concept of critical regionalism. The subject of one of our
issues was ‘schools’; we collected essays from the countries we
cover (Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland, and Russia), asking
the authors to analyze the situation with their local schools of
architecture. Interestingly, the Finnish architecture critic Anni
Vartola, writing about Helsinki, said that ‘it is unlikely that there
is a Helsinki school of architecture today’. 3 Do you follow what
is happening in Finnish architecture, and what do you have to
say about this? And how do you see the situation in Russia and
the Baltic states (keeping in mind again the concept of critical
regionalism)?
ln the 5th edition of my Modern Architecture: a Critical History,
published in 2020, Finland is the only Baltic country represented
as continuing to cultivate a significant architectural
culture. The recently spectacular popularist, Postmodern design
for the new National Library in the centre of Helsinki is,
however, disturbingly indicative of a certain cultural degeneracy.
Nevertheless, practices such as the Oulu firm of Lahdema
& Mahlamaki and Pekka Helin in Helsinki continue to design
and realize highly spirited and culturally significant work.
Your term ‘critical regionalism’ was an attempt to highlight a
certain trend or ‘style’ that was opposed to international Mod-
ernism and Postmodernism. With regard to the current condition
of architecture, how would you define the prevailing ‘style’
of today? Metamodernism? Postpostmodernism? Or perhaps
you would agree that we are seeing a return of Eclecticism? If
someone wants to become a critical regionalist today, where
should he/she look for inspiration? Can we even use the term
style in the 21st century?
The concept of style as indicative of a particular manner was
always somewhat problematic, although we all continue to
use it as a way of loosely identifying a particular genre. Its
inherent ambiguity was long ago ironically summed up by
Auguste Perret when he wrote, ’Style is a word which has no
plural’. As l attempted to insist, critical regionalism is not a
style but rather a mode of beholding or a self-conscious manifestation
of a resistant local culture. Paradoxically, the most
extensive manifestation of this sensibility today is in China,
where, owing to a discernible policy shift on the part of the
central committee, China has momentarily moved away from
its obsession with proliferating megacities in favour instead
of development of entire regions throughout the country;
this shift has led to the emergence of a considerable number
of young independent practices, all of whom are primarily
engaged in regional development with a decided emphasis on
designing and building civic institutions often linked to the
stimulation of internal tourism. This movement seems to have
been initiated by members of the intermediate generation – in
particular, the husband-and-wife partnerships of Wang Shu
and Lu Wenyu in Hangzhou and Yung Ho Chang and Lilian Lu
in Beijing.
In another important book of yours, Studies in Tectonic Culture, 4
you refer to Heidegger’s belief that a material becomes itself
only when it is integrated in a piece of architecture. Our 37th
issue is devoted to brick, so material and materiality are our focus.
How would you explain ‘the return of brick’ in construction,
a global phenomenon today? Can this be considered a positive
trend – as something which returns to us a feeling of materiality
in a world which suffers from virtualization and dematerialization?
Yet there is a clear paradox here: in most projects today
brick plays a purely decorative role (the structural system is
usually concrete, to which a curtain wall is attached with brick
as finishing); on the other hand, brick still serves as a symbol of
the handmade, a connection with a local, historical context. Can
we, then, still agree with Heidegger?
ln architecture it is becoming increasingly evident that the
libidinous drive towards achieving an ever more expressive
originality as an end in itself has become a reductive absurdity
(cf. Frank Gehry). As Naomi Klein has put it with reference
to global warming, ‘this changes everything’. Modernity and
the time-honoured, transcendental myth of progress are now
both totally played out. The issue is now whether or not the
species (the talking animal that is) will be able to survive. We
have been indirectly aware of this predicament ever since the
MIT Club of Rome Report of 1972 and in this regard the current
Neoliberal preoccupation with maximizing consumerist profit
as an end in itself, along with our ever-increasing maldistribution
of wealth, has become another auto-destructive absurdity.
We are simultaneously aware that, notwithstanding science
fiction, the stratosphere is already well beyond the limit
at which the species is capable of surviving. ln this regard
techno-science has become a double-edged sword, as the Al
robotic creation of surplus people already indicates – not to
CRITICAL REGIONALISM IS NOT
A STYLE BUT RATHER A MODE OF
BEHOLDING OR A SELF-CONSCIOUS
MANIFESTATION OF A RESISTANT
LOCAL CULTURE
Kenneth Frampton is
an architectural theoretician
and critic,
known all over the
world for his studies
into Modernism.
Author of the concept
of critical regionalism
and the
books ‘Modern Architecture:
a Critical
History’ (1980) and
‘Studies in Tectonic
Culture. The Poetics
of Construction
in Nineteenth and
Twentieth Century
Architecture’ (1995),
and monographs on
Alvaro Siza, Le Corbusier,
Tadao Ando,
among others. He
lives in the USA.
26 brick
27 brick

mention the current contradiction of being able to perfect a
vaccine overnight while remaining incapable of distributing it
sufficiently widely. In this respect the historical failure of the
Russian Revolution to achieve a universally valid worldwide
socialist democracy (beginning with the Bolshevik repression
of the Kronstadt soviets) is a tragedy of unparalleled dimensions.
As Peter Buchanan has suggested in his Ten Shades of
Green: Architecture and the Natural World, written at the start
of the new millennium (see p. 628 in the 5th edition of my
Modern Architecture: a Critical History, published in 2020),
wood is the material with the least embodied energy and brick
is the second, using four times the energy in wood, while aluminum
comes top at 126 times the energy content of wood.
Buchanan writes: ‘A building with a high proportion of aluminum
components can hardly be considered green when considered
from the perspective of life-cycle costing, no matter
how energy-efficient it might be.’ We might add that sustainable
forestry at the interface between nature and culture is
not only a renewable resource but also an absorber of carbon
dioxide. From which it follows that human beings would
be well advised to join government-sponsored reforestation
programmes on a massive scale. As far as architecture is concerned,
we are increasingly capable of designing multi-storey
fireproof timber structures irrespective of the ultimate height.
Recent studies show that cultivation of the interface between
architecture and natural resources is key to creating a habitable
future. Above all, notwithstanding the apocalyptic invention
and proliferation of consumerist automobiles at the expense
of public transit (most notably in the US, which has yet
to build a single mile of high-speed railway), we need to restrict
ourselves to settling land at an evenly distributed, much
higher density.
THE LIBIDINOUS DRIVE TOWARDS ACHIEVING
AN EVER MORE EXPRESSIVE ORIGINALITY AS AN
END IN ITSELF HAS BECOME A REDUCTIVE ABSURDITY
Although certain traditional building skills are becoming
less available, it is significant that the two materials
with the least embodied energy are taken fairly directly from
the surface of the earth. As the Swiss architect Mario Botta
demonstrated in his San Francisco Museum, large panels
of precast concrete may be readily combined with stackbonded
brickwork with wired bricks being precisely set into
the mould prior to casting. Much the same effect may be
achieved with ceramic tiles or terracotta. Renzo Piano’s revival
of terracotta in this regard is particularly compelling
(see, for example, his rue de Meaux apartments in Paris).
When it comes to framed construction in wood, CLT timber
is already established as a viable material for building fireproof
multistorey apartments (see recent work by LAN architects
in Paris). The weathering of the wood frame may
be taken care of by pressure creosoting and/or tarring the
frame, techniques long since developed in Scandinavia. After
my take on critical regionalism in 1983, I sensed that,
apart from the primary responsibility of developing the programme
so as to accommodate what Hannah Arendt characterized
as ‘the space of appearance’, the relative autonomy
of architecture as a material culture could only be objectively
maintained through the articulation of the joint and also, on
occasion, of the ‘disjoint’. These premonitions, so to speak,
led me to write Studies in Tectonic Culture, which was published
in 1995.
Notes:
1. Kenneth Frampton, ‘Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an
Architecture of Resistance’, The Anti-Aesthetic. Essays on
Postmodern Culture (1983), edited by Hal Foster, Bay Press, Seattle.
2. Project Baltia, 2019, nos. 2–3 (34).
3. Anni Vartola, ‘Helsinki: cool school post mortem’, Project Baltia,
no. 31 (2018), pp. 108–109.
4. Kenneth Frampton, Studies in Tectonic Culture. The Poetics
of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture.
Ed. by John Cava, MIT press, 2001.
BRICK AND ITS MEANINGS
DEATH AS A RESULT OF A BLOW FROM
A PLINFA WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE
SUBLIME THAN DEATH BY KIRPICH
text: Aleksandr Stepanov
graphic: Dmittriy Mukhin
Looking from the pavement of 2 nd line, Vasilievsky Island at
house 9, which was designed by Viktor Shreter and Ierononim
Kitner for Vilgelm Shtraus, a Petersburg merchant of the
First Guild, hereditary honourable citizen, and Lutheran, the
sense I get is of reliability. This is, in general, the main feeling
conveyed by the brick facades of private houses in old St Petersburg.
What’s important here is not physical strength. The
Marble Palace and the Winter Palace are built to last. However,
when I look at the Marble Palace, I don’t believe that its
walls are stone all the way through, and, when I look at the
Winter Palace, I know that underneath the plaster is brick.
The reliability of house 9 is not physical but reputational.
This house is like an honest word which you cannot help
believing.
A facade clad with marble or granite seems to be made
from dressed blocks that cannot be lifted by a mason. If
rusticated, the façade gains in importance. If polished, its
coldness repels. A plastered façade seems a monolithic
surface with openings for windows and projecting pieces of
decoration. Such facades often also go in for bodybuilding
when they imitate rusticated masonry. Glazed facades pretend
that they are not really there. All these facades want
to seem something different from what they actually are. It
is precisely against the background of this kind of artistic
performance that the honesty of the brick facade becomes
especially valuable.
People will tell me that a concrete facade is also honest.
True. But concrete has no structure or dimensions. It is not
comparable with the human body: the amount of concrete
poured depends precisely on the volume of the formwork
that has been created.
A brick facade, on the other hand, is handwork on a
small scale. Each brick is a human-scale unit with specific
dimensions and weight. Each brick is precisely laid in
place. The bricklayers died long ago, but they left warm
traces of their movements – traces that preserve the memory
of being fired in the kiln, what Charles Peirce has called
‘indices’. The surface of the brick has a simple tectonics:
you can see what is pressing on what. The protuberance
of the joins between the bricks – which ‘our bricklayers’,
Shreter wrote with pleasure, learnt while building house
9, 1 – expresses the pressure of the top rows of bricks on
the lower rows. The joins form a grid.
My attitude to brick is far from indifferent. When I was
in ninth class in school, after lessons we decided to see
which of us 15-year-old louts was best at hitting the classroom
board with a cloth. We were supposed to be battering
the board to pieces – through to the wall on the other side.
I was unable to conceive that this wall could be of stone
or plastered. Of course, it was brick, with a dense grid of
joins! I drew it right across the board – full-size brickwork
(the piece of chalk was the same thickness as the join)
with, in the middle, a jagged hole at which we aimed. (What
would Dr Freud have said? At the time we had not even
heard of him.)
In the evenings, hanging out on the streets, we sang
‘Bricklayers’. At home I had a songbook from 1924; we used
it to learn the song. I liked belting out: ‘People coarsened,
became angry/ And ripped apart the disused factory/ screw
by screw, brick by brick.’ The factory in the song is made
of brick, and the affectionate ‘brick by brick’ gripped my
heart.
The proletariat’s weapon is the cobblestone. But whose
instrument is the brick? ‘A brick on the head’ is an allegory
for the finger of Fate. I was a student at the architecture
school LISI, when, as I was turning from Admiralteysky
prospekt onto Nevsky, a brick broke off from the pseudostone
First Private Commercial Bank and crashed to the
ground just a step away from me, smashing to smithereens
against the asphalt.
Bricks have been a tool of Fate in the case of people far
more significant than me. In 1570 Tsar Ivan the Terrible visited
Vologda, which he had taken a fancy to as a prospective
new capital. The Vologda chronicles tell us that when
he entered the Cathedral of St Sofia, which he had only just
been erected at his behest (but not yet decorated), ‘something
came away from the vaulting and fell, harming the
sovereign’s head’. Ivan immediately left the city and never
set foot in it again. Construction of the cathedral was completed
after his death. A folk song relates the incident in
greater detail: ‘How a blunt red plinfa / Fell from the arch /
Fell on his head / On his poor unruly head.’ 2
Plinfa was the precursor of brick: a slim, wide slab to
which Russian masons were introduced by the Byzantines.
Plinfa is a Greek word. Kirpich, the word for brick which entered
the Russian language in the 14 th century, was initially
a synonym of plinfa but then gradually expelled it not
merely from the Russian lexicon but also from construction
practice. Brick, though, was likewise a newcomer, only
not from the south but from the east. It is a Tatar or, more
broadly, Turkic word. 3 The lexical replacement of plinfa
with kirpich reflected not merely changes in construction
technology but also a re-orientation with regard to the surrounding
world: Kiev’s mentor is Constantinople; Moscow’s
is the Golden Horde. Remember Bolshaya and Malaya Ordynka
in Moscow?
In the Sofia First Chronicle, which dates to c. 1470, the
word kirpich occurs frequently. So when, 100 years later,
Ivan the Terrible was struck on the head, it was most likely
with a kirpich. The folk song probably turned kirpich into
plinfa since it would have been improper to give the role of
instrument of fate (or Sophia, divine wisdom?) to a stone
named after the ancestors of the Kazan khanate (which by
this time had already been thrown off). Death as a result
of a blow from a plinfa would have been more sublime than
death by kirpich.
But what meanings does brick have in English? The English
started using the word brick at the beginning of the
15 th century. Prior to that, they used the Old-French word
briche, which they got from the Normans – who also used
it, incidentally, to mean a catapult for hurling stones. However,
it wasn’t the Normans themselves who came up with
briche. The latter is a word that evidently has its roots in
ancient forebears of the Middle Dutch bricke, which signified
everything that could be called a fragment, a brokenoff
piece. The root of these words is the same as the root
of the English verb ‘break’. 4 This is strange since the technique
for making bricks consists of shaping, not break-
Aleksandr Stepanov
is an architect, art
and architecture
historian,
specializing on the
Rennaisance and
modern architecture
28 brick
29 brick

ing off. From this retrospective view, brick is a stand-in for
natural stone mined in a quarry or a part broken off from a
mass of clay on a spade. From this, of course, it does not
follow that the Netherlands was the ancient motherland of
the modern brick. The Middle-Dutch language in fact only
gave the name to pieces of unfired brick, by analogy with
which they later gave the name to ceramic brick.
The English are good at giving bricks metaphorical
meanings. In 1836 they came up with the idiom ‘like a thousand
bricks’, then in 1929 replaced it with ‘like a ton of
bricks’. Both are equivalent to Russian words meaning ‘aggressively’
or ‘strongly’. In 1840 came the metaphor ‘brick’,
meaning ‘a good fellow’, probably derived by analogy with
something rectangular. For the inhabitants of the sceptred
isle this is probably a word of mockery. In 1865 the adjective
‘bricks-and-mortar’ in the sense of ‘physically real’
came into use. I could also mention the idiom ‘brick wall’,
which people started using in 1886, meaning ‘an insuperable
obstruction’. 5
In Russian imagery brick played a conspicuous role in
the period immediately preceding the construction of Wilhelm
Shtraus’s house, one of the first houses in Russia to
be built in the brick style. Evidence of this is to be found in
Vladimir Dal’s Proverbs of the Russian People, first published
in 1862, where we find a recurrent saying about the
sin of hypocrisy: ‘Feeds you with cake, then hits you from
behind with a brick.’ Here are more examples from Dal’s
collection, using his own categorizations of thematic sections
(with my explanations in brackets):
Ugliness: ‘A village built using seven bricks’. ‘Sit on the
stove and eat bricks’;
Public money: ‘A government estimate three bricks thick’
(with regard to the planned thickness of a wall);
Husband – wife: ‘Here’s swill for you: wash yourself; here’s
a cloth: rub yourself; here’s a spade: pray; here’s a brick:
choke on it!’ (from a song);
Experience: ‘I’m a fired brick myself’;
Idleness: ‘Lying on the stove, he ironed the bricks’;
Trade: ‘He traded bricks, ended up with nothing’; 6
Superstition – omens: ‘A brick falling out of the stove is a
sign of trouble to come’.
So by 1917 not a few bricks had fallen out of the Russian
national stove!
Notes:
1. Zodchiy, 1874, 12, p. 146.
2. Nizovsky, A., ‘Sofiyskiy sobor v Vologde’ (URL: www.booksite.ru/
civk/2_st-550.html (last accessed: 28.05.2021)).
3. Faster, M., Etimologicheskiy slovar’ russkogo yazyka, vol. 2, Moscow,
1986, p. 238.
4. Ibid.
5. Dal’, V., Poslovitsy russkogo naroda, vol. 1,, St Petersburg / Moscow,
1879, pp. 76, 97, 285, 472, 636, 653.
6. Ibid., vol. 2, St Petersburg / Moscow, 1879, pp. 6, 563.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF BRICK
text: Danil Ovcharenko
illustrations: Anton Tenditniy
Brick facades are back in fashion. St Petersburg and Moscow,
Tallinn and Helsinki vie with one another in diversely coloured
textures of hand-made clinker brick and shaped-brick fretwork.
The architecture magazines teem with luxurious residential
complexes whose brick membranes seem to flout the
laws of physics: the latest curtain-wall technologies make architects
free to attempt all kinds of experiment.
Today’s clinker-brick scenery suspended from a reinforcedconcrete
wall seems to contradict the essential characteristic
of brickwork: its tectonic solidity. There are already people
calling this state of affairs a crisis that threatens the ‘brick
tradition’. But a look at brick’s long and complex history as
one of man’s principal building materials will show us that not
everything is so clear cut.
The use of brick in architecture coincided with the moment
when the material was first invented – in the architecture of
Egypt and Mesopotamia. States in the Nile delta and Mesopotamia
had no timber suitable for building with or large stone
quarries but they did have clay-rich earth, so this became
their principal material. In Egypt cut stone was used for monumental
complexes and raw brick for huts, but in the Tigris and
Euphrates valleys builders were already firing brick by the
seventh century BC; they were the first to do so.
The fact that fired brick was the main building material
determined the emergence of the constructional system
used in Western Asia: vaulting erected without falsework.
There was also a special approach to decorating brick structures.
A key trait of Mesopotamian architecture was the use
1.
2.
of ceramic tiles. For instance, the face bricks on the Ishtar
Gate are covered with a polychrome glaze made from special
ingredients.
Western Asia’s rich culture of building from brick also influenced
the spread of this material in the ancient-classical
world. In the architecture of Ancient Greece and Rome in the
consular period walls were built from cut stone without cement,
but during the imperial period, after the Romans acquired
fired clay, use of brick became universal. Its role, however,
was purely subsidiary, due to the specific way in which
Roman concrete was made.
Crucial here is that the discovery of the properties of pozzolanic
sand enabled large complexes and buildings in the
Roman Empire, e.g. the Baths of Caracalla, to be ‘poured’ on
site, much as such buildings are today. The only difference
was that the Romans did not use a mixture of gravel and cement
but laid these materials in layers in formwork, ramming
the layer of bonding agent into the filler. Brick was the
most convenient material for use in formwork for Roman concrete.
The brick constructions were a kind of ceramic shell –
falsework for walls and vaulting. This utilitarian function of
brick was also reflected in its shape. For walls use was made
of triangular bricks, whereas for vaults and domes, on the
contrary, large plates (0.7 x 0.7 metres) were employed to create
brick slabs over which the concrete was ‘poured’.
Importantly, these large slabs could be produced only
if the clay was properly cleaned and various impurities removed
from it; otherwise, cracks would appear in it when it
30 brick
31 brick

3.
walls needed reinforcement with apses or buttresses, which
meant giving the building the shape of a Greek cross. The latter
is the approach taken in the church of Hagia Sophia in
Constantinople, the most famous example of a church with a
dome built over sail vaulting. Thus the use of a specific size
of brick and specific technology for laying it led to the emergence
of the cruciform dome church.
Brick also had an important influence on the development
of western-European architecture during the Renaissance,
the beginning of which coincided with the fall of the Byzantine
Empire. It should be said that, building at the same time
as the Byzantines, Roman and subsequently Gothic builders
mainly used stone rather than brick. This is why both Roman
and Gothic architecture are rich in cross vaulting but almost
never use the dome.
It was only beginning with Brunelleschi that the dome became
the most attractive structure for covering a large space;
here too an important role was played by the use of brick. To
reduce lateral pressure and lighten the structure, the famous
dome of Santa Maria del Fiore switches from using stone in
the base to brickwork in the upper parts of the dome. Furthermore,
use of brick obviated the need for scaffolding. So, beginning
with Brunelleschi, brick secured itself a dominant position
in construction. This situation lasted until the middle of
the 19th century, when brick gave way to steel and later to reinforced
concrete.
The transformation of brick from a structural to a decorative
material is due to the Chicago school of architecture. The
5.
Illustrations:
1. Ishtar Gate, Babylon (now Irak). Constructed circa 575 BC.
2. Baths of Caracalla, Rome. 217
3. Hagia Sophia Cathedral, Constantiople (now Istanbul), 537
4. Filippo Brunelleschi. Dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore Cathedral,
Florence, 1436
5. Louis Sullivan. The Wainwright Building (facade detail), St. Louis.
Saint Louis, 1890
6. Louis Kahn. Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad, 1974
Danil Ovcharenko
is an architect,
PhD, member of Project
Baltia editorial
board. He lives in
St Petersburg
was fired. To purify the clay, use was made of a work-intensive
technique employing metal blades. In Rome, unlike in
Asia, brick was not regarded as a decorative material. This
was due to the pragmatism of the Roman building system,
which was divided into the simplest stages suitable for execution
by non-qualified workers. The Romans faced the
brick-and-concrete framework with expensive decorative
materials.
A return to tectonic principles occurred in the architecture
of the Eastern Roman Empire. Byzantium adopted from
the ancient-classical world the rich traditions of brickwork;
however, the loss of the pozzolanic quarries, combined
with the general regression of building culture, made it impossible
to use ordinary Russian concrete. It had likewise
become more difficult to purify the clay properly – which in
turn led to a reduction in the dimensions of brick. The format
of Byzantian plinthiform brick (ceramic tiles) was almost
half the size of the Roman: 0.35 by 0.35 metres. The
thickness of the slab was also reduced: from eight to five
centimetres.
This change in the role and format of brick played a decisive
role in the development of Byzantine architecture: the reduction
in the weight of the brick made it possible to build all
types of vaulted construction without the need for falsework.
A fascinating process of developing new types of vaulting
now began. First to come was the stilted vault; then, because
the latter proved difficult to build, the sail vault; and then the
dome supported by sail vaulting. It is worth looking at the latter
in more detail.
When a dome was placed over a square-shaped space, an
important problem was how to counter lateral pressure. The
4.
devastating fire of 1871 in the capital of Illinois led to the largest
construction boom the USA has ever seen. As office buildings
surged upwards, it very soon became clear that brick
was not suitable for high-rise construction. So the traditional
wall structures were replaced with a steel frame. But building
facades continued to be of brick, a material which made it
possible to attain, on the one hand, the requisite decorativeness
and, on the other, the necessary geometric generalization
of form, as seen, for instance, in Louis Sullivan’s Wainwright
Building.
Regrettably, this symbiosis of tradition and innovation was
viewed by the next generation of architects as insufficient and
compromised. The founding fathers of Modernism saw in brick
only a hated symbol of archaic manual labour which should
now be replaced with industrial labour. Even if economic difficulties
forced the Soviet Constructivists to use brick, they
plastered it over to look like concrete. Brick was rehabilitated
only after the war. Driven by the Neobrutalist love for materiality,
architects began to appreciate the poetic quality of unplastered
brickwork and its combination of a special decorativeness
with monumentality.
This brief history of brick is extremely instructive. Having
played a part at the birth of architecture, brick sometimes
initiated new spatial forms and sometimes played a merely
decorative or subsidiary role. This diversity in use is, I think,
brick’s main distinctive quality and principal advantage. It
is why the mannerism of brick facades today should by no
means be seen as a degeneration of the tradition of brickwork
but, on the contrary, as one of the most interesting chapters
in its development.
6.
32 brick
33 brick

‘MY NAME IS RED’.
BRICK AND ITS COLOUR IN ARCHITECTURE TODAY
BRICK SERVES AS A SIGN AND HAS A VISUAL
IMPACT ON ITS ENVIRONMENT BUT MAKES NO
CLAIM TO BE AN INNOVATIVE STRUCTURAL
SOLUTIONS OF THE BUILDINGS
text: Vladimir Frolov
I am so fortunate to be red! I'm fiery. I'm
strong. I know men take notice of me and that
I cannot be resisted.
Orhan Pamuk
Vladimir Frolov: art
historian, architecture
critic, curator.
Lives in St Petersburg
The general character of what is happening in 21st architecture
is, as far as I’m concerned, captured by the term ‘Superecelcticism’.
1 This is Eclecticism at a new level from the point
of view of technology and civilization: a ‘major style’ which involves
the largest number of invariants – or ‘formats’, to use
the term coined by the art critic David Joselit. One of these
formats is ‘brick’, whose popularity today is growing. Formats
of this kind can involve materials (brick, wood), a style (Parametricism,
Historicism, etc.), or conformity to some general-cultural
agenda (ecological, territorial, etc.). Formats may
be combined and may intersect, like the ‘styles’ in old Eclecticism.
Amidst all this rich diversity the rise of the ‘brick format’
may be a temporary phenomenon, but its significance seems
greater than the role of ‘new wood’, of which much was said
and written several years ago. It would be more precise to say
that wooden architecture has been more promoted in the media,
while brick has had a stronger presence in actual construction.
It is important to mention that if the emergence of
the ‘wooden format’ is fairly easily explained from the point
of view of concerns about climate, which dictate the global
trend for energy efficiency and the use of renewable resources,
brick’s ‘comeback’ can only partly be explained by similar
qualities in this material. In spite of the fact that it is highly
regarded in the context of green construction, the character
of its use in modern buildings is usually different from wood,
where the emphasis is on erecting large buildings made entirely
from this material and, in order to meet fire-safety
standards and overcome natural restrictions of size, the material
is transformed into a hybrid of wood and various glues
and preservation treatments (a kind of ‘superwood’). Brick,
on the other hand, is used mainly as a decorative material
that creates an attractive and eye-catching surface and meets
certain aesthetic expectations. In this way, brick serves as a
sign and has a visual impact on its environment but makes no
claim to be an innovative structural solution. Nevertheless,
unlike wood, which, although energetically promoted, remains
an exclusive format, brick (or, say, ‘brick style’) has today
become much more widely used in real construction in cities
all over the world.
This is evidenced by the numerous specialized prizes for
brick architecture. Such prizes bring together information
on building and structures erected from brick and popularize
its use. Chief among these are Brick Award, a biennial prize
supported by Winerberger AG, and its UK analogue, the annual
Brick Award. When we look through these prizes’ websites,
we cannot help being struck by the diversity of the
architecture, which includes neo-Modernist and neo-traditional
works, experimental projects, and works that are tranquil
and predictable, qualities that sometimes make it difficult
even for specialists to date them. Many of these pieces
of architecture are reconstruction projects in which new and
old architecture interact and complement one another, symbiotically
giving rise to a kind of new – dual or hybrid – essence.
The latter tends to emphasise the aesthetic qualities
of the old brickwork, while the modern additions serve to
adapt the structure for new functions, although they too are
shaped by self-sufficient imagery which may in many cases
be compared with what in contemporary art is called ‘the
partial object’.
Since the number of new brick buildings is truly enormous,
I shall limit myself to typical examples. My aim is to
demonstrate the diversity of trends within the ‘brick format’
and show how formats may intersect and interleave with one
another. For instance, a structure may conform to the ‘brick’
format and simultaneously belong to the parametricist or
traditionalist formats, depending on the angle from which it
is seen. Here we may draw a comparison with music radio:
one and same track may be played by a station devoted to a
particular genre and by a station whose selection criterion is
based on the musicians belonging to a particular epoch.
In the case of industry prizes, particular importance attaches
to the principles by which the prize is awarded. Here
too we may see that specific ‘formats’ within the brick category
are often dictated by social-political principles, not
just by the ‘market left to its own devices’. In 2020 the winner
of the ‘Living together’ category in the first of the prizes
mentioned was a prototype wooden house in Rwanda (architect:
Rafi Segal). What was important here was not so
much this project’s vernacularity as its location – a sign of
the prize’s globality and democratic nature. Also important,
of course, is ecology: the brick used here is local, which fits
the format of ‘ecological sustainability’. The ‘Building outside
the box’ category was won by Maya Somaiya Library,
a project for the Indian town of Kopargaon (architects: Sameep
Padora & Associates). Another quality that is manifested
here is ‘landform architecture’ (to use the term coined
by Charles Jenks), which is largely part of the paradigm of
so-called ‘landscape urbanism’. This structure is not entirely
a building (a ‘box’), but an image of a natural and environmental
object: the building is interpreted as landscape, i.e.
a part of the urban landscape. The ‘Working together’ (offices)
category was on this occasion won by a thoroughly European
project for the Delft City Archive by the Danish-Dutch
alliance Gottlieb Paludan Architects / Office Winhov. This is
undoubtedly a building from the mainstream of brick architecture;
it cannot be assigned to one of those exotic formats
whose objective is to be a kind of necessary spice or snack
among the general abundance; this is why it needs studying
in detail. The format or, if you like, the style of this project
may be described as monumental Neomodernism but
nevertheless refers to the tradition of Dutch architecture of
the beginning of the 20th century (Hendrik Berlage was one
of the first to note the ‘beauty of the exposed (brick in the
case of the Stock Exchange) walls’), a tradition which is fundamental
for modern brick architecture; it does so, though,
through the experience of the Dutch Postmodernists, especially
Rem Koolhaas, whose architectonic compositions were
influenced, as is well known, by the Soviet Avant-garde. At
the same time, this building seems less formalist and experimental
than anything designed by Koolhaas’ OMA, and
it radiates order, in spite of the complexity and plasticity of
the façade. This kind of rationalization and at the same richness
of texture call to mind the work of Mies van de Rohe;
here we might remember his Expressionist memorial to Karl
Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg (1926). Finally, the Grand
photos: Adria Goula
vt BAAS
Arquitectura, Grupa 5
architekci, Maleccy
biuro projektowe.
Faculty of Radio and
Television at the
University of Silesia
in Katowice. 2017
Prix (and the first prize in the sharing-public-spaces category)
was awarded to a work by the Spanish-Polish consortium
BAAS Arquitectura / Grupa 5 architekci / Maleccy biuro projektow:
the radio and TV faculty building of Silesian University
in Katowice. This Neomodernist project for a large public
building contains echoes of Corbusier but, as is in general
characteristic of modern Spanish architecture, is emphatically
contextual. The project has been adapted to the site
largely through choice of construction material, but also of
colours. It is an example of the above hybrid format of reconstruction
/ new building, where the old building incorporated
in the project is clearly on a smaller scale than the new
part but in fact dictates to the latter both its colours and the
type of brick used. The reticular character of the brickwork
of the added structure/intervention helps lighten the structure’s
overall mass, which, together with the considerable
areas of glazing, allows us to categorize it as Neomodernist.
The quality of the architecture here (it’s not for nothing that
this building won the Grand Prix) allows us to leave behind
the metamodernist concept of ‘format’ and return to terminology
that is more ‘serious’. The treatment of the material
and faithfulness to the principles of Modernism compel us to
recall the doctrine of one of the last living exponents of the
new architecture – Kenneth Frampton – and, more precisely,
his idea of ‘critical regionalism’. Frampton saw in critical
regionalism the chance to extract ourselves from the crisis
of Modernism, without making what might be called concessions
to nihilistic Postmodernism. At the same time, ‘critical
regionalism,’ wrote Frampton, ‘develops in those cultural
‘interstices’ which in one way or another avoid the optimizing
pressure of universal civilization.’ An important factor
for critical regionalism emphasized by Frampton was the
understanding of architecture as ‘tectonic fact’. Essentially,
Frampton here tries to find support not in the ideology of
radical Modernism, which is characterized by universalism,
but in the organic architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright and Aalto.
That Frampton’s voice is still heard today is evidenced by
the awarding of the Pritzker Prize to the Spanish firm RCR
Arquitectes in 2017.
Although the Brick Award is extremely authoritative and to
a certain extent helps us understand the character of brick architecture
today, its list of winners for 2020 does not cover
all existing ‘brick formats’. There are no works, for instance,
by architects oriented on the traditions of the Chicago school
of the American brick skyscraper (admittedly, the Chicago
school was present in the results for 2018), nor are there examples
of the kind of ‘orientalism’ which develops decorativism
of Muslim or Chinese origin. An example of the first phenomenon
might be the well-known Rotermann Quarter in
Tallinn (projects by Villem Tomiste, Ott Kadarik, and Mihkel
Tüür). Depot No 1, a new business centre in St Petersburg designed
by Artem Nikiforov (2020), contains direct references
to Louis Sullivan, so what we have here is not critical regionalism
but rather a variant of Eclecticism.
34 brick
35 brick

фото: schranimage
Among examples of orientalism it is sufficient to name
Shuyang Art Gallery in China, which was built to a design by
the Architectural Design and Research Institute of Zhejiang
University in 2013. Although the tendency manifested in this
work may be categorized as critical regionalism, the project
contains just as much ornamental decorativism aimed at underlining
the exotic nature of its location.
Meanwhile, one of the leaders in brick architecture, the
Netherlands, where this material has traditionally found adherents
and masters, has put much effort into ensuring a
new reading for ornamentation and décor in architecture.
Neutelings Riedijk, one of the leading Dutch architecture
firms, has made a considerable contribution to developing
this decorative tendency. And although their famous Muse-
v Studio Zhu Pei.
Jingdezhen Imperial
Kiln Museum, China.
2020
THE NEW ORIENTALISM MAY BE CATEGORIZED
AS CRITICAL REGIONALISM, BUT IN THE GIVEN
EXAMPLES ONE CAN SEE JUST AS MUCH ORNAMENTAL
DECORATIVISM AIMED AT UNDERLINING THE EXOTIC
NATURE OF THE LOCATION OF THE BUILDING
um aan de Stroom (MAS) in Antwerp is clad not in brick but
Indian sandstone, the carpet principle of brickwork in different
colours itself and the paradoxical treatment of the wall’s
tectonics have had an undoubted influence on architects all
over the world, including in Russia. The building hints at the
brick context of this port city but does so in a manner which
is much closer to ironic Postmodernism than to Frampton’s
(serious) regionalism.
Finally, it is extremely symptomatic that Daniel Libeskind,
maestro of Deconstructivism, has also paid tribute to
the fashion for brick – in his recently opened Holocaust memorial
in Amsterdam. Without betraying his Deconstructivist
geometrical approach, he has responded to the current
trend. Admittedly, the way the material is used here has a
substantive element too: each brick is marked with the surname
of someone who died during the years of Nazism in the
Netherlands. However, brick is not the only material of which
this building is made; it is combined with a futurist metal
structure supported by the brick walls. The result is a complex
non-linear composition that is undoubtedly full of symbolism.
Nevertheless, this freight of meanings does not prevent
the structure from making a good fit with Joslit’s theory
of formats.
I could name many more projects and associated tendencies
within the ‘new brick style’, but the list would soon become
too long. Its potential endlessness helps us, however,
see one of the main traits of Supereclecticism as a paradigm:
its striving to ‘incorporate’ as many invariants of forms and
images as possible. Invariants created in past ages are no exception:
old artefacts are added to modern formats through
reconstruction – while undergoing a transformation which is
at the very least symbolic.
Moving on to the theme of colour, I should mention ‘The
colours of brick’, an article by Lilly Cao in ArchDaily. That
this article is a superficial survey is so much the better for
our analysis of ‘formats’ in brick architecture today. Today’s
architects, says Cao, most often use brick of red, white,
brown, orange, grey, and black colours. Naturally, the survey
begins with the most popular colour: red. Cao notes the special
significance of this type of brick for the Arts and Crafts
movement; the example she gives is Morris and Webb’s famous
Red House (1860). Red brick, says Cao, is very important
for this movement with its passion for ‘vernacular architecture
and simple materials’, regardless of the semantics
of the colour itself. At the same time, in the modern project
(for reconstruction of the superstructure of a country house)
which she cites, red brick ‘both retains the rustic aesthetic
and adds to the sustainability of the project.’ Brown, on
the other hand, calls to mind not so much historical associations
as links with the earth and nature and makes architectural
structures ‘timeless’. White brick, which is mainly used
in HoReCA, is more modernist. Finally, black brick (in a kind
of tandem with white) is chosen when the aim is to create
emphatically modern buildings, often in combination with
strongly contrasting colours. Cao emphasizes the difference
between natural and painted brick and mentions effects
which give the material a special heterogenous texture. She
recommends that, when choosing a colour, architects should
be guided by practical and aesthetic considerations and by
the availability of a particular material in the vicinity of the
construction site – in order to ‘maximize the project’s effectiveness’.
In general, Cao’s article may be seen as part of the textual
tradition that goes back to ancient architectural treatises containing
technical and historical information and oriented on
teaching readers a craft. There is another tradition, however –
the Modernist tradition – which takes its examples not from
antiquity, but from modern construction projects. No strategy
for using a particular colour of brick is proposed; the approach
suggested is a pragmatism which is mainly situational,
with a considerable portion of purely artistic (or designer)
voluntarism, and, clearly, marketing tactics.
However, from our point of view, red brick, the type most
frequently used, undoubtedly carries a semantic meaning.
And it is no accident that the very definition ‘brick colour’ signifies
red, as opposed to any other colour. Thus we may say
that, in spite of the fashion for ‘Modernist’ white and black,
as well as deliberately overfired and textural shades, ‘brick’
means, first and foremost, red.
AFTER FIRST CONQUERING INTERIOR DESIGN,
THE LOFT AESTHETIC HAS NOW BEGUN,
ALBEIT WITH SOME DELAY, TO PENETRATE
ARCHITECTURE IN GENERAL
The fashion for architecture of this kind arises in the context
of and partly as a result of urban transformations relating
to the post-industrial order, which involves new urban spaces
for housing and recreation being created in place of brick factory
buildings. After first conquering interior design, the loft
aesthetic has now begun, albeit with some delay, to penetrate
architecture in general. We see the emergence of ‘loft’ and
‘pseudo-loft’ architecture in both interior spaces, which are
often designed in the ‘loft style’ (i.e. premises in new buildings
are fitted out to look like brick factories), and the construction
of buildings themselves.
Modern post-industrial architecture appropriates the colour
of its industrial precursor, which came into being not
during the industrial age, the 20th century, but in the 19th,
i.e. during the age of Eclecticism and then of Style Moderne.
The creators of that, first, brick style most often looked, in
choice of material, to models taken from Gothic architecture
– while being guided, however, by considerations of
pragmatism: brick can be left unplastered, and its aesthetic
qualities have been rehabilitated. The very concept of ‘truth
to materials’, which arose in the 18th century thanks to the
Venetian priest Carlo Lodoli, received further logical development
in the following century in rationalist tendencies in
construction and the theories of John Ruskin. Akos Moravanszky
asserts that it was the English – William Butterfield,
followed by Philip Webb – who gave brick back ‘its dignity’.
u Wallmakers.
Pirouette House in
Trivandrum, Kerala
State, India. 2020
This paved the way for the creation of gigantic brick complexes
such as the Treugolnik Factory in St Petersburg with
its distinctive single-colour chromatic structure. These redbrick
colossi are one of the reasons why Andrey Efimov, Russia’s
leading specialist in colour in architecture, calls the
late Eclecticism of this epoch ‘degradation of chromatic expressiveness’.
In this context we cannot ignore brick’s social-political aspect:
as the basis for what was the working class’s main scene
of action, it could not help being associated with the proletarian
masses. The ‘rusty rings’ of industrial development in urban
cities at the turn of the century are the brick smithies in
which the future was forged. And even though in his poem
Vengeance Aleksandr Blok called the 20th century ‘the iron
century’, iron was forged in caves that had walls of fiery red.
The 20th century was ‘even more homeless…’, and it was not
just the domesticity of Eclecticism (with its Biedermeier) that
was cancelled out, but also all colour: after the scarlet pyre of
the Revolution and World War I everything became ash-grey,
concrete, non-home.
Colour returned to architecture together with Postmodernism
and symbolic wealth. But it returned in the form of play;
here the signified does not always find a signifier. This involves,
says Carolina Bos, ‘a breaking of the link between material
and its significance’. Red brick is now merely the sign of
red brick.
photo: Jino Sam
36 brick
37 brick

Supereclectic brick in today’s architecture is in this respect
similar to Postmodernist brick, but more adaptive, able to
adapt to any format. At the same time, its abundance and the
fact that entire city blocks are being transformed into gigantic
lofts are evidence of a nostalgia for the industrial past and
its revolutionary energy. This, however, is a purely decorative
phenomenon since there can be no direct way back to iron and
brick from the paradigm of the ‘comfortable city’. Of course,
you could call this kind of intermediate, halfway position ‘meta-Modernist’.
At the same time, if we leave aside the question of material
and speak of colour alone, it has to be admitted that there
is no ‘pseudo-red’ colour but only red, and the thickness of
the brick makes no difference. At least, if we are talking about
quality finishing materials.
Modern designers may not be fully aware of red brick’s
comeback; they design in accordance with marketing formats
and guidelines. Brick’s renaissance may be a sign of some
general cultural process, which is clearly not local.
Brick and wood are essentially not simple sustainable ecological
materials, but also materials which ontologically are
characterized by an organic, vital, even human aspect. Wood
is worked; brick is shaped (modern expensive brick is made
by hand). In the ‘proletarian’ brick architecture of the end of
the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century we sense
an honest corporeal nakedness. So we may suppose that what
today’s society needs is for the human dimension with its
truth to return to the city.
In architecture today the quality of Aalto’s statements –
which are classical in their clarity and precision – is extremely
difficult to attain, and yet in works by Spanish, Chinese (see
above), and sometimes Finnish architects we sense the living
vt Studio Libeskind.
Holocaust
Museum. 2021
SUPERECLECTIC BRICK IN TODAY’S ARCHITECTURE IS
IN THIS RESPECT SIMILAR TO POSTMODERNIST BRICK,
BUT MORE ADAPTIVE, ABLE TO ADAPT TO ANY FORMAT
tradition of brick architecture, a tradition which goes beyond
the Supereclectic system. And in such works the colour red
(and, of course, other natural shades of brick) as theme or element
is again gathering strength. However, both in general
and throughout the ‘new brick style’, this melody of materiality
resounds like a kind of call. Natural chromatic substance is
breaking through the bourgeois, conforming order of modernity
and is re-colouring it in its own way, regardless of the intentions
of specific designers and clients. In Orhan Pamuk’s
novel My Name is Red the colour itself possesses subjectivity,
becomes the main character, and says: ‘I like being on the
wings of angels, on the lips of women, on chopped-off heads.’
I think the colour simply forgot to add: ‘I like being brick and
strolling through houses and streets’. It is quite possible that
we shall understand the true meaning of the brick renaissance
only later (a short time later?), in the context of history.
photo: Kees Hummel
38 brick
39 brick

Notes:
1. Frolov, V., ‘The limits of Supereclecticism’, Proekt Baltia, 2018–2019,
nos. 4–1 (33), pp. 40–45.
2. Joselit, D, Posle iskusstva, Moscow, 2017.
3. The economic crisis is constantly exaggerated in the world’s media,
which in effect forces architects and designers to take the green
agenda into account when designing projects. See, for instance:
www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/aug/05/climate-crisisscientists-spot-warning-signs-of-gulf-stream-collapse?CMP=fb_
gu&utm_medium=Social&utm_source=Facebook&fbclid=IwAR3
7_4Nnim4DMP1CO2fe2Xj9-3eyO-P4AjFuwnYKTRMBarf--
iD9FPBo9w0#Echobox=1628176602 (last accessed: 10.12.2021).
4. URL: www.brickaward.com (last accessed: 10.12.2021).
5. URL: www.brick.org.uk/brick-awards (last accessed: 10.12.2021).
6. See the chapter ‘Architecture becomes landform’ in Jenks, C.,
The Architecture of the Jumping Universe: A Polemic :
How Complexity Science Is Changing Architecture and Culture.
Revised ed., London, 1997, p. 170.
7. Cited from Gidion, Z., Prostranstvo, vremya, arkhitektura, Moscow,
1984, p. 194.
8. Frampton, K., Sovremennaya arkhitektura. Kriticheskiy vzglyad
na istoriyo razvitiya, Moscow, 1990, p. 481.
9. URL: www.archdaily.com/897180/shuyang-art-gallery-uad?ad_
source=search&ad_medium=search_result_all (last accessed:
10.12.2021).
10. URL: www.dezeen.com/2021/09/24/dutch-holocaust-memorialstudio-libeskind-amsterdam
(last accessed: 10.12.2021).
11. URL: www.archdaily.com/944493/the-colors-of-brick (last accessed:
10.12.2021).
12. In St Petersburg this situation was noted at ‘Office.SPb’, an event
held by Project Baltia in 2017: it was then that the loft was recognized
as ‘the most functional, widespread, and affordable style for
designing interiors’ (URL: projectbaltia.com/news-ru/13903 (last
accessed: 10.12.2021)).
13. See: Moravanszky, A., Metamorphism: Material Change in
Architecture, Basel, 2018, p. 133.
14. Ibid., p. 138.
15. Efimov, A.V., Koloristika goroda, Moscow, 1990, p. 41.
16. Moravanszky, A., Metamorphism: Material Change in Architecture,
Basel, 2018, p. 18.
17. Pamuk, O., Imya mne – krasnyi, Moscow, 2021, p. 275.
s Stepan Liphart.
Design for a residential
building with
business premises
and annexes on
Pionerskaya ulitsa
in St Petersburg.
Variant. 2010. A Mannerist
reading of
Expressionism
HOUSE BUILDING
40 brick
41 brick

THE ARCHITECTURE OF POST-INDUSTRIAL SOCIETY IS MAINLY BOUND UP WITH DEVELOPMENT OF STANDARDIZED HOUSING, WITH THE MARKET
DICTATING THAT BUILDINGS SHOULD BE MAXIMALLY DIVERSE. A FLICK THROUGH THE PAGES OF OUR HOUSEBUILDING SECTION SHOWS THE DE-
VELOPMENT OF A ‘NEW BRICK STYLE’ OR, TO USE THE TERM OF THE ART CRITIC DAVID JOSELIT, A NEW ‘FORMAT’. THIS STYLE ENCOMPASSES VARI-
OUS TRENDS. ITS ARCHITECTS VARIOUSLY APPEAL TO THE CHICAGO SCHOOL, INTERPRET GOTHIC PROTOTYPES IN THE POSTMODERNIST MANNER,
AND INTRODUCE NATIONAL MOTIFS INTO THEIR ARCHITECTURAL DECORATION. FOR SOME THE GOAL IS TO REVIVE ART NOUVEAU; OTHERS, ON
THE CONTRARY, FOLLOW THE PRINCIPLES OF LE CORBUSIER. WHAT IS THIS IF NOT A NEW ECLECTICISM? SUPERECLECTICISM.
BRICK-A-BOOM
text: Tarja Nurmi
There is a very attractive part of Helsinki called Etu-Töölö
which is known for its impressive street blocks with houses of
red brick. Mechelininkatu and Väinämöisenkatu, for instance,
are streets with very smart red-brick facades with simple
but refined details. Töölö, the older part of the district, also
prides itself on a university building in yellow brick which now
belongs to Aalto University. In other parts of Helsinki there
are red-brick buildings with more expressionist detailing. Two
notable such buildings are the Stockmann department store
at Aleksanterinkatu 52 and another department store at Aleksanterinkatu
13. The latter has lost much of its remarkable interior
but is still a fine example of the virtuoso architecture of
Selim Lindqvist.
Other examples of Finnish brick architecture include industrial
buildings belonging to the national railway company,
VR, and large complexes originally built for ALKO, Finland’s
alcohol monopoly, which have now been converted for
use as courts of justice. Next to them are new corporate office
buildings sporting red brick as the dominant facade material
(for instance, buildings designed by Helin & Co and Tuomo
Siitonen).
Functionalism was by no means only white
The arrival of Functionalism in the early 1930s brought white
facades and clear-cut building masses. Nevertheless, brick
continued to be used in modernist Finnish architecture. Think
of Aalto’s beautiful campus for the University of Technology,
the university campus and nearby Säynätsalo Communal Hall
in Jyväskylä, and the House of Culture in Helsinki. It should be
noted that not all Finnish Functionalism was white, monotonous,
or dull.
This was also when the least generous interpretation of
‘form follows function’ made its appearance. The Finnish
president Mauno Koivisto and Armas Puolimatka, the head
of a large construction company, combined forces to launch
something called ‘aluerakentaminen’ (regional construction).
This led to large-scale housing projects devoid of architectural
ambition: new suburban areas dominated by simple
building types with a very limited range of window sizes
and prefab concrete blocks. This was architecture of quantity
but very little architectonic quality: housing for the many.
That left us with very few buildings to admire, even though
the apartments themselves were spacious and well organized.
Katajanokka set a new tone
In the 1970s an important city-planning competition was
held to build New Katajanokka. The winning proposal by architects
Helander, Sundman, and Pakkala was a reaction
against bland, grey, and ambitionless housing and urban
development. The new street blocks were designed by the
country’s best architecture firms. Even today, this is a very
pleasant and peaceful part of the capital with a prevalence
of red brick.
Red brick was once again used in housing projects. Concrete
was now more or less out. In Helsinki and the new
u In the historical
centre of Helsinki
brick facades stand
side by side with
facades that are
plastered or clad
with natural stone
(the photo shows the
district of Kruununhaka).
Hermanni area near the red-brick central Sörnäinen penitentiary
building, for instance, very elegant apartment
buildings were built in brick. Helin & Co also used brick for
their fine Nordea bank building in Vallila and for the extension
of the parliament building, in spite of their fondness
for double glazing in some of their corporate designs. One
of the most elegant streetscapes in Helsinki is Urho Kekkosenkatu
in Kamppi, where new apartment buildings in
dark brick accompany older buildings on the other side of
the street.
Churches and congregation centres were, for a while, also
often built in brick, e.g. the Malmi Paris Lutheran Church (architect:
Christian Gullichsen, 1981) and the Olari Church and
Congregation Centre (Käpy and Simo Paavilainen, 1981), and
St John´s Church in Kuopio, which is of cream-coloured brick
and has a fantastic, mostly white interior.
And then came Excel and the money men…
When we look at recent housing, especially in Helsinki, we
see that brick is definitely back. Boring and monotonous new
and massive housing blocks have been clad in brick merely
so as to look bourgeois. An outer layer of brick often conceals
concrete, and the apartments behind the impressive facade
may be small and gloomy. Often there is a complete lack
of refined detail and nuance. In some cases we might even call
this ‘coin-slot architecture’; the windows and balcony openings
are like repetitive series of dark squares and rectangles
on an even surface.
Some architects have, of course, tried to inject variety by
changing the colour of the brick every four floors or creating
lively decorative surfaces. But their buildings still mostly look
like bland shoeboxes by contrast with old Töölö, where there
are handsome roofs in copper, black, red, and green painted
tin, with chimneys, air shafts, and small decorative towers
or attic gables. None of that exists in today’s ‘brick architecture’,
with the exception of a few timid fake arch motifs
here and there. In these cases the arches are usually a mask.
Brick would certainly have wanted to be brick – following Louis
Kahn – but this is not the case here.
photo: Tarja Nurmi
A positive example is a housing project in Jätkäsaari
which stands out for the diversity of its programme: welldesigned
affordable apartments for teachers and their families,
student housing for Swedish-speaking students, and
a metal-clad corner tower offering well-designed, spacious
apartments for rent. Diversity comes from the brick facade
windows and balconies; and the corner building, designed
by Kirsi Korhonen and Mika Penttinen Architects, is more
than just a shoebox.
Some young architects have tried to see a link with Nordic
Classical architecture of the 1920s and 1930s. But they
are missing the point: building housing in Helsinki is in
most cases today also a way of making a big profit. A lot of
effort has been put into taking out everything that adds anything
to the cost of apartment houses. Architects try to
keep it simple and yet cool at the same time. When you compare,
for instance, the elegant and finely detailed houses by
A-konsultit Architects in Hermanni with recent coarser projects
by Heikkinen Komonen near Herttoniemi, you might
think that they are from completely different planets – and
yet this change in quality has occurred within a relatively
short time span.
There are, though, admirable new buildings of a more public
nature such as KYMP House (Lahdelma & Mahlamäki Architects),
K-Kampus Head Office in Kalasatama, the new building
for the University of the Arts in Sörnäinen, Helsinki (both
by JKMM Architects), Tikkurila Church, and the OOPEAA student
housing complex. These pride themselves on their brick
facades. However, their exteriors clearly lack delicate detailing
and intricacy in treatment of the brickwork; and their loadbearing
structures are usually concrete, with a brick envelope
thrown on top.
Where has the fine brickwork disappeared?
We might conclude that there seems to be very little actual
Baukunst behind many contemporary buildings with their
fashionable brick facades. Some people even simply find
them boring. The city planners took the easy way out when
they specified in the text of the city plan that building facades
must be of high quality; brick is now almost the only answer.
But let us be fair: fine detailing is also missing from most other
contemporary buildings, not just those made from brick.
Where has the genuine quality gone?
Is contemporary Finnish housing architecture losing it? And
what exactly is going on in this country with its record of
producing pioneers of socially equal housing for all, such
as Alvar Aalto, Hilding Ekelund, and highly competent, more
t The laconicism and
collage-like quality
of today’s development
in the Finnish
capital shows the
influence of Dutch
fashion. The photo
shows a residential
building (architects:
Heikkinen-Komonen).
v The design for
Muurarimestari
(‘Owner’s House’)
signals the return
of Eclecticism to
Finnish architecture.
Architects: Avarrus
Arkkitehdit. This
house is still under
construction.
photo: Heikkinen-Komonen
contemporary firms such as Brunow & Maunula and Vormala,
A6, and Playa, to name just a few? It seems it is not architects
that are calling the shots anymore, and the city
planners have gone mad – at least in Helsinki, where the intention
is to build housing for around 200,000 new inhabitants
within the city limits. Vast areas of granite bedrock
are being dynamited into piles of rocks, to be replaced with
more or less elegant massive shoeboxes clad in dark brown
brick. This is definitely not the second coming of Töölö, however
much certain architects and journalists might try to
convince us of this.
42 finland brick
43 finland brick

KYMP OFFICE
BUILDING, HELSINKI
Lahdelma & Mahlamaki
Architects: Ilmari Lahdelma
(head), Teemu Sepialia (principal
project architect), Minia Hilden
(interior architecture)
Project team: Maritta Kukkonen,
Minna Lahdelma, Mikko Lahti,
Tomoio Nakamura, Ving-Hanf
Chan, Selia Serovuo, Olli Aarino,
Mia Salonen, Juna Hulmi, Panu
Hiarmiavaara
General contractor: Skanska
Finland
Client: the city of Helsinki
2020
text: Tarja Nurmi
photos: Hannakaisa Pekkala,
Mark Goodwin, Kuvatoimisto
Kuvio
The city of Helsinki has reorganized
its department of
urban planning and related
subdivisions: now they are
all together in a single urban-planning
department.
At the same time, it was decided
to put all urban-planning
employees under one
roof in the Kalasatama area,
next to the fishing harbour
and a transport hub. Construction
of the building was
to have begun 10 years ago,
when JKMM created a project
plan that made it possible
to calculate a budget
for the project. The authors
of the realized building are
architects from the famous
Finnish firm Lahdelma &
Mahlamaki.
The KYMP building
stands out for the curious
arched design of the corners:
they look as if a gigantic
mouse has taken bites
out of the building. In the
gaps left by the bites are
green terraces, open stairwells,
and glazed apertures.
These create permeability in
the rational use of space and
help to balance out the regularity
of the facades.
This approach was made
possible by the use of castin-situ
concrete, the main
material here. The exterior
facing brick plays the role
of a defensive membrane –
coarse, but at the same time
playful; it helps the building
blend in with its industrial
neighbours. The façade is
also pierced by austere rows
of windows and attractive
arched motifs, which identify
the building as more official.
KYMP’s main objective in
designing this building was
to create a flexible space
that reflects the organization’s
identity. For instance,
the ‘bitten-off’ arch leads to
44
finland brick
45 finland brick

open high vestibules on the
ground floor and to a restaurant
for employees and members
of the public: here there
is nothing glamorous, glitzy,
or corporate. The restaurant
allows people from different
departments to exchange information
and mix in a relaxed
setting while eating.
The building also contains
well-equipped rooms for coffee
breaks and stepped open
theatres.
On the second level are
meeting rooms and an auditorium
for meetings of the
urban-design committee.
The top floors are occupied
by several open-plan spaces
for work: the idea is that
each employee should be
able to choose the most suitable
spot. It is expected that
tables with a view of the sea
will be the most popular.
The view from the
shared sports hall, which is
equipped with a sauna and
showers, is likewise amazing.
The showers here are
also essential because many
employees travel into the
office by bicycle – a trend
which is possibly based more
on ideology than on suitability
to Helsinki’s climate. The
project has already come in
for criticism due to its lack
of parking spaces: the decision
not to include car parking
was apparently too optimistic.
Recent criticism of Eliel
Square, Hietalahti, and
the South Harbour district,
where we see a clear desire
to go out of the way to appease
the interests of realestate
investors, is unlikely
to pierce the thick walls
of the KYMP building. Planning
specialists and other
members of the department
had the chance to express
their opinions of the future
project, yet inhabitants
of Helsinki often complain
that their views regarding
urban planning are not always
taken into account,
even if they are heard. And
this is telling: in the KYMP
building the public has access
only to the central vestibule
and a restaurant,
which is a little too much
like a canteen.
N
u Site plan
N
N
t 1 st floor plan
t 3 rd floor plan
46 finland brick
47 finland brick

YLIVIESKA CHURCH
K2S
Architects: Kimmo Lintula, Niko
Sirola, Mikko Summanen
Client: Ylivieska Parish
2021
text: Evgeny Lobanov
photos: Tuomas Uusheimo
The wooden 18th-century
church in the Finnish town of
Ylivieska was destroyed by
a fire in March 2016. In 2018
a competition was held for a
new church. 214 entries were
submitted. The concept chosen
was Trinitas by the Finnish
architects K2S (they have
also designed Kamppi Chapel
in Helsinki). No second
place was awarded. Third
place was shared by AOR Architects
and OOPEAA.
The brief required the architects
to design a building
which would perform the
functions of the lost church
while being a modern spatial
structure and entering
into new links with its context.
The jury identified five
main types of architectural
approach among the competition
projects:
• cruciform structures
inspired by the old
church;
• structures with a
triangular floor plan
alluding to Ylivieska’s
coat of arms;
• square or rectangular
floor plans;
• symbols of various
kinds;
• free expressive forms. 1
The idea behind the project
by K2S was to ‘rethink
the traditional Finnish church
building and create architecture
of unwavering quality.’ 2
The new church has a rectangular
plan with an oblique
corner on the side where the
main entrance is. The main
entrance faces south-west,
towards the foundations of
the old church, which have
been preserved. The ground
floor divides into three main
blocks: a triangular entrance
space, a main room,
and a parish room with ancillary
spaces. Each block has
a double-pitched roof. The
floor plan clearly adheres to
the principles established by
Louis Kahn: a clear division
into served and servant spaces,
and congruity between
48 finland
brick
49 finland
brick

functional and structural articulations.
The second floor
covers only the ancillary
spaces, leaving high ceilings
in the main rooms and vestibule.
The main church room
is illuminated by natural light
coming through a skylight in
the roof.
The massive triangle of
the windowless brick wall
overhanging the fully glazed
entrance niche creates a
sense of an anti-gravitational
impulse; it’s as if an Egyptian
pyramid is hovering in the
air – probably an allusion to
the Resurrection and at the
same time to Jesus’ saying
that real faith, even when it
is ‘small like a grain of mustard’,
can move mountains.
The three double-pitched
roofs joined to one another in
arbitrary fashion are, like the
three asymmetrically placed
niches on the east façade,
recognizably a symbol of the
Trinity, although you might
also easily see in them a reference
to the coat of arms
of the town of Ylivieska. The
shape of the niches echoes
the geometry of the facades,
while the triangular platform
between the slopes of the
roofs echoes the shape of the
area in front of the entrance,
creating the impression of a
recursion. The three triangular
planes of the brick walls
in the western part are not
identical: one is vacant; another
supports a square; the
third, the highest, a cross
(possibly calling to mind not
just religious symbols, but
also Suprematist art).
The rethinking of traditional
Finnish architecture
here proceeds by recreation
of simple, integral form from
more complex and slightly
distorted fragments and by
ascent from earthly fragmentation
and complexity to divine
simplicity. As Kenneth
Frampton noted back in the
1980s, ‘Evidently, concealed
behind these procedures of
destruction and recurrent
synthesis are the following
t The architecture
of this church is a
modern variant of
regionalism, but,
unlike the old,
Modernist version,
here we see a selfcontainment
and
objectivity that are
characteristic of
Metamodernism.
intentions: first, to animate
western forms which have in
a certain sense been devaluated,
using an oriental interpretation
of their essential
nature; second, to point
to the secularization of the
institutions represented by
these forms. This is clearly
a more suitable way of ‘presenting’
a church during the
age of secularization, when
there is a risk of the degeneration
of traditional cult iconography
into kitsch.’ 3
Interestingly, the trinity
can also be seen in this architecture
firm’s name, K2S,
if we read it as the chemical
formula for potassium sulphide
(two atoms of potassium
bound to an atom of sulphur:
this is almost the way
in which the roofs are linked
in the church) – a reagent
that was previously ubiquitously
used in photography
as a component of light-sensitive
emulsion. K2S’ architecture
is sensitive to light:
it is changeable daylight that
brings out the special spirituality
in this firm’s buildings;
here, as at Kamppi Chapel
in Helsinki, a special importance
is taken on by the small
but carefully planned disruptions
of symmetry; fine details
come into play.
The overall design of the
church’s volume is echoed by
the unusual geometry of the
cross on the wall. The crucifixion
here is not shown but
hinted at by the internal contradictoriness
of form underlined
by the lighting. In the
way the light penetrates the
space set aside for praying
and likewise in the combination
of wood and white surfaces,
the distant influence
of Aalto is clearly felt.
Construction of the new
church in Ylivieska was completed
in 2021. The ruins of
the old building are an important
functional part of church
ceremonies and events – together
with the new building,
war graves, and triangular
church square which has
formed between them. Despite
the tactfulness with
which it has been fitted into
its context, the brick church
is a conspicuous landmark
in the Kalajokilaakso region
and an inspiring example of
‘liberating regionalism’ in
21st-century Finland.
Notes:
1. Lynch, P., ‘K2S Architects Wins
Competition to Replace Fire-
Razed Church in Ylivieska, Finland’
(URL: www.archdaily.com/
883608/k2s-architects-winscompetition-to-replace-firerazed-church-in-ylivieskafinland
(last accessed:
28.09.2021)).
2. Ylivieska Church (URL: k2s.
fi/project/ylivieska-church
(last accessed: 28.09.2021)).
3. Фремптон К. Sovremennaya
arkhitektura: kritichesky
vzgliad na istoriyu razvitiya,
Moscow, 1990, p. 463.
4. Op. cit., p. 470.
t Floor plan
u Site plan
yu Facade elevations
sv Longitudinal
and cross sections
50 finland
brick
51 finland
brick

SIPOONLAHTI SCHOOL,
SIPOO
Rudanko + Kankkunen
Architects: Hilla Rudanko, Anssi
Kankkunen, Mikko Kilpelainen,
Valter Rutanen, Kiira Piiroinen
Arkkitehdit Frondelius+ Keppo+
Salmenpera
Architects: Jaakko Keppo,
Matti Sten, Jari Frondelius, Juha
Salmenpera, Pirita Nykanen
Engineering and interior design:
FCG Suunnittelu ja Tekniikka
Consulting on teaching: FCG
Consulting
Landscape architect: Nomaji
Client: the city of Sipoo
2020
text: Elizaveta Parkkonen
photos: Martin Sommerschield,
Kuvio Ltd
The design for Sipoonlahti
School was the result of an
invited architecture competition
held in 2015-2016. The
competition brief involved
expanding the local school
and creating a campus with
sports areas that could be
used by the entire town. The
building that existed on the
site had been erected shortly
before the competition
was held, in 2009 (architect:
Olli Pekka Jokela), and was in
a good condition. However,
Finland had opted for a policy
of centralization and enlargement
of its schools and
pedagogical reforms were
also underway, so this building
was already out of date.
Jokela had followed ‘classical’
Modernist principles
in designing a low building
(6370 square metres) with
a corridor-based layout and
longitudinal facades facing
north and south.
The solution proposed
by Hilla Rudanko and Anssi
Kankkunen, in collaboration
with their senior colleagues
from Arkkitehdit Frondelius+
Keppo+ Salmenpera,
was based on the old building
being ‘swallowed up’ –
on almost all sides – by the
new ones. The south facade
u The proportions
and colours of the
school’s main wings
resemble gigantic
bricks that have been
placed together as if
for dialogue.
of Jokela’s building has become
part of a system of atriums
around which a ‘newtype’
school consisting of
spaces without classrooms
has been placed. The atriums
themselves are teaching
spaces: the west atrium
is the science courtyard; the
east atrium is the arts courtyard.
The idea is that certain
lessons can be held in
the open air, and in the outside
spaces, during breaks,
the topics covered during
lessons will be remembered
and fixed in the memory. The
eye-catching brick look with
large windows and the fact
that one of the volumes has a
kink (a fashionable feature in
today’s Finnish school architecture)
give the design an
appearance so modern that,
52 finland
brick
53
finland
brick

if you didn’t already know
about it, you would hardly
suppose the existence of the
old building.
Especially notable is the
landscape design. The car
park and orthogonal sports
area have been replaced with
parks and playgrounds with
well selected vegetation.
The courtyard was put forward
for Landscape Object of
the Year.
The school’s floor area
and the ways in which its
spaces have been arranged
allow it to be used by 1200
or even more pupils. The interior
design employs the
natural colours of stone,
wood, and terracotta diluted
with shades of dark
blue and green. During the
course of daily teaching all
wall areas will sooner or later
be filled with wall newspapers,
posters, and creative
work by pupils – the
concrete surfaces are ideal
for this purpose. Modern
teaching methods allow the
school space to be used for
multi-format and transdisciplinary
teaching in groups
of various sizes. Accordingly,
children are taught not
in ordinary classrooms but
in ‘settings’, ‘zones’, ‘spaces’,
‘blocks’, and ‘teaching
villages’.
A glance at the designs
for this school without
classrooms shows that the
absence of separate rooms
for classes entails the absence
of corridors. This kind
of layout involves a spatial
arrangement based on
hints of separation of space;
the barriers are furniture,
curtains, and volumes inside
volumes. Also notable,
in distinction to classical
and Modernist school
architecture, is the irregular
distribution of windows
on the facades – another influence
on the layout. This is
due to the fact that certain
classes do not need daylight
– and in the case of video
lessons and conferences
daylight is even an impediment.
At least, when games
are played in the courtyard,
they do not distract from
teaching. The open space
makes extra demands of the
acoustic design. Almost all
ceilings are covered with
sound-absorbent panels.
The wood cladding also improves
the acoustics. Some
of the zones have mini-houses
for working in groups;
these have specially been
designed to allow the teams
to discuss their projects simultaneously
without getting
in each other’s way.
We may recall that Plato’s
Academy was likewise
transdisciplinary and had no
classrooms. There is nothing
new under the sun. It is possible
that after having their
fill of recipes of trans-, multi-,
and poly- formulae, society
will again turn to strip
windows, classrooms, monodisciplines,
and the calming
voice of the teacher.
v Section, central
auditorium, and
classrooms for
creative disciplines
v Central auditorium
and new wings
u 2 nd floor plan
vSection, view of the
opposite side. In the
background we see
the first façade.
54 finland
brick
55
finland
brick

THE ESTONIAN FIRM OF EEK & MUTSO HAS EXISTED SINCE THE END OF THE 1990S. REALIZED PROJECTS BY MADIS EEK AND MARGIT MUTSO
INCLUDE MANY THAT MAKE PROMINENT USE OF BRICK. WE TALKED TO MARGIT MUTSO ABOUT HER FIRM’S WORK AND CHOICE OF MATERIAL AND
ABOUT ESTONIAN BRICK ARCHITECTURE IN GENERAL.
THE WARMTH OF NATURAL CLAY. INTERVIEW WITH MARGIT MUTSO
old environment is tricky: on the one hand, we would like the
new architecture to be exciting, to enrich the environment, but
on the other we don't want the old to be completely overshadowed
by the new. I consider the Rotermann Quarter the most
successful urban environment in Estonia today. Also, this project
has preserved and emphasized the special history of the
site – I mean ‘Stalker's path’, a reminder of how Tarkovsky
filmed in Tallinn, at the Rotermann factory. It is important to
draw out the different strata in an old area.
t An example of
brick Expressionism
in Tallinn: a mixeduse
building on
Pärnu manatee.
Architect: Robert
Natus, 1936
v Ornamental treatment
of brickwork
in a project by Eek &
Mutso (Tartu, 2015)
Interviewer: Alisa Egorova
фото предоставлены EEK & MUTSO
In many of your works you use wood and brick (Jaamа apartment
building, 2015; Lutsu12 korterelamu, 2020; etc). What are
the reasons for this choice of materials?
We have frequently made extensive use of wood as a finishing
material, but not so much brick. Our use of brick has almost
always been motivated by location – these are cases where
brick has already been used elsewhere nearby or a brick
facade visually connects the building to a larger concept. I
regard brick as more pretentious than other materials. When
you use it, you have to be able to answer the following question:
why am I using this material right here and now? The
residential building on Jaama Street is one example where this
question was easy to answer: the new building is on the same
lot as a former factory building with a brick façade; the use
of brick made it possible to connect the adjacent house to the
existing building, forming a visual whole.
On Lutsu Street we used tinted (red) concrete with a timber
formwork next to the wooden facade of an outbuilding, and
to accompany the old roof tiles we selected a more modern
analogue stone.
We have also designed a private home with a brick facade.
The customer wanted a brick building with a timber facade
in yellow. Had it been our call, I don’t believe we would have
found enough justification for such a combination of materials
for this location. But when a client has a strong preference for
a particular material, we try our best to accommodate their
wishes. In such instances we look for ways to use a customer’s
material of choice, treating this as a challenge.
We have also proposed brick facades in a couple of competition
projects – for example, in the competition for the design
of Pärnu City Centre Art Building. In this particular case
the new building would have formed an ensemble with the
adjacent brick houses. However, it is difficult to win with a
brick façade when other participants in a competition are using
more contemporary materials: the effect of brick is hard to
convey by means of 3D visuals. So far, we have unfortunately
had no success with brick in a competition.
Can you trace any special trends in Estonian brick architecture
in recent years? How much is Estonian architecture dependent
on the global agenda?
In general, brick is not widely used in Estonia. But it has a
firm place in former industrial areas. Brick facades forming a
visual whole with historical buildings have been exceptionally
successful in Estonia. Our old industrial architecture has
become very trendy. Even Soviet-era brick buildings are being
repurposed; a new brick façade would fit well among the old:
the Rotermann and Telliskivi quarters are examples. There
are also beautiful examples of additions and reconstructions:
think of Pärnu City Centre School and the Raua Street sauna
building (both by Kavakava). Architects have used brick
boldly and innovatively. This is also the case in other parts of
the world.
The fashion for clinker facades in St Petersburg to some
extent came from Tallinn’s Rotermann Quarter. How would
you describe the development of this district as a combination
of old renovated industrial heritage and new architectural
interventions by different authors? Is this combination always
successful?
The Rotermann Quarter was one of the first industrial areas in
Tallinn to be developed and is considered a success by both
professionals and locals alike. Young architects discovered
the nature and potential of the former Rotermann industrial
area, and the developer was keen to do something special.
Rotermann was then further designed by very strong architects
who captured the nature of the location and the opportunities
it contained. The choice of materials combines new
and old architecture. In the case of the first building complex
here (Kosmos architects), it was an advantage that we have
our own brick factory in Estonia which was willing and flexible
enough to produce brick with a new design. Brick is a material
that is nice to look at closely. It has the warmth of natural
clay and of the human touch. If the material is designed by an
architect specifically for a particular building, even an empty
wall surface can speak volumes.
I believe good results can be achieved if a developer is motivated
to create a human-centred environment and works
with strong architects to design the site, either through a
competition or commission. Success can never be guaranteed,
but you can always create conditions that favour success. An
Could you comment on the variety of contemporary brick
production, especially compared with previous periods in the
history of construction using brick?
As a material, brick has taken on a completely different meaning
in the 21st century. Estonian architects still remember
Louis Kahn’s imaginary conversation with a brick (Kahn was
born in Estonia): ‘You say to the brick, “What do you want,
brick?” And the brick replies, “I like an arch”.’
For Kahn this meant that brick, as a construction material,
was a particularly suitable material for building arches.
Today, however, brick in architecture primarily serves as
a facade material. The load-bearing structure is reinforced
concrete, small blocks, wood, etc. If use of brick has been reduced
to facade design, then thin brick slabs will obviously be
used instead of standard-sized brick to reduce construction
costs. Viewed from a distance, this may give the impression of
a brick building, but when you look closely, you realize this is
just an illusion of a brick wall. For me personally, this is very
alien, dishonest.
However, if you want to construct an actual brick wall, the
choice of bricks today is very wide; textures ranging from fine
to more rustic are available in various shades. In and of itself,
brick is very likable, but to use it, you need, I think, some extra
reason, a special place that specifically asks for brick. Of
course, the selection of all materials needs to have a justification
in architectural reasoning.
Brick has also been used as a landscape design material:
in Estonia well-thought-out landscape design is a rising trend
and landscape architects are intensively looking for new materials.
You can see a beautiful brick landscape, for example,
in the Baltic Station market in Tallinn (Koko arhitektid).
In St Petersburg you find numerous examples of works by
contemporary architects who are inspired by historical heritage
or are simply using traditional details in a new or kind of
‘supereclectic’ way. Can you see a similar tendency in Estonian
architecture?
There are few direct imitators of the old style in Estonia. This
is not something that we value. The heritage-protection people
also think that a new building or part of it should be understandably
new, not a copy of the original. A new house that
is clearly a recreation of an old building is considered poor
taste. But we have old wooden settlements, the old medieval
town, and industrial areas where there is a lot of room for
interpretation, opportunities to transfer a feeling for the old
to new buildings. As to how to achieve this, that’s where every
architect has his or her own approach. Some limit the context
to the appropriate material and volume or interpret the
details; others take advantage of the original details; and so
on. We ourselves have had the opportunity to design several
buildings in an old setting. In every case we have looked for
different solutions to maintain the spirit of the place.
We are currently working on a real experiment: the socalled
petrification of old wooden houses. The old infectious
disease hospital complex in Tartu is so dilapidated that it
would be foolish to attempt to preserve it, but since the local
population loves this ensemble very much, the idea arose
of creating exact replicas of the existing buildings – not
of wood, the original material, but of concrete, to suggest
that they are modern. Our idea was to put the old preserved
wooden details on top of the concrete surface. However, at
the request of the Heritage Department, part of the timber
houses will need to be restored as an example of the previous
building.
These are exciting explorations, and we are all trying to
find a new way into the old environment. There are very inspiring
examples of experiments in a historical environment. My
favourite is the Narva College of Tartu University (Kavakava
architects), 1 an exceptionally context-sensitive, entirely modern
concrete and brick building which perfectly fits its surroundings
and embodies an exceptionally exciting architectural
idea.
Do you consider brick a promising material for current and
future architects? What will come after brick?
Brick certainly has room for improvement, both in terms of
design and function, and I believe the use of brick will not disappear.
One of the materials that has been little talked about
is raw brick – clay in other words – as a natural building material.
I am currently working on an 18th-century farmhouse in
South Estonia, where the barn has solid walls of raw red clay.
It is a very interesting material in terms of both appearance
and physical properties.
The uniqueness of clay has so far been little used in creating
an indoor climate, and we should be paying more attention
to it. Clay plasters are used in Estonia, but it seems to me that
using raw clay bricks would give an even better result. Mixing
clay with other organic materials could create a new quality.
There was a time when our ancestors explored these opportunities,
and now might be the moment for us to continue looking
into these options. Today, natural materials with a small
carbon footprint are very valuable, and I believe that raw clay
has a great opportunity to make a contribution here. Burnt
brick will certainly have its place in the future, but for today
I would bet on raw brick. Clay brick may have lost its place in
building vaults and arches, but, as a designer of indoor climate
and facades and interiors, I believe that brick still has
much more to offer as a material.
Notes:
1. See: Project Baltia, 2013, no. 3 (20), pp. 74-79..
56 estonia brick
57 estonia brick

HEALTH CENTRE,
SUURE-JAANI
Architects: Alvin Jarving, Mari
Rass, Ott Alver, Kaidi Poder, Katrin
Vilberg, Gert Guriev, Liina-Liis
Pihu, Marten Peterson
Interior design: Kuup Disain (Riin
Karema, Kerli Lepp, Mari Pold)
2019
text: Mariya Fadeeva
photos: Terje Ugandi,
Tonu Tunnel, Kristjan Lust
Suure-Jaani is a small town
in the central part of Estonia,
in the province of Põhja-Sakala.
It has a population
of approximately 1200,
so the construction of a
modern health centre occupying
an entire street block
was a highly visible project.
The winners of the architectural
competition presented
a concept that combined
modernity with the vernacular.
The project cost the municipality
almost 4.5 million
euros, of which 2.8 million
took the form of a construction
loan, while the Estonian
Ministry of Finance allocated
666,000 euros.
The idea behind the project
is that the health centre
should attract not just local
residents (there are no other
institutions of this kind in
the area), but also tourists
coming to visit the town’s
museum of the composers
Artur and Villem Kapp and
the nearby Soomaa National
Park. The building stands on
the site of a fire station on
the town’s central square,
next to an old church and a
lake. The fire station building
was preserved, as the
architectural brief required,
and incorporated in the complex.
The 3120-square-metre
plot accommodates a pool
with four 25-metre lanes and
several additional plunge
pools, a sauna, a training
room, a block of medical
consulting rooms, firstaid
rooms, a pharmacist’s,
a rental facility, a café, and
58 estonia
brick
59 estonia
brick

even a police station. This
rich functional programme
allowed the architects to divide
the relatively large volume
into several brick ‘houses’
containing the central
glazed space and pool.
The difference in the level
of the terrain on the long
side of the plot helped integrate
the basin containing
the pool without the
need for protracted excavation.
Additionally, the almost
three-metre difference
in levels made it possible to
separate flows of visitors using
the entertainments and
health facilities on the one
hand and the police station
and first-aid department on
the other. The latter are on
the ground floor and have
a separate entrance from
the side where the terrain is
lower. In general, the composition
is an excellent response
to the scale of the
surrounding development.
This composition is also legible
in the interior since the
exterior brick facing continues
inside the building.
The design is partly inspired
by local nature. Soomaa is
subject to seasonal floods,
when everything round
about, including nearby villages,
is under water and
people use boats to move
about between houses. In
the same way the expanse
of water in the swimming
pool stretches between the
centre’s brick volumes. The
curving contours of some
of the plunge pools reflects
the image’s natural character,
while the panoramic
windows make it possible to
incorporate the town’s real
nature into the interior. The
image is rounded off by a
translucent stretched ceiling
resembling a cloudy sky. Nature
has been pressed into
the service of the building.
On a more pragmatic note,
the roof is fitted with solar
panels.
u Site plan
s Longitudinal and
cross sections
s The exposed red
brick turns scarlet as
it covers the facades,
penetrating into the
interior, reminding
us of the spirit of
fire which inhabited
the fire station that
previously stood
here.
u1 st floor plan
60
estonia
brick
61
estonia
brick

TUNNELS AND
PEDESTRIAN BRIDGE,
TARTU
PART Architects
Architects: Siim Tuksam, Sille
Pihlak, Raul Yarg (Uhinenud
Arhitektid)
2021
text: Daria Byvshikh
Photo: Tynu Tunnel
In December began work on
the modernisation of one of
Tartu's busiest intersections.
The project that won a 2017
competition was carried out
by members of the PART Architects
group and Raul Yarg
from Uhinenud Arhitektid.
During the reconstruction, a
bridge and two tunnels were
built for pedestrians and cyclists
on both sides of Ria
(Riga) Street. The main​idea
of the project was the safe
passage of people through
the intersection and the railway
overpass, increasing
capacity, and convenient
transportation between the
university campus and the
city centre.
Remarkable new technologies
were used for construction
of the underground
tunnels: precast reinforced
concrete frame elements
were pushed under the railway
embankment. This allowed
for the uninterrupted
movement of cars and trains
over the site during construction
ensuring maximum convenience
for all users. Despite
the design difficulties
and unusual technological
application, the project was
delivered ahead of schedule.
The façade of the bridge
and tunnels is made of multicoloured
bricks in warm
shades. It is striking that
the shape of the bridge has
not been dictated by the necessities
of bricklaying construction,
but by those of the
reinforced concrete base beneath.
The brick has only a
decorative function. Such a
role is emphasised by the
62 estonia brick
63 estonia brick

s The pixel-like
character of the brick
cladding makes an
ideal fit with the
modular nature of
digital design.
u Site plan
fact that each element is set
not horizontally, but vertically,
with the bonding side outwards,
that is, we see only
side portion.
Despite such a "superficial
use," the brick does not
lose its inherent properties.
It creates a unique atmosphere
both inside and outside
the facility. In rainy and grey
weather, brick warms just
by means of its appearance,
and in hot weather it cools
by keeping out hot air. The
five selected shades create a
warm atmosphere, invoking
tenderness and conviviality.
This transport and pedestrian
junction created by
the architects fits perfectly
into the context of the space.
Rather than harming its outlines,
it complements them,
gently enveloping the surroundings
as if they had been
merely awaiting this final image
for their completion.
64
estonia
brick
65
estonia
brick

VITRUVIUS IN BRICK
u Monopolist, residential
complex. Architects: Studiya
44 (St Petersburg), 2018
Evgeny Novosadyuk,
architect, partner in
the St Petersburg
firm Studiya 44
u Fortezia,
Kronshtadt, 2019
tion’. In this situation it is important to have a firm and tried
and tested argument that will speak to a wide circle of people.
However strangely, an example of such an argument in
our day and age may be a construction material – namely,
brick. In most people’s minds the emotional character
of brick is inextricably bound up with architecture. At the
same time and not unimportantly, it is bound up with architecture
that is ancient but has survived to our day and is accordingly
strong and reliable. In itself brickwork gives rise
Text: Evgeny Novosadyuk
фото: предоставлены бюро «Студия 44»
The speed at which surrounding reality is changing is spurring
revision of the postulates of the recent past, transforming
the prism of our perception and causing us to revaluate
both historical buildings and what is now being built. This
makes it all the more interesting to note features deriving
from bygone ages that are visible in tendencies in today’s architecture
– an architecture which is no longer constrained by
clear stylistic movements and trends.
The structural foundation of the theory of architecture was
laid in the first century BC by Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, a Roman
architect, engineer, architecture theoretician, and author
of the tractate Ten Books on Architecture (De architecture
libri decem), where we find the famous triad ‘strength, utility,
beauty’. These three words have generally not been translated
entirely accurately. Firmitas may be translated as ‘stability’
as well as ‘strength’; utilitas – ‘utility’ – may be better understood
as ‘usefulness’; the meaning of venustas – ‘beauty’
– is closer to ‘attractiveness’. Such semantic shifts may seem
insignificant, but in a number of cases these alternative translations,
stripped of any patina of romanticism or sentimentality,
make possible a more objective evaluation of the quality of
an architectural design.
Stability (strength) is an architectural characteristic
which is minimally subjective and thus less liable to re-evaluation
over the course of the centuries. It is a quality which
has steadily improved as a result of man’s technological progress.
The progressive growth of technical capabilities and
the emergence of new materials and technologies and means
of calculating loads has enabled radical variations of familiar
building types (this is especially evident in large and multifunctional
public buildings).
Utility reflects the development of public formations and
social institutions, reveals growth or decline in prosperity,
and exhibits forms of social order, requirements, and preferences
at a particular stage in history. In their striving to anticipate
man’s requirements, architects of modern buildings
often create superfluous and weakly articulated spaces
(mixed-use halls, transformable rooms, etc.). Unfortunately,
the fetishization of multifunctionality by no means always
helps in answering the brief, and unqualified reliance on super-modern
materials and buildings’ technological ‘filling’
can ultimately lead to complexity and higher running costs.
Attractiveness (beauty), a serious argument when it comes
to selecting a particular architectural proposal, reflects the
ideals and tastes of a particular period in history and is a response
to that period’s intellectual moods and aesthetic aspirations.
In our age the demand for ‘beauty’ often comes from
the client – a specific person or group of people. The primary
objective here is to guess the mood of the buyer, the future
‘consumer’ of a building. Today is very different from the time
when the elite who were in a position to commission important
buildings were broadly educated, including in aesthetics,
and strove to express this in its architecture. Here we should
note the view expressed by Vladimir Paperny in his book
Kultura Dva (Culture Two). This same book, however, notes the
end of a period of many centuries marked by the dominance
of ‘official’ styles. The epoch of ‘grand styles’ determining architecture’s
artistic language will probably never return. The
choice of a retrospective design of whatever kind can thus
only be a ‘flirtation’ with our memories and associations, sensations,
and feelings.
Vitruvius’ formula may seem archaic but is nevertheless
timeless. The volume of new architecture being created today
is substantial and is continuing to grow in geometrical progression
at incredible speed – there is sometimes simply not
the time to understand and evaluate architectural ‘producto
a feeling of tectonic strength; it looks structural and coherent.
Together with its aesthetic characteristics, tactility,
and complexity of shades and textures, it is a feature that
corresponds to architecture’s absolute basis (Vitruvius’ triad).
It is hardly surprising that, for all the rich abundance of
modern construction materials, brick is still part of the architect’s
arsenal. The latest tendencies and growth in technological
capabilities are creating a synergetic effect whose
potential has yet to be exhausted.
66 russia brick
67 russia brick

s Kurdoner, residential
complex
u Floor plan, first
floor and cross-section
"PATIO" AND
"KURDONER"
RESIDENTIAL
COMPLEX, PSKOV,
RUSSIA
General Designer: Studio 44
Architectural Bureau , LLC
Architects: Nikita Yavein, Vasily
Romantsev, Ulyana Sulimova,
Elena Bogomaz, Evgenia
Kuptsova, Maria Yavein
Designers: Irina Lyashko, Natalia
Prosvetova, Sergey Bogdanov
Principal Architect: Lev Gerstein
Contractor: DSC, LLC
Client: Stroy DC, LLC (Pskov)
2020
text: Lyudmila Likhacheva
photo: Margarita Yavein
Nikita Yavein attributes the
impulse for experimenting
with brickwork to a trip to
Iran and a firsthand acquaintance
with ancient Persian architecture:
"For me, the architecture
of Byzantium and
Persia is where the nature of
brick has been most forcefully
and most fully expressed.
It had always seemed to me
strange, even artificial, to
see forms that were not brick
laid out in brick, like the ancient
orders of columns. In
the past, this architecture
was not determined by the
materials themselves, but
by structures characteristic
to them: a brick arch, a brick
vault, a brick wall. I reckon
that today brick has simply
ceased to be a construction
material. Now large buildings
merely use it as a filler that
longer serves any particular
structural function. Rather,
it allows you to put together
patchwork compositions with
a great potential for decorative
and improvised patterning.
In fact, I saw something
similar in mediaeval Persian
buildings over different parts
of the country. The brick architecture
there is amazing,
it is structurally important;
but, at the same time,
the medium constantly plays
against itself, setting its
structural logic aside."
After this opening, in St
Petersburg ornamental ribbons
of brickwork came to
adorn the façades of the "Monopolist"
residential complex
on 70 Kirochnaya Street.
The main façade of the Boris
Eifman Dance Academy includes
a giant brick QR code
that encrypts Joseph Brodsky's
dedication to Mikhail
Baryshnikov: "Classical ballet
is a castle of beauty."
At the very centre of Pskov,
on the banks of the Velikaya
River, this particular
"play" of brickwork has aided
in the organic integration
of new structures into a very
involved context.
The these two small, residential
buildings had to
be fit into a uniquely demanding
and complex urban
landscape. The site is
completely surrounded by architecture
of historical significance.
With the exception
of the "Thermal Power Plant"
(1926–1930, architect A. Ol)
that has regional historical
status, all the surrounding
buildings are federally registered
objects of cultural heritage.
These are, first of all,
the Middle City's (1375) defensive
fortification with the
Mstislavskaya (1399) fortress
tower, the only one
that has survived to this day.
North of the site is the Hodigitria
Church of the Pechersky
Metochion (16th to 18th
centuries), to the east is the
Seminary with the Gatekeeper's
House now housing part
of the Pskov State University
(1845–1849, architect
A. Shchedrin; 1901–1905,
civil engineer A. Pavlovsky),
as well as the Police Department
complex (1867, architect
A. Serebryakov).
Patio and Kurdoner's creators
sought to set a precedent
for civilised dialogue
between modern and historical
architecture, when newly-erected
structures do not
hide their birth dates while
still giving coherence and
harmony to buildings from
a range of periods. These
structures, each two or three
storeys high and different in
shape, are brought together
into an ensemble owing to
the same patterning of their
façades – gray-beige running
bond brickwork and ceramic
tiles. Materials were
made on location according
to original drawings by Maria
Yavein. In addition to the façade's
ornamental insets, its
basic minimalism and austerity
give life to sets of windows
of varying sizes. Their
outlines convey to the viewer
the building's internal composition,
its floorplans and
individual spaces in their respective
scales. For all the
novelty and modernity of
such an approach, these occasionally
"incorrect" and
"improvised" deviations
from symmetry and regularity
rhyme with the hand-crafted
nature of historical Russian
architecture.
u Patio residential
complex floor plan
68 russia brick
69 russia brick

‘ST PETERSBURG IS A BRICK PLACE.’ INTERVIEW WITH MIKHAIL MAMOSHIN
Mikhail Mamoshin is
a chief of Architeckturnaya
masterskaya
Mamoshina bureau,
he is an academic
of architecture (the
Russian Academy
of Architecture and
Construction Sciences,
and International
Academy of
Architecture), and
Honored architect of
Russia. He lives in
St Petersburg
Interviewer: Vladimir Frolov; editor: Varvara Shmeleva
As a theme, brick architecture might seem to be an applied
subject. In fact, though, any material has its own metaphysic,
its own artistic image. For St Petersburg brick is a key material.
And it’s now been updated: the trend comes from the west, but
for St Petersburg it has a special significance.
Brick’s ‘mentality’ was signalled in human history by the
construction of the Tower of Babel: the first bricks were born
when Noah’s descendants erected this structure from baked
clay. There are three main materials which result from thermal
processing: brick, glass, and metal. A priori they remain
natural since they are created from the fruits of the earth. In
general, the history of world architecture shows is that brick
is really a medieval material. Gradually, beginning with the
Gothic style, brick replaced natural stone and began to be
used as a facing material.
Our own Russian history is also remarkable. Initially, our
main construction material was wood, then wood was pushed
out by brick. This happened mainly in churches, certain public
buildings, and the residences of boyars and then noblemen,
etc. From the 10th century forwards, the entire material
volume of Russian architecture followed this scenario. Today
in Russia the main artefacts which have come down to us are
of brick; wood is clearly entropic. We have to use our imaginations
to complete most of the listed wooden buildings that we
see in icons and engravings.
When St Petersburg was built, it was forbidden to use brick
and masonry in construction anywhere else in the country. It
was brick that enabled St Petersburg to rise so quickly out of
the swamps and grow. Upstream on the Neva, in Nikolskoe,
THE STYLE MODERNE ERA ELEVATED ‘EXPOSED’
BRICK TO A NEW AESTHETIC LEVEL. INSTEAD OF BEING
A MATERIAL TO BE CONCEALED, IT BECAME
A MATERIAL WHICH FUNCTIONS IN THE OPEN
there were good clays from which brick was made. There
were, of course, wooden buildings too, and there were also
buildings that used a combination of materials, but they too
often imitated structures made from brick. In principle, St Petersburg
is all brick. The emergence of reinforced concrete at
the end of the 19th century slightly pushed out brick as a material
for load-bearing structures, but the perimeter of a building
was still often executed in brick. Due to the need for thermal
insulation given this city’s climate, brick has always had
a role to play here.
It is true that in many cases brick was concealed by plaster
or under natural stone. Aesthetically, it arrived on the
scene very late, during the Historicist period, when the Neogothic
style made its appearance. The Style Nouveau epoch
aesthetically elevated ‘exposed’ brick to a new level; instead
of a material which was concealed, it became one which
functioned openly. As a facing material, brick – to be more
specific, ceramic facing brick – became thinner. It popped
out of the brickwork, began to underline the façade’s geometry
and to be manufactured to a high standard. In the early-
Soviet period, very regrettably, all this came to a stop. The
‘brick style’ was no more, but brick remained as a material
for walls. Brick architecture began to emerge in our country
only at the end of the 1960s and beginning of the 1970s,
in one-off buildings.
Brick architecture was the basis of industrial construction
in Russia from the moment that buildings began to be produced
industrially. Our pre-Revolutionary industrialists mainly
came from the Old Believers and were usually educated
in England. The Prussian model of industry was also based
on brick. A special role in Russia was played by the ‘railway
style’; industrial buildings were also all of brick. Initially,
when factory workshops tended to be built of brick, there was
no thought of using facing materials for these buildings. Subsequently,
fine buildings were created in the ’brick format’ not
just in St Petersburg, but all over Russia too.
In St Petersburg houses were built over the course of two
years: in the first year the foundations were laid, the walls
were erected, the building’s outline was defined, the stoves
were built – and then kept alight throughout the winter. The
fact that the new house was heated over the winter allowed it
to dry out and settle; and it was only in the following year that
the decorating work was done. Incidentally, masons in St Petersburg
were usually from Yaroslavl; carpenters were from
Novgorod. Barges carrying brick came to the city from Nikolskoe;
all our beautiful ramps leading down to the water were
initially used by builders to bring brick to St Petersburg. So
deliveries of brick affected the structure of the city’s waterfronts.
St Peterburg witnessed a kind of dispute regarding style: Classicism
required that buildings be plastered to imitate stone, but
in time the city developed another face, based on Gothic and
Old Russian prototypes. This is how the Church of Our Saviour
on the Blood, for instance, came into being. Many elements of
this new ‘retrospective St Petersburg’ were demolished during
the Soviet epoch. In recent years however, this architecture has
clearly been making a comeback.
I think St Petersburg has been shaped by two things: classicism
and regionality (I used to call this ‘Nordic-ness’). These
are the sources of the city’s stylistic culture; until Historicism
there were almost no examples of the brick style or the use of
exposed brick in decoration (with just a few exceptions). As
for the Soviet period, even in the pure, abstract geometry of
the early Leningrad tendencies (St Petersburg Avant-garde,
Constructivism, Suprematism) use was still made of brick.
Subsequently, slag-concrete blocks were introduced. Incidentally,
what was made from brick has come down to us in a better
condition. Today restoring buildings made from slag-concrete
blocks is problematic: the slag-concrete blocks have
largely not withstood the test of time. The Avant-garde epoch
failed to realize its philosophical and aesthetic ideas in material
form and came to an end precisely for this reason: technologically
and technically, we were not ready for this architecture.
The 1930s – 1950s were a remarkable period architecturally
for our city. The rules of old Petersburg were at this point
changed to accommodate a new reality; there was a technological
reset. This is very clear at Chernaya rechka, on ulitsa
Savushkina, where the facades are clad with the architectural
concrete of that time, while on the courtyard sides everything
is simplified and similar to Novaya Gollandiya. Admittedly,
the brick used is silicate brick. In itself this is a very interesting
phenomenon; something similar occurred during the age
of Constructivism.
Active use of brick halted after 1954, which brought
the onset of a completely new period. A rare exception is
Kronshtadt. Here construction in the second half of the 20th
century was commissioned by the Ministry of Defence, and
for this reason was based on the theme of military architecture:
consequently, all new houses had to be red. Kronshtadt
u Omega, a residential
complex on the
embankment of the
Severnaya Dvina,
has contributed to
Arkhangelsk a recognizable
silhouette in
the spirit of contemporary
regionalism
for the 21st-century.
continued to be built in the brick style literally until the onset
of perestroika. In general, Leningrad’s new housing developments
of the 1960s and 1970s depended on industrial
methods, and so brick was used only in a very narrow field
consisting of one-off design projects. That’s how the houses
designed by Nadezhin (high-rise towers and the Higher
School of Trade Unions (now St Petersburg Humanitarian University
of Trade Unions) in Kupchino), Leviash (the LETI building),
and Pesotsky (the Gidprovodkhoz building) came about.
In the 1970s – 1990s the typical residential street block was
based on prefab reinforced-concrete buildings from our Leningrad
housing series, while on plots overlooking the street
edge ‘spots’ were reserved for one-off houses built from
brick. In places brick remained; in others it was concealed behind
tiles. It is interesting that administrative buildings were
built exclusively from brick, to one-off design projects of superior
class.
Curiously, in the late-Soviet period in Leningrad there was a
return to the use of brick. Some architects sought inspiration in
works by their western colleagues – Louis Kahn, for instance –
while others turned to the St Petersburg tradition and, through
it, to the same Gothic style.
Yes, especially important in this legacy are works by the studio
of Vladimir Shcherbin. They include houses on Varshavskaya
ulitsa, on Lake Dolgoe, and so on. I’m sure that Shcherbin’s
work should be studied as a successful example of
symbiosis of tradition and modernity in the context of the
Leningrad / St Petersburg mentality.
Brick’s progress was smooth until they started building
so-called ‘energy-efficient’ buildings with a monolithic
skeleton. This tendency came from abroad. In the
load-bearing structure brick was replaced with monolithic
reinforced concrete (the framework and load-bearing
walls). As a thermal-insulation material, brick was seen off
by aerated concrete and other insulators. The drive to build
quicker has today turned brick into tiles hung on the suspended
subsystem of the ventilated facade, i.e. brick has
become just a flat facing material. Structurally, it is now almost
superfluous in civic construction. Brick has remained
in churches and in construction of private houses – i.e. only
in narrow fields. Today brick has started to function as a
sign. I think that in the future it will continued to be used in
this way, with just a few exceptions. We are probably not a
brick superpower – in Europe everything is on a more serious
level; ever since Gothic, the use of brick in Europe has
been extremely sophisticated.
On the other hand, brick definitely has a future. We know
places in the world that are non-brick. Well, St Petersburg is a
brick place, thanks to the clays of Nikolskoe, even if today materials
are brought here from all over the world.
As a practising architect, do you take pleasure in using brick?
I love using brick. When I didn’t get into university to study architecture,
my parents sent me off to a building site – to learn
practical common sense by working as a bricklayer. I worked
for a year and got my third-class brick-laying qualification.
We used red brick for the wall infill and silicate brick for the
facing. Since then, I have always dreamed of designing brick
houses wherever possible – and I continue building them now.
In St Petersburg, Arkhangelsk, Severodvinsk…
I’m now finishing work on ‘Arthouse’, a project which
was designed together with the new stage of the Small Drama
Theatre. I spent a long time thinking what this building
should be like. I had the idea that it would be a ‘hymn to nonsmart
St Petersburg’, and that became the project’s work-
70 russia brick
71 russia brick

u The design for the
Church of the Exaltation
of the Cross on
Krestovsky Island
in St Petersburg
updates the Russian
Style in the context of
Supereclecticism.
s Arthaus (2022), a
residential complex
near the New Stage
of the Small Dramatic
Theatre (MDT) in
St Petersburg: a
revival of the brick
architecture of Style
Moderne
ing slogan. The base is natural stone (socle, ground floor);
then comes ‘brick’; and the top is a ‘copper’ mansard twostorey
structure… Thank God, everything worked out. During
the work process we meticulously designed rosettes, string
courses between the storeys, and so on. We created the entire
traditional system of minor forms needed for the running
of a brick building, including a system of gutters. Traditional
forms of this kind produced the mentality of a brick façade.
An achievement here is that all these brick subtleties
were executed as a ventilated façade with brick tiles – made
by the well-known German firm Feldhouse. The same goes
for the ‘copper’ two-storey attic, which has been built – in
accordance with all the rules of the traditional art of roofing
– using products by the Serbian company Sevalkon. I can’t
wait to see the canopy of the driveway leading down into the
garage completed; it will be real cast-iron high-tech with
planar glazing on the sliders.
Personally, I would compare this building with Bernardazzi’s
‘fairy-tale house’, which was destroyed by fire during the war.
That building was a magnificent combination of different materials,
with brick playing a special role.
I didn’t have any departure point; ‘loading’ the images took
many years. The aesthetic was based on the tectonics of
brickwork. Everything has been done in the context of the
rules for playing with brick; the shapes derive from brick’s
mentality. To bring my reflections on brick to a close, I think
the ‘brick style’ was an attempt to create the first international
style – a style which brought together all the cultural
schools in Europe before World War I.
Still, there is here both a purely Petersburg resonance and
a revival of the Russian Style. A substantial role is played today
by church architecture.
Yes, this architecture is probably more conservative than
in the west. Because the church – the sky – is a covered vault,
whereas in Gothic architecture it’s something else. In our architecture
the wall becomes the roof, it’s as if the sky descends
to ground level, whereas in Catholic architecture you
have a movement forwards and up. I am happy to design
churches since all churches are designed to last centuries –
unlike secular architecture, which is transient. We shall soon
see the completion of the Church of the Holy Cross on Krestovsky
Island, where the brick walls will be decorated with majolica,
while the overall polychromy will be reinforced by the
green of the copper roof and the gilding of the domes. The
starting point for this project is the creative legacy of the architect
Vasily Kosyakov.
What do you think of the new reality, which we might justifiably
call ‘post-global’? This reality can influence not just the need to
work with local materials (‘import replacement’), but also the
imagery used…
The globalism of recent years gave our St Petersburg architecture
only technological richness, and we have created a
very strong regional school. St Petersburg has withstood
the test of globalism; we have seen the emergence of an architecture
of which we could not even have dreamed. Architects
have created new rules of the game. And my view is
that there will be no changes from the point of view of aesthetics.
We shall retain the ‘figurative format’ in its modern
interpretation in the historical centre of St Petersburg
and must continue our quest for a Leningrad / St Petersburg
identity in the Leningrad part of the city, especially in the
mass-housing sector. Over these years we have laid a good
foundation, and I think we’ll be able to cope with the problems;
we just have to keep at it.
72 russia brick
73 russia brick

CHURCH OF ST GEORGE
THE VICTORIOUS,
TSVYLEVO,
LENINGRADSKAYA
OBLAST
Arkhitekturnaya masterskaya
Tektonika
Team head and principal architect:
Kirill Yakovlev
Architects: Evgeny Cherepakhin,
Tatyana Kislykh
Principal engineer: Aleksandr
Aleynik
Text: Kseniya Surikova
Photos: Kirill Santalov
Tikhvinsky District abounds
in both memorial structures
and masterpieces of ecclesiastical
architecture containing
unique icons. However,
the memorial church
in honour of the Great Martyr
George the Victorious and
the nearby memorial complex
in the village of Tsvylevo
are especially notable. The
church and the spot where
the memorial is situated are
a confluence of the history of
the country, the region, and
mankind.
The small settlement
which sprang up not far from
the brickmaking factory of
the St Petersburg merchant
Aleksandr Tsvylev was part
of the Road of Life (184th kilometre)
during World War II.
This provided the impetus for
the idea of creating a ‘Memorial
Complex Commemorating
Defenders of the Fatherland
during the Great Fatherland
War of 1941-1945’. The complex’s
centre is the church,
which belongs to the classical
cross-and-dome tradition.
The central part ends
u Site plan
in an apse. Triangular pediments
support the dome and
cross. A feature of the design
is the eye-catching unplastered
brick of the facades,
which are 80% of pre-Revolutionary
brick. Some of the
bricks came from nearby: until
the Revolution this was
the location of a brick factory
belonging to Tsvylev which
produced bricks for construction
in both Tikhvin and St
Petersburg. All the bricks
made at the factory bore the
maker’s name; some of the
bricks here were inserted
into the building’s walls face
outwards to demonstrate
the stamps used by Tsvylev’s
and other old factories.
Bricks from ruined houses in
St Petersburg were also used
in building the church. The
total number of bricks here
is 35,000. The use of brick
in various colours make the
church more ornate and picturesque.
The complex occupies an
area of more than one hectare
and has an austere geometrical
composition.
This composition is shaped
by, on the one hand, a central
axis linking the memorial
church and the territory’s
main entrance and, on
the other, diagonals formed
by pedestrian paths. The
church is surrounded by elements
that are traditional
for memorials: a Square of
Memory, a granite obelisk,
a common grave for soldiers
(with, in its centre, a memorial
to the Soviet Soldier in
the form of a kneeling figure
in a cape), and an Alley
of Memory.
On the opposite side from
the church is a monument to
the village’s founder – a classic
bust on a granite pedestal
in a niche made of the old
brick manufactured by Aleksandr
Tsvylev. This is a reminder
of the pre-Revolutionary
history of this spot,
which was the location of the
owner’s country estate. Tsvylev’s
interests included local
history, charity, and education.
To the south of the church,
a one-storey brick building
with a double-pitched roof
contains the Museum of Military
Glory and Folk Life and
Living. Outside the building
pieces of military equipment
and weaponry have been
placed.
This complex possesses
a strict regular structure
and a style which refers to
Soviet precursors; however,
the role of main feature
here is, in keeping with older
tradition, played by the
u The new church
in Tsvylevo has been
assembled from
35,000 old bricks
that were saved
when old buildings
were demolished
u The architecture
of the church
continues the
traditions of Russian
Neoclassicism.
church. All structures situated
on the complex’s territory
refer in one way or another
to the military theme. The
church walls resemble fortress
walls; the domes, the
helmets of the warriors of
Old Rus. The wooden children’s
playground situated
opposite the common grave
looks like an ancient Russian
fortress.
s Sketch design for
the monument to
Aleksandr Tsvylev,
2020
Abutting the symmetrical
enclosed complex are a
residential zone for the family
of the senior priest, a car
park for visitors, a helicopter
pad, and a promenade zone
around Tsvylevo Pond. The
promenade zone comprises
a landscaped embankment
with paths and benches, a
chapel, a font, and a bridge
over the pond.
74 russia
brick
75
russia
brick

BOTANIKA,
RESIDENTIAL
COMPLEX, ST
PETERSBURG
TOBE architects
Principal project architect:
Andrey Korablev
Architects: Anastasiya Apostilidi,
Darya Kozlova, Mariya Kalitskaya,
Oksana Mizenko, Oleg Mikheenko,
Regina Shigapova, Yuliya Ershova,
Denis Sergeev, Ilya Timofeev
Client: Etalon LenSpetsSMU
Principal project engineers:
Ilya Khafizov, Aleksey Pushkin
Landscape architect: Anastasiya
Khitrina
2020
To return to storey-telling:
the concept of this
building is clearly based on
the genius loci. The complex’s
name refers to the Botanic
Garden and the nearby
apothecary’s shop at which
medicinal herbs are dried –
a connection which is alluded
to by the vegetative motifs
in the pattern on the
window railings, the decorative
metal elements on
the façade, and elements of
landscaping.
The complex’s layout,
an allusion to the cour
d’honneur, links the new architecture
to traditions of
building on Petrogradskaya
storona. The device that
most effectively integrates
Botanika into its historical
context is the use of handmade
bricks to clad the facades.
The use of brick is typical
for this area. Nearby are
buildings from different epochs:
on the same facade
line as Botanika is the Elecu
An aerial photograph
shows the
residential complex’s
position in the
context of the brick
buildings erected
at different times
on Petrogradskaya
storona.
photo: Denis Mamin
text: Liza Strizhova
Photography:
Grigory Sokolinsky
The philosophy of marketing
penetrates everything today,
including architectural
design. Architects must not
just think up and design a
building but also obtain numerous
approvals and present
their project to various
audiences both before and
after its realization. Help
is at hand from so-called
‘storytelling’ – a communications
instrument which
draws users into a dialogue
conducted using stories and
the presentation of a personalized
product and its viability.
Let’s try to understand
what story is told by
Botanika, a new residential
complex on Petrogradskaya
storona in St Petersburg.
Situated on Aptekarsky
Island, on the site of the no
longer functioning Oktyabr
chemical and pharmaceutical
factory, Botanika continues
the strategy of converting
old industrial sites
on Aptekarsky for use as
housing. The lot is part of
a street block bounded by
Aptekarsky prospekt, ulitsa
Popova, and Instrumentalnaya
ulitsa. Botanika’s two
П-shaped blocks stand next
to the grounds of St Petersburg
Electro-Technical University.
The site has a rich
history linked to the invention
and preparation of
medicines.
A modern residential
building is a work of architecture
in a unique context
and usually an element in
a large-scale development
process: such is the logic of
Modernist discourse. Taking
up the baton in this area’s
development from the Europa
City and Skandi Klubb
complexes, Botanika both
stands out from the latter
and fits into these surroundings.
If Modernism is all
about reproducing a standardized
design using industrial
methods, Botanika, a
product of post-Soviet architecture,
exhibits a gap between
personalized, contextual
design and the scale
of the buildings on the one
hand and the clearly industrial
origin of the decorative
elements, finishes, etc. on
the other.
76 russia brick
77 russia brick

Aerial photography
makes it possible
to evaluate this
project’s landscape
design as a coherent
whole and to
notice the influence
of the techniques
of supergraphics
78 brick 79 russia
brick

trotechnical Institute’s main
building, which was erected
in 1903 with cladding of
light-colour brick. Contrasting
with the latter is a redbrick
Brutalist teaching laboratory
block belonging to
the same institute and erected
in 1972. Also nearby are
a former residential building
with strips of brick on
its façade and a former residential
building for officers
from the 1900s, both of
which are good examples
of the brick style; at the intersection
of Instrumentalnaya
ulitsa and Aptekarsky
prospekt is a business centre
built in 1989, with a circular
volume on the corner
and brick facades. Botanika
may thus be seen as the latest
stage in the evolution of
the use of brick.
In spite of their congruity
with their context, the
new houses do not simply
mimic their surroundings;
they are a reflection
of their time. Notable traits
of today’s architecture include
the juggling with different
stylistic devices. The
clear vertical articulation
of the facades, combined
with light-coloured horizontal
string courses, the arrangement
of windows in
groups, and the rounding of
the corners all come from
Constructivist architecture;
the cour d’honneur, from
Style-Moderne apartment
blocks; and the brickwork,
from factory buildings. The
final element in this collage
is the floral patterns of the
decorative elements.
The desire to inscribe the
new complex into its historical
surroundings explains
the choice of relatively ascetic
expressive media; this
is surprising in itself. When
architects set out to make
new architecture fit the architecture
that preceded it,
uv Floor plans
u Site plan
their usual approach is lavish
decoration of facades;
St Petersburg has numerous
examples of this kind
of treatment of a historical
style. In Botanika, on
the contrary, we see no such
superfluity; diversity is
achieved through the juxtaposition
of materials: brick,
metal, natural stone, and
glass-fibre reinforced concrete.
The building’s middling
height, its commercial
ground floors, and the tactility
of the finishes fill the
still only partly populated
complex with life. Botanika
is on a human scale. Slightly
at odds with the rest of
the ensemble is the poverty
of the landscape design,
where the emphasis is not
on greenery and vegetation
but on symbolic representations
of greenery in the pattern
of the finishes and the
shape of the flowerbeds.
Botanika’s storytelling is
extremely rich in meanings;
its architecture communicates
with those who live in
this city, relating the history
of the site and of the island
as a whole. The design
establishes cultural and historical
axes, and its graphic
solutions are playful and
attractive in a modern way.
Architecture like this is undoubtedly
easy to set before
the judgment of the public:
it speaks for itself.
As an example of attentive
and tactful treatment of
its context, one might imagine
Botanika in neighbouring
Helsinki, for instance,
where the contextual approach
to construction is
common. For all that it incorporates
clear markers of
technological progress, the
complex fits tactfully into
the framework of its street
block, preserving the coherence
of its environment.
This is an important precedent
in the context of St Petersburg’s
historical urban
layout: on top of everything
else, it shows how the existing
city may be respected
while new buildings are
erected in its midst.
v Cross section
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81 russia brick

The residential
complex comes
right up to the
main road in the
north. Behind the
road, a wonderful
panoramic view
opens up of the
water. An ideal
view for an urbanist
nomad.
DOCKLANDS
LOFT DISTRICT,
ST PETERSBURG
Zukauskas Architects
Interior-design concept for apartments:
Zukauskas Architects,
Designic
Landscaping concept: Designic
2021
text: Andrey Larionov
photos: GK Docklands
Development and Aleksey
Bogolepov
If Vasilievsky Island is often
compared with Manhattan,
this is usually due to the
analogy between Vaslievsky’s
‘lines’/’prospekts’ and
New York’s streets/avenues.
However, in addition
to the orthogonal street
plan and the streets’ impersonality
(streets have numbers,
not names), New York
and Vasilievsky Island have
much else in common: the
system of planting of vegetation
(boulevards and alleys),
the way that their development
has evolved as
street numbers have grown,
even the presence of a large
rectangular area of greenery
in the centre (admittedly,
in the case of Vasilievsky,
the rectangle is not a
park but a cemetery). The
most striking presentday
addition to Vasilievsky’s
‘American’ image is the
monumental, tilted pylons
of the suspension bridge of
the Western High-Speed Diameter
(ZSD) at the end of
Bolshoy prospekt.
Context dictates, and new
structures fall in line. A new
pseudo-American structure
on Vasilievsky is Docklands,
an apartments complex on
Uralskaya ulitsa designed by
Zukauskas Architects (Germany).
The project’s name,
which underlines its position
near the port, is an allusion
to the trendy district
of modern office buildings
which has sprung up on the
site of old docks on the River
Thames in London.
Docklands’ archaicizing
82 russia
brick
83
russia
brick

architecture fits its harsh
environment well. The simple
brick buildings inspired
by the Chicago School stand
next to a major road junction,
several late-Soviet
buildings, and the Lenta hypermarket
with its large car
park. In the background is
the aquatic expanse of the
Malaya Neva. In combination
with these surroundings,
the new buildings recreate
the landscape found on
the periphery of the typical
American city, where a mishmash
of various architectural
styles combines with vacant
but usually urbanized
spaces.
The architecture of the
Chicago School is not simply
the starting point for
the artistic image here; it is
more the model on which it
is based. The wide, square
windows and the narrow
strips of walls between them
u The loft aesthetic
is essentially a matter
of interior design.
Although this house
is entirely new, its
inhabitants feel as if
they are making their
homes in part of the
gigantic space of an
old factory.
w Site plan
x Building 1, bock 1,
the 3rd floor
remind us of the first frame
buildings; and the high twostorey
socle and emphatically
projecting cornice at the
top complete the picture of
an average American commercial
building from the
beginning of the 20th century.
The unexpected use
of curvilinear window lintels
on the third storey from
the top in two of the buildings
in the complex seems
a direct allusion to the famous
‘first skyscraper in the
world’, the Home Insurance
Building in Chicago (architect:
William Le Baron Jennie,
1885), where the top
storey initially had arched
windows before two further
storeys were added in 1891.
The pale red-brown colour of
the brickwork is apparently
a reference to New York’s
‘brownstone’.
Docklands is an apt stylization
in spite of the fact
that its architecture is unoriginal
and even not particularly
interesting. The
aptness of these buildings
gladdens the eye when you
exit the ZSD onto Vasilievsky
Island, exhilarated by
both the speed of the highway
and a pleasant feeling
of international freedom and
modernity.
MAXIDOM SHOPPING
CENTRE, ST
PETERSBURG
B2
Architects: Feiks Buyanov, Igor
Basalaev, Fedor Kirsa, Valentin
Oleynik, Vladimir Tarasov, Darya
Ostapenko
2021
text: Danil Ovcharenko
photos: Aleksey Bogolepov
The history of architecture is
rich in instances when a particular
construction material
or load-bearing structure
characteristic of a material
has acquired symbolic significance.
Ancient-classical
temples made from dressed
stone reproduced the look
of post-and-beam wooden
structures; in the Modern Era
the task of imitating massive
stonework was everywhere
performed by plaster.
In our day the symbolic
material is brick. Brick is
used on facades to impart a
est warehouse with the addition
of a shop and offices,
but Buyanov has given it the
appearance of a sort of new
Palazzo Ducale. Its facades
are an epic composition consisting
of monumental archx
Site plan
sense of historicity, monumentality,
or industrial character.
It is instructive to
examine how, under the influence
of modern technology,
brick has gradually lost
its materiality and become a
kind of sign.
Initially, brick was merely
a decorative envelope for
a reinforced-concrete skeleton.
Then it was replaced
by clinker panels, which are
lighter and cheaper. The final
act came when clinker panels
were replaced with concrete
panels that imitate the texture
of brickwork. The result
is that brick itself has disappeared,
leaving only its symbolic
component.
This victory of image over
content is highly characteristic
of modern architecture
during the age of mass media
with its total focus on visuality.
But there are other, more
ancient causes behind the
creation of buildings whose
eye-catching envelopes lack
all connection with their content.
One interesting instance
is the recently built
Maxidom hypermarket on
Uralskaya ulitsa in St Petersburg,
with facades designed
by Feliks Buyanov.
This is merely a mod-
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es, metal girders, and gilded
portals. The theatrical impression
is reinforced by an
emphatic diversity of handshaped
brickwork. The latter,
however, turns out to be concrete
panels made by Borisovskie
Manifaktury.
If this building seems
Manneristic at first sight,
it looks completely different
if viewed as part of St Petersburg’s
tradition of urban
planning. The Maxidom complex
is part of the riverfront
of the Makarov Embankment
t Cross sections
s This building’s
façade seems only at
first sight to be made
of brick. In fact, the
material used here is
concrete which has
been shaped into a
brick-like texture
and the square at Betancourt
Bridge; it is a kind of gateway
leading to Vasilievsky
Island. In this context, the
monumentalism of the complex’s
facades seems entirely
apt.
This project by Buyanov
shows us that in St Petersburg,
a city with a long tradition
of theatricality, truth
to materials and the connection
between form and function
are of little importance.
Here a utilitarian hangar can
look like a palace, and concrete
can represent clinker
brick. All this is unimportant.
What matters is
something else: a new building
should fit organically
into the urban composition
of St Petersburg as a whole,
take up the logic and rules
of that composition’s structure,
and make a contribution
to the great ensemble of
this great city.
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87 russia brick

SEMREN & MANSSON: HOLISTIC ARCHITECTURE.
INTERVIEW WITH MAGNUS MANSSON AND MARIA BROMAN
values. What values of Swedish architecture can you cannot
bring across to St. Petersburg and to Russia in general?
IN 2022 THE SWEDISH ARCHITECTURAL FIRM SEMREN & MANSSON WILL MARK TEN YEARS OF ITS RUSSIAN PRESENCE. OVER THIS TIME ITS
PETERSBURG OFFICE HAS BUILT MORE THAN TEN RESIDENTIAL COMPLEXES, SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, AND CAMPUSES IN VARIOUS RUSSIAN
REGIONS RELYING ON TYPICALLY NORTHERN VALUES OF SUSTAINABILITY AND THE HUMAN TOUCH. IN THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW, THE
FIRM’S FOUNDER, MAGNUS MANSSON, AND RUSSIA’S BRANCH DIRECTOR, MARIA BROMAN, SHARE THEIR VIEWS REGARDING THE CONCEPT
OF SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT, DISCUSS THE FUTURE OF THE ARCHITECTURAL PROFESSION, AND EXPLAIN HOW THEIR JOINT OFFICES RUN
TOGETHER.
Magnus Mansson
is a professor of
architecture and
head of Semren &
Mansson
Maria Broman is the
general director of
Semren & Mansson’s
Russian office
t Skandi Klubb, a
residential complex
designed for Bonava,
St Petersburg. 2015
Interview: Vladimir Frolov
Transcription: Ekaterina Liphart
Vladimir Frolov: We should start with the fact that your bureau
is now already ten years in Russia, which is already kind of a
long stretch. Could you please tell us about your initial decision
to open a studio in St. Petersburg?
Magnus Mansson: We started off much earlier than 10 years.
We started from the beginning of the nineties when I was in
Russia the first time. I was invited by Swedish and English
investors that were testing the St. Petersburg market. At the
time, it was not an easy market for investors to enter. We
did some projects, but not on a regular basis. We were trying
to establish relationships with authorities and investors.
Maria Broman: We had a really good set of negotiations
with Bonava at the time and they, along with other clients,
said that without a local office or local representatives they
couldn’t work with us. Opening a branch was a demand on the
part of Russian clients and we had to come to terms with Russian
legislation.
Vladimir Frolov: Did you study other locations for the office?
You could have chosen Moscow because, obviously, Moscow is
the centre of financial life and development in Russia.
Magnus Mansson: The main reason why we chose St. Petersburg
is that we were supported by local politicians in Gothenburg
that regarded, and still regard, St. Petersburg as a twin
city. We have some kind of agreement from
the sixties for exchanges and cultural programs.
This helped us get established and
also reach the right level of relations in St.
Petersburg. We quite quickly established
a strong network of friends and people we
know in the city; it was important for us to
have these kinds of connections.
Vladimir Frolov: Now for a branch office to
keep running ten years in Russia, how does
work? How do the Russian and Swedish
branches communicate?
Magnus Mansson: When we decided to
set up a branch office in St. Petersburg we
also understood that we need to get inspiration
from the architects in Sweden in
the beginning. We had a clear idea of putting
out a concept from Sweden and looping
through the Russian office to a very
early stage to see if we run into some difficulties
with rules and regulations. We
tried to make sketches and concepts in
Sweden and implement them without Russian
architects. This is how we managed
for the first few years. Now the Russian branch has got more
and more mature in the way it works.
I can say that in some of the bigger projects, or maybe in
more complicated ones, we still involve the Swedish office
quite a lot. But many projects are done now locally, in St. Petersburg
under Maria’s protection.
Maria Broman: But I would still say at least some percentage
of almost all projects are done with Swedish collaboration. We
definitely can do more ourselves here now, but the whole sort
of business idea is this contact with Sweden, and our Swedish
values and conceptual profile from Sweden. The pandemic
has been really difficult because before we had much more exchange.
Magnus spent a lot of time in St. Petersburg, as well as
other colleagues working on different projects.
Magnus Mansson: Many of our Russian architects have
been to Sweden. We can say that we are getting better at
crossing borders. If many sketches or concepts used to be
done in Sweden ten years ago, it was much more of an involved
process to get them understood by the Russian architects.
Now this process goes along so much smoother and
the ideas much easer to conceive. It is very fruitful collaboration
between Gothenburg and St. Petersburg. I think we really
found the way to do everything internally in the company
and get the business idea across from a Swedish perspective
while always making it buildable in Russia. This lets us monitor
the Russian building rules and regulations.
Vladimr Frolov: Architecture is not only about typology or the
effectiveness of making a design, but it is also about reflecting
Magnus Mansson: I think we have a tradition to consider what
we are doing in the global perspective. If we make project of
building, we try to envision its context, and how it effects
other people, not just our client. If we do a housing unit with
several apartments, we think about how easy it is to live there
and how to organize your life around this building, and call
this place where you live home. I mean, in the human perspective
we see the individual perspective in the larger perspective,
and in the larger perspective we see the individual.
Maria Broman: Our planning solution always involves
thinking that another person is going to live there, and how
they will move in the space. When you think from the human
perspective, things can actually turn out very differently, and
the end result turns out very differently, than if you go from
the point of view of regulations or aesthetics or location.
For Russia this can be an unusual perspective.
Magnus Mansson: We believe that we have a holistic perspective
in what we are doing. We see the economy, we see
building regulations, we see the aesthetics and how people
conceive their lives, and also how everything is connected.
This is a realistic perspective that a true architect has to have.
It is easy to just focus on one or two of these things; but there
are a thousand things to think about.
Maria Broman: Yes, when we talk about sustainability in
Sweden, we talk not only about ecological sustainability, we
also speak about economic sustainability, social sustainability.
That is also this holistic view on the community and society.
There are many differences between clients. Some clients
are worried about the climate, working on the problem of climate
change. But others don’t understand what that is. For
instance, when I asked one big developer in St. Petersburg
about sustainability, he didn’t even understand the question.
So, I had to first describe what sustainability is, and then he
said that, for him, it wasn’t much of a issue.
Vladimir Frolov: The new issue of our magazine is dedicated to
brick architecture in part because this material is considered,
after wood, one of the most ecological building materials.
I know that in your practice, especially in Sweden, you have a
lot of brick buildings. What is your attitude to this material? And
what kind of materials are popular in Sweden in general?
Magnus Mansson: Brick is very often used here, and especially
in the south of Sweden because we have clay to make
bricks ourselves. Unfortunately, all the brick industry is shut
down in Sweden. In Sweden the temperature often hovers
over the freezing point. And this means that if we have outdoor
materials like plaster, we can have a lot of damage of
heaving and cracking. So, that’s why brick is used here in the
South of Sweden quite a lot. Moreover, my previous partner
was a bricklayer for the beginning. He was really skilled how
to make brick houses. So, we have this tradition in the office
of knowing how to do build brick buildings.
For me it is very good material. A brick façade has some kind
of honesty inside itself. You can understand that a bricklayer
put one thing on top of another thing; you can feel the hand
that made the house. This is an special thing. You can make a
lot of decorative elements, a lot of variations in brick parts. I really
embrace brick for technical and architectural reasons.
A relatively new direction for Sweden now is the construction
of high-rise wooden houses.
Historically, we have very strong tradition of making wooden
houses, in the countryside especially. Also, our smaller cities
were wooden. But only from the nineties did we start to
build high rise buildings in wood. It took some time to be accepted.
It is now widespread, and we’ve begun to take care
of two important challenges – fire protection and dampening
acoustics between apartments.
Now we’ve become blindfolded by the new technology
of wood and everything has to be wood. We have to expose
wood in the interiors, we have to expose wood on the façade
just to show that you can build in wood, it is like take
taking your hands off the bicycle handles just because you
can. I think we will mature in a couple of years, and use wood
where it’s good, where it really can make an outstanding performance.
And we also will use concrete or steel or brick and
something else that makes the work good for this special purpose.
We now call these hybrid wood constructions.
Vladimir Frolov: Maybe Maria could add something about the
practice in Russia. What is going on with clients’ requirements?
What type of buildings are the most popular in Russia?
Maria Broman: Definitely. We started with residentials, and
that was our main focus for a very long time. But after some
sets of crises we also got the opportunity to work on medical
projects. We are doing Botkin Medical Centre, for instance. It
is a very prestigious project. We have also developed our skill
for master planning. We also have other projects, now we are
u A conceptual project
for a residence
for elderly people.
Finalist in a competition
held by the Russian
construction and
labour ministries.
2019
v Architectural
and urbanplanning
concept
for the FORIVER
residential complex
on Simonovskaya
naberezhnaya,
Moscow. From 2018
to the present time.
88 russia brick
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u Brick building on
Hollendareplatzen,
Goteborg. 2016
v Intermediate
school in the village
of Krutoy Log, Belgorodskaya
oblast.
trying to get into the hotel market, we have a campus project,
and others. Residential, master planning and hospitals is now
our main focus.
I think Scandinavian design and its human focus is one of
the main reasons why clients come to us. , of course, it is also
about the first contact, clients who return to us value other
factors. They like our work process, they like to know we listen
to them, and other things as well.
Vladimir Frolov: Finally, I have two questions about the future.
What are Semren & Mansson’s plans for the next few years in Russia
and Sweden? And what is the future of the architectural profession?
Some people say that the prospects of architecture in future
are not so good as everything will be done by artificial intelligence.
Magnus Mansson: If the confidence and the trust in the architect’s
work could be more solid, then we can head that way.
We can take more responsibilities from other groups that are
now involved with architecture. I can see a common interest
on the part of the Swedish population not only in architecture
but in other activities within the field.
Wine, travelling, having nice experiences like going to the
SPA, to have something that stimulates your senses. Architecture
is about that. That is the difference between building and
doing architecture, it is still in your senses. These is really increasing
in Sweden, and I believe also in a big part of the world.
Of course, there are threats. There are a lot of architects
are working in the gaming industry, in the industry of virtual
reality. However, it is not enough to organize space in virtual
reality, you have to lay bricks, too. There still needs to be an
architect understanding a space or room, impression he wants
to give in the process, put across in the imaginary room.
Of course, there is another side of the coin of understanding
who architect is. Some people might say, and I can be one
of them from time to time, that the best house for the world is
the house that you don’t need to build, because building is a
kind of exposure, something we do to the world. Maybe we will
try to use our existing buildings a little bit better. We will try
to find solutions that don’t involve so many new constructions,
at least in Sweden. We have many already existing buildings.
Maybe we could try to do the same in St. Petersburg.
We have perspective in Semren & Mansson for growth. We
have now, as we speak, 270 employees in the big company.
We have quite a few workers in Russia in comparison to the total.
Russian architects are important for us today. And we are
right to grow there, because we think that, if we can keep ourselves
focused on architecture and not becoming in engineering
company, we could be a very strong and competitive player
with the big construction companies. It will be easy for
clients to call us. We can be strong enough to say to them:
‘Don’t call them now, this project we can do’.
For us it’s important not just to grow; but to grow with a focus
on the architecture, always architecture. If you don’t do
that, you get lost. You can be like those big senior companies
with seven thousand employees and they do nothing at all for
other human beings. We need to keep focus and also educate
and develop people on the personal level. So, we have the
management with the same values and with the same focus.
And together we can become a strong workforce that brings
good architecture to the market.
2019-2022 v Concept for the
SanGally residential
complex, St Petersburg.
2018
BRICK: A MIX OF INSTINCTS AND TECHNOLOGIES
text: Tatyana Brokvina
‘And they said to one another: “Come, let us make bricks and
bake them in the fire.” For stone they used bricks’: this is how
the story of the most famous construction failure in history
begins. What prevented the tower rising to the heavens on
that occasion was human pride, not the quality of the materials.
For brick is one of man’s most brilliant inventions and has
been a fixture in construction for many millennia. But will it
retain its primacy in years to come?
People love brick subconsciously. This little block of substance
has been conceived by collective reason, shaped by
ordinary hands, and forms the walls of most of the world’s
buildings. People love brick instinctively. It is ‘alive’, natural.
It gives pleasant tactile and visual feelings. Even brick that
has been mass-produced in factories passes through fire and
absorbs its heat, so to speak, in order to subsequently warm
the human worlds enclosed inside walls.
For architects brick is not just a material; it is a starting
point, the basic module, a unit of measurement on a human
scale which has helped transform simple walls into icons of a
style – be it Romanesque, Gothic, Modernist, or Expressionist.
Brick makes it possible to create all these architectures,
even if ordinary people call them all ‘brick architecture’.
The fact that brick is a small-format material laid in layers
means that it can be used to manifest architects’ ideas,
the architectonics of a building, and the interrelation between
a building’s structural elements. It makes it possible to express
and underline form, lines, proportions. A great sculptor
once said: ‘To create a masterpiece, just take a lump of marble
and cut from it everything superfluous.’ An architect might
object: ‘I simply take bricks and then sketch onto them everything
lacking.’
In northern latitudes, and in St Petersburg in particular,
brick made its appearance relatively recently. This makes it
easier to trace attitudes to it here on the part of ordinary people
and architects.
Brick appeared in St Petersburg by compulsion. Anxious
to speed up construction of his new capital, Peter the
Great forbade the use of masonry everywhere in Russia but
here. Two types of ‘brick’ buildings emerged. The first was
indeed made of brick – used purely as a construction material,
its texture concealed under fashionable plaster and
moulding. The second type of building, on the contrary,
had walls that were brick-textured: the plaster was painted
to look like brick in a bid to conceal the inexpensive wooden
walls.
Tatyana Brovkina is
an architect and head
of GK Global EM. She
graduated from Tyumen
State University
of Architecture
and Construction and
has worked for leading
architecture and
construction firms in
St Petersburg. She
specializes in reconstruction
and conversion
of historical
buildings and use of
monolithic structures
and brick in housing
construction today.
y Aeroceramics.
Photo: GK Global EM
t Wall panel made
from aeroceramics.
Photo: GK Global EM
Petersburg architects began to appreciate brick’s aesthetic
properties only in the second half of the 19th century.
Brick’s precise geometrical forms on building facades literally
pushed out scrolls and bas reliefs. The elegance of buildings
was now emphasized by polychromatic bricks in different
shapes, ceramic tiles, elements made from rough stone,
and by the architect’s skill in creating playful wall patterns
through the use of projecting and receding parts. Moreover,
brickwork made it possible to realize projects that were identically
eye-catching in the popular romantic German and pseudo-Russian
styles.
There was, however, one property of brick that worried
both builders and inhabitants. For all this material’s warm appearance,
its porous structure cannot provide the required resistance
to local climatic conditions; the result is substantial
loss of heat from buildings. This is why old Petersburg houses
have walls that are three or more bricks thick.
All challenges require innovative technological solutions.
Brick began losing its main function in construction. At the
beginning of the 20th century load-bearing supports began
to be made from reinforced concrete; this reduced construction
costs and relegated brick to a secondary role as decoration
or cladding. Additionally, architects undoubtedly found
it interesting to play with the new concrete materials which,
although aesthetically inferior to brick, made it possible to
achieve different kinds of plastic effect.
Next came the age of prefab panel houses. Brick, it
seemed, had forever vanished from our city’s streets. Only
very few designs were now built in brick; the material became
a mark of elite housing. But people did not lose their love for
this material; as far as possible, they tried to introduce brick
into their own homes. This explains the demand for plastic
panels, wallpaper, and even adhesive foil imitating brick.
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brick
91
russia
brick

Interest in brick in mass construction revived approximately
15 years ago – thanks to more stringent requirements
regarding buildings’ aesthetic and ecological properties.
Awareness and understanding of the nature of the material
from which a building for living or working in is built began to
play an increasingly large role in forming preferences when
choosing materials. Architects again had the chance to reveal
buildings’ beauty through the diversity of compositional techniques
which are only realizable using brick. Brick can harmoniously
inscribe a new building into old urban fabric and aesthetically
improve the most unprepossessing prefab districts.
While architects are again getting used to this half-forgotten
material, technologists are racking their brains over how
to change brick’s fundamental properties and gain greater
freedom to create new forms for modern buildings. One of the
most promising materials today that can not merely improve
the economics of construction but also indulge architects’ imagination
is air ceramics, a material which may justly be reut
Production and
service block at the
Rozenkrants Copper
Sheet and Pipe Factory.
Conversion for
modern use. Visualization:
GK Global EM
garded as closely related to brick. This is a light ceramic material
which is inferior to brick in neither strength nor thermal
conductivity nor ecological soundness.
Air ceramics are made using a technology of open and
closed pores which makes it possible to create not just extralight
bricks in traditional sizes and tiles and blocks, but also
the smallest elements of décor. Air ceramics help architects
feel like sculptors too – help them not merely sketch on missing
elements but also pare away everything superfluous, using
an ordinary hacksaw on the building site.
This makes it difficult to imagine brick playing a structural
role in construction today. Instead, brick’s mission is decorative:
to preserve historical memory and the warmth of the
hearth as the fundamental element in any habitation. People’s
interest in brick will fade at times and then burn again
with new force. But it will never disappear entirely, and
ground-breaking technologies will make sure it never goes
out of fashion.
zt Volkovsky,
residential complex.
Visualization:
GK Global EM
92 russia brick
93 russia brick

STREET BLOCK IN
PAUPYS, VILNIUS
Architekturos linija
Architects: Gintaras Caikauskas,
Virginija Venckuniene, Vytenis
Raugala, Faustas Lasys
2020
text: Liutauras Nekrosius
photos:
Transformation of urban industrial
zones is a complex
and unpredictable process
but, when successful, reinforces
a city’s identity. The
reconstruction of the district
of Paupys is a project which
was initiated by the municipality
of Vilnius in 2007.
The goal is to give back to
the city the area occupied by
four large factories. The project’s
success was a result of
Vilnius being able to get the
owners of these territories
to take part in a coordinated
joint process. An important
stimulus was that the
city took responsibility for
developing the public spaces
and utilities infrastructure
and was able to attract additional
investment. Since this
is the first project of this size
in the Lithuanian capital, the
length of time required for its
development allowed all participants
– the city, business,
and citizens who settled or
opened businesses here – to
grow up together.
During the planning
stage, the territory was divided
into street blocks,
a street which had disappeared
during industrialization
was recreated, and the
layout of the square and pedestrian
and cycle paths was
planned. An invited architecture
competition was held
to design each street block.
This led to the district being
designed by the best-known
and busiest architecture
firms in Lithuania.
The street block designed
by Architekturos linija follows
the principle of perimeter
development which is
94 lithuania
brick
95 lithuania
brick

standard for the historical
city. The square on the south
side of the street block is intended
to be convenient not
just for recreation but also
for holding various events.
Here we find a terrace, cafes,
and a fountain which
serves as a reminder of a canal
that once existed here;
the street furniture is suited
to both recreation and
events involving an audience.
The buildings forming the
square are five-storey urban
houses with pitched roofs.
The ground floor has been
set aside for shops and services.
In the north of the
street block an alley for use
of pedestrians and cyclists
has been formed by socalled
garden houses. The
apartments here are larger;
the houses, lower (twothree
storeys); the volumes,
smaller; and the five-apartment
blocks stand separately.
The ground-floor apartments
have their own small
green yards. The street
block’s inner courtyard is intended
for children’s games
and social interaction. The
car park is on the ground
floor. The ceramic tiling in
various shades used as cladding
for the buildings creates
a visual diversity which
is typical of street blocks in
the historical centre.
v Courtyard plan
v View of the
new structure in
the panorama of
historical buildings
96
lithuania
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97
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EGLĖ, RESIDENTIAL
COMPLEX, PALANGA
Architect: Donatas Rakauskas
General contractor: UAB Conresta
Client: UAB Turto valdymo ir
investicijų grupė
2018
text: Gintarė Kabalinė
photos: Norbert Tukaj
Eglė apartment complex
is one of the most luxurious
residential buildings in
the Lithuanian resort town
Palanga. The complex is surrounded
by pine forest, enjoying
an exceptional location
only a few minutes away
from the sea. Eglė means
‘spruce’ in Lithuanian. The
building’s organic forms
help it merge subtly with its
natural environment. The
curved facade lines are not
only an expression of creative
architectural ambition
but also take into account
the movement of the
sun: each of the apartments
gets the best possible natural
light.
The building consists of
two main sections with separate
entrances and vertical
connections which evenly
distribute the flows of people.
Under the four-storey
building is a spacious underground
car park; this minimizes
the need for parking
spaces on the street, therefore
reducing visual pollution.
The building’s ground
floor is divided into separate
volumes, through which
there are passages leading
to cosy courtyards; some of
the ground-floor apartments
have their own entrances and
private terraces.
The façades are made
of one of the most exclusive
handcrafted clay bricks
in the world, by the Danish
firm Petersen Tegl. For the
vertical brick pattern on the
ground floor the natural colour
and texture of Kolumbia
type bricks was used; these
replicate the texture of the
trunk of a spruce tree. The
top storeys have horizontal
brick patterns, which transition
into the perforated brick
parapets of the terraces.
For the most curved parts of
the facade, use was made of
equally curved bricks, handcrafted
specially for this
project.
Exterior elements are echoed
in the interior. Here you
can find Petersen Tegl bricks
and concrete formwork replicating
natural, wooden textures.
However, the main focus
in the lobby is on two
glass elevators with 20-metre-high
frescos behind
them. The author of the frescos
is the Lithuanian artist
Eglė Babilaitė, who lives in
France. As you go up in the
elevator, you get an even
better view of the building’s
organic forms. Curved panoramic
windows coherently
shape both the inside and
outside spaces.
One of the architect’s unconventional
ideas here is to
present the building not only
as a harmonious and functional
environment but also
through other senses such
as smell and sound. A range
of pleasant smells and calm
music greet the visitor as she
steps into the lobby: a perfect
prelude to what comes
next. The apartments are entered
using modern biometric
door locks that open with
fingerprints or cards.
If the building’s interior
and exterior have been designed
down to the last detail,
great attention has
also been paid to arranging
the surrounding environment.
Access to the grounds
of the house is through
unique gates, designed by
Karolis Strautniekas and
made by blacksmith Linas
Leščiauskas. The fence enclosing
the territory is of durable
materials: pillars of
solid slate and oxidized metal
panels. Even concealed
details such as air-supply
chimneys have been made in
98 lithuania
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99 lithuania
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Plokštės viršus +1.00=8.29 abs.alt
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strict conformity with the architect's
sketches.
All in all, Eglė apartments
is a building which successfully
and sensitively combines
aesthetic, functional,
and technological solutions.
Much attention has been
paid to architectural composition,
materials, finishings
and details, making this one
of the most luxurious buildings
to have been erected recently
in the resort town of
Palanga.
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y ГSite plan
s 1 st floor plan
t Egle is a residential
complex which
seems to return us
to the 1920s with its
faith in the truth of
brick and Corbusierinspired
love of strip
windows and ‘legs’
in place of solid first
storeys.
vxt Cross sections
100 lithuania brick
101 lithuania brick

CONTEMPORARY BRICK ARCHITECTURE IN LATVIA
text: Artis Zvirgzdiņš
перевод: Екатерина Липгарт
фото: предоставлены автором
Brick has been a traditional building material in Latvia since
the Middle Ages. Additionally, most interwar Modernist
buildings of the 1920-30s in Latvia were built of brick, usually
with plaster finishing. During the postwar Modernist period
so-called sand-lime (or calcium silicate) brick of a white
colour prevailed: this was used for all ‘khrushchevkas’, as
well as thousands of other buildings. It was only during the
1960s that prefabricated reinforced-concrete slab structures
started to displace brick in mass construction.
However, it was not long before local architects became
fed up with the never-ending surfaces of flat concrete slabs.
The so-called movement ‘in search of regional identity’ during
the second half of the 1970s, a quest which was taken up by
Postmodernism from the middle of the 1980s forwards, also
brought the first renaissance of brick. Brick from two large
manufacturers – yellow from the Kalnciems Factory and red
from the Lode Factory – was used in the most prestigious public
buildings. (Residential buildings in the popular 103 series,
which has brick partition walls and end walls, are also from
this period in housing construction).
Today we are seeing a new wave of brick architecture.
The main feature distinguishing contemporary from historical
use of brick is that brick is no longer a tectonic, structural
material but a decorative finish, the skin of a building. It is
trendy, good-looking, but also durable and not cheap.
Brick also requires highly qualified manual work and
skills which were lost or neglected during the Modernist
period and later. Very often, this is not the same bricklayer’s
work as in traditional structures: contemporary brickwork
usually does not involve placing rows of bricks on top
of one another but gluing them to the façade. To make the façade
lighter but also cheaper, bricks are often cut into two
or three pieces, consuming less brick (think of the ecological
footprint!). Of course, the corners of buildings require a
special approach if they are not to look like tiling (although
brick tiles are also used in some cases) but like real brickwork.
When it comes to an appearance of more artistic brickwork
with a decorative, structured surface creating a 3D effect
or openwork, whole bricks are needed.
Another aspect of the modern use of brick is the place
where they are manufactured. Before the modern age, brick
was a material that represented local identity. Bricks were
too heavy and too expensive to transport longer distances;
they were usually manufactured close to the building site.
This meant that the buildings reflected the colour of the local
soil, type of clay, and sand: villages and towns built of
brick looked somewhat homogeneous. Distinctive bricks and
expensive stones would have been imported only for special
buildings.
Hence most historic towns in Latvia exhibit local shades
of red while most of capitalist-period Riga was built of brick
Artis Zvirgzdiņš is
an architecture critic
and the editor of a4d.
lv. A member of the
editorial board of
Project Baltia. Lives
in Riga
produced in the adjacent Zemgale region, in the basin of
the River Lielupe – which at the beginning of the 20th century
had around 50 factories, workshops, and kilns of different
sizes. This makes almost all unplastered facades in
Riga look greyish-yellow — because Zemgale brick contains
a high proportion of dolomite particles. During the late-Modernist
period the yellow brick from the Kalnciems Factory,
which was located in the same Lielupe basin, was a kind of
continuation of this identity.
Today there is only one brick factory left in Latvia (well,
there is another one, but it’s too small to be counted): the
Lode Factory. The factory says that about 85% of its output
is exported – mainly to Poland, Lithuania, and Russia. Only
15% of Lode’s bricks go to the market in Latvia, satisfying
about 80% of total demand for brick in the Latvian building
industry. Lode bricks are mostly used in private buildings.
Still, the most interesting new instances of brick architecture
are accounted for by the remaining 20%, i.e. buildings
which use imported bricks from two big international companies,
Wienerberger and Vandersanden. These bricks are
made in Austria, Belgium, Denmark, or elsewhere, but not in
Latvia.
Why is Lode brick not popular with Latvian architects?
Mostly, because of its visual and tactile qualities. Foreign
brick is like the historical brick used in Latvia — with grain,
imperfections, and texture that makes it look similar yet still
individual and gives the brickwork as a whole a lively appearance.
Lode bricks, on the contrary, are very homogeneous
and smooth; in a sense, they look like pieces of plastic
— all the same. That was appropriate for 1980s Modernist
buildings with their sleek brick facades but does not match
today’s demand for more ‘natural’, more ‘real’-looking brick.
Even the versions of today’s Lode bricks with a rugged surface
do not look ‘natural’; they seem mechanically, artificially
decorated, as if they have all come out of the same machine.
Is the new fashion for brick architecture a chance to revive
national, regional traditions in architecture? I am not
sure about this. Of course, local materials could be a factor,
but this new trend is a worldwide phenomenon, a result
of our global conditions: bricks are transported thousands
of kilometres from their place of production to construction
sites. So, I don’t see that this trend involves a new regionalism
or reviving local, national traditions: on the contrary.
I think that today’s regionalism is a matter of education, local
architecture schools, and other local movements; it could
be a specific reply to local challenges, such as climate, for
example.
Still, the use of brick in contemporary architecture could
be seen as a positive, optimistic sign since it involves another
level of visual quality, durability, and demand for a new
level of skills and meets the principles of sustainability at
least in part (if we ignore the aspect of long-distance transportation).
HOUSE ON SKĀRŅU
IELA, RIGA
Architects: Jaunromāns un Ābele,
2015
Although historically brick
facades in Riga Old Town
were used only for some public
buildings and all dwelling
houses had a plaster finish,
this new house was greeted
as a fine example of the contextualist
approach. An unmistakably
contemporary
structure, it fits well with the
facades and roofs of neighbouring
churches. This was
also perhaps the first modern
building in the Old Town welcomed
by the wider public.
This is perhaps still the
most creative manifestation
of contemporary brick architecture
in Latvia. The bricks
were cut in slices before being
glued onto the façade;
they were also cut to fit the
non-90-degree corners as
well as to create the decorative
relief surface pattern.
SAMRODE OFFICE
BUILDING, VENTSPILS
Architects: Krists Kārkliņš, 2012
Strict regulations concerning
development in this part
of the city meant that the
new structure on this site
had to respect and follow
the image of the previous
structure, a military ammunition
warehouse dating to
the time of the tsars. The office
building, however, needed
windows. The creative
solution hit upon by the architects
was a brick openwork
wall with windows
hidden behind it (the only
contemporary openwork
brick structure in Latvia, as
far as I know).
ut On these two
buildings see more:
Project Baltia no. 27
and 18 accordingly
102 lithuania
brick
103
lithuania
brick

GYPSUM FACTORY,
RIGA
Architects: Zaiga Gaile, 2000-
2004, 2004-2013
The redevelopment of this
former gypsum factory on
the waterfront of Ķīpsala Island
right across from Riga’s
city centre has turned it
into a modern residential ensemble
which is also the first
loft complex in Latvia. The
first stage comprised mostly
preserved and refurbished
buildings around a courtyard;
all new brickwork reuses
old brick from demolished
structures/parts.
Due to the economic crisis,
the second stage was implemented
almost a decade
later; it closes the block with
new structures. These look
larger and more commercial
compared to the cozy historical
buildings but could still
be seen as a continuation
and contemporary interpretation
of the traditions of industrial
brick architecture.
In both parts brick is also an
important element in the interiors
of the luxury flats.
photo: Ansis Starks
ART SCHOOL,
DAUGAVPILS
Architects: MARK arhitekti, 2021
Another example of a decorative
brickwork façade. Instead
of a flat façade, this
has a relief surface that creates
3D effects. This is one
instance where whole bricks
were required as opposed to
cut ones.
EXTENSION,
INTERNATIONAL
SCHOOL OF LATVIA,
RIGA
Architect: Sintija Vaivade, 2019
An example of a decorative
way of applying bricks (or in
fact — cut brick slices) to a
façade, making it more aesthetic
and longer lasting. The
architect says that this project
led to clients asking for
similar brick facades in projects
for private houses.
Photo: Raimonds Birkenfelds
AKROPOLE SHOPPING
CENTRE, RIGA
Architects: Sarma & Norde, 2019
When this new shopping centre
was built on this site in
Riga, there was only one
chimney left of the legendary
Kuznetsov Porcelain Factory.
Paying tribute to the
place’s industrial past, the
main structure stands right
in the footprint of the factory’s
historical main building.
It is of the same size and dimensions
but has contemporary
brick facades which do
not even pretend to be loadbearing
walls. The restaurant
buildings in the mall’s interior
space are of reused yellow
historical factory bricks.
104 latvia
brick
105
latvia
brick

APARTMENT BUILDING
ON KUĢU IELA, RIGA
Architects: Sarma & Norde, 2020
This new apartment building
on the left bank of the Daugava
River uses restrained
by sophisticated spatial
and architectural solutions
in response to the complex
and controversial conditions
of the site (it fills in a
gap and provides a well-balanced
transition from perimeter-block
development to
free-standing structures and
from historical Art Nouveau
to postwar Modernism, thus
harmonizing its heterogeneous
setting).
The apartment complex
incorporates and reuses
a refurbished police station
building erected in the
late 19th century from typical
yellow ‘Riga brick’. The new
structure turns its neutralwhite
facade towards the old
building while its three other
facades seem to have been
built from dark brick (brick
tiles in fact).
Photo: Ansis Starks
RECONSTRUCTION
PILLAR OFFICE
BUILDING, RIGA
Architects: MARK arhitekti (still
under construction)
This project uses prefabricated
load-bearing panels
with finishing of cut bricks.
106
latvia
brick

OF THE SECOND HALF OF THE 19TH CENTURY AND BEGINNING OF THE 20TH. TODAY THE AESTHETIC OF OLD FACTORIES IS UNDERGOING A RENAIS-
SANCE; NEW USES ARE BEING FOUND FOR MANY SEMI-ABANDONED FACTORIES. THE CITY’S INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS AND CONSERVATION OF THE
BRICK-STYLE ARCHITECTURE ARE THE SUBJECT OF A PIECE BY MARGARITA STIEGLITZ, DOCTOR IN ARCHITECTURE AND SENIOR RESEARCHER AT
THE DEPARTMENT OF THE HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE AND URBAN PLANNING OF THE NEW AGE AT NIITIAG, CORRESPONDENT MEMBER OF RAASN,
AND PROFESSOR AT THE CENTRE FOR INNOVATIONAL EDUCATIONAL PROGRAMMES AT THE SAINT PETERSBURG STIEGLITZ STATE ACADEMY OF
ART AND DESIGN. THIS CONVERSATION IS FOLLOWED BY EXAMPLES OF RECONSTRUCTION OF FACTORIES AND OTHER BUILDINGS ERECTED IN THE
19TH AND 20TH CENTURIES. CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURE IMITATES OLD BRICK ARCHITECTURE, WHICH IT MODERNIZES AND ADAPTS TO ITS
NEEDS, SOMETIMES CHANGING THE ORIGINAL LOOK OF THE BUILDINGS BEYOND RECOGNITION AND SOMETIMES DESTROYING IT AS A COHERENT
WHOLE. IT VALUES THE SMALL FRAGMENT, BUT USUALLY CREATES A SYNTHETIC PRODUCT, A NEW WHOLE WHOSE BASIS IS EMPTY SPACE. A LOFT.
ST. PETERSBURG'S BRICK HERITAGE: BETWEEN SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS
a conversation with Anna Rybalka
photos from the archive of Valentina Lelina
If we turn to the history of the origin of the brick style, is it
possible to see its roots in a local architecture? Is there a St.
Petersburg brick style?
Brick architecture is not new for Russia at all. We know that
tent-roofed churches of the 18th century were built with brick
masonry. But when St. Petersburg was founded in 1714, when
the construction of stone buildings in other cities was prohibited,
brick construction began to develop in the new capital
and the first brick factories, both private and public, appeared
in the upper reaches of the Neva.
Such origins form the background of the brick style, the
very concept of which references the second half of the 19th
to the early 20th century. While many utilitarian barracks had
earlier been built in brick, like New Holland, they maintained
classical proportions. When the middle of the 19th century
saw the beginnings of industrial development, then the practical
architecture of the eclectic period began to appear.
In the 1840s, the first private textile factories made their
appearance along the city's waterways. These effectively
launched the industrialisation of St. Petersburg, and Russia
in general. The walls of these first factories were designed
in a brick style, not plastered, with a supporting
metal framework within. The frame was often made elsewhere,
even as far away as England, transported here and
assembled with the brick walls lain around it. Our earliest
industrial architecture is very similar to England's. This is a
very international form: architecture typical of the first machine
factories, mainly English and German. Karl Friedrich
Schinkel's drawings depict brick factories similar to those in
St. Petersburg. This is what they looked like: a smooth wall
with no ornamentation, a simple cornice, still rather narrow
windows that fit the pitch of the internal frame, with close-
Margarita Stieglitz
is a specialist
on the industrial
architecture of St
Petersburg
v Before its reconstruction
Novaya Gollandiya
was a symbol
of the inaccessible
past and of historical
St Petersburg
ly spaced column-like pillars. Such a solution was extremely
rational, simple, and typical of the whole of European industrial
architecture in developed countries. The middle of
the 19th century saw the development of particular masonry
styles of ornament: contrasting bricklaying patterns, brackets,
projecting cornices, inset rods, and decorated window
frames. Gradually, factory buildings began to be flourished
with more and more ornament to make them more representative
of the developing form.
The brick style includes not only buildings with brick patterns,
but also smooth volumes recalling stone masonry. The
most ornate is the Siegel Factory on Dostoevsky St. with its
decorative friezes and figures of bears with lamps. I wouldn't
call such decorative elements "Petersburg". Similar Neo-Gothic
motifs were characteristic of all European architecture. The
romantic interpretation of such buildings – the jagged ends of
machicolations, water towers built like medieval dungeons –
shows how reverent the attitude to industrial architecture was.
This is a new form of life, a new story. Examples of romantic interpretation
are the Chernaya Rechka Paper Factory, the water
tower on Shpalernaya St., the malt house of the Kalinkin Factory,
the tower of the Proletarian Factory on Obukhov Oborona
Ave., which, unfortunately, is in a dilapidated state.
That’s the case with many examples…
Of course, no one has any money. Until the building is picked
up by private entrepreneurs that begin to tear down and rebuild
everything around it, few people take any interest. You
do something only when you have to.
If we go back to history: Bernhard, the first director of the
Institute of Civil Engineers, along with Kitner and Schroeter,
worked consistently in the brick style. Bernhard's early brickstyle
buildings were the tulle factories on Bolshaya Nevka,
the buildings of the Kalinkin Brewery and a gas holder.
At the turn of the 20th century, reinforced concrete began
to take up the framework structures that had already been in
the general design of large red brick buildings. This made its
mark on the style: a greater span and distance between supports
– buildings were given greater spatial development,
windows were enlarged. The Art Nouveau style was interwoven
into the ornament: both in the free arrangement of the décor
and the inclusion of metal elements, as in the Stieglitz
factories.
A very interesting example of neo–Renaissance in brick
style is the Bavaria Brewery Malt House. It would be possible
to make this into a very interesting space, but so far we
haven't heard of any progress out of the stalemate in this
issue.
Geisler's electromechanical plant illustrates the transformation
of the brick style into what can surely be called Art
Nouveau. Further, we see echoes of the traditions of the brick
style in avant-garde architecture, for example, the factory
"Red Banner" Factory.
What is the urban-planning function of Petersburg's "red brick
belt"?
In Moscow, the "grey belt" of architecture is called the
"rust belt". We say "grey" in St. Petersburg, but this is an
unfortunate appellation. It arose because industrial zones
are marked in grey on Soviet city plans. For the most part,
it’s red. Red brick buildings are located mainly along the
banks of the Neva and other rivers, tributaries, and canals.
They shape the development of embankments, which is very
important. The Bolshaya Nevka Embankment and the Sinopskaya
Embankment near Smolny Cathedral show that factory
architecture plays an essential role in city's appearance.
Many red brick buildings concentrate around the mouth of
the Neva River: shipbuilding plants, tanneries, and the like.
Initially, the most environmentally harmful industry was
located "at the sluice" on Vasilievsky Island. And on many
streets in the outskirts, red brick buildings accented the
plastered buildings around them. This was not so much the
case with the central districts, but with those around them
that are now included in the unified protection zone.
Please tell us about the history of the preservation of this building
type.
Many buildings are included in the collection of historical
and cultural monuments. I was the first to raise the topic of
studying industrial architecture, and the first set of monuments
in this category was proposed in the 1980s. Then, in
the early 90s, during the years of privatisation, a department
of industrial architecture was created at KGIOPE (The Committee
of State Monitoring, Use and Protection of Monuments,
History, and Culture – Ed.) work began on a complete survey
of the relevant sites. Not like nowadays, they used to let us in
the buildings and we were able to document the most valuable
among them. That gave us a whole set of newly-identified
works of cultural heritage. Many of them have already been
transferred to the register of monuments of regional and
federal significance.
At the end of the 1970s, when I started my work, all these
factories were still working, smoking, fuming. The conditions
for the workers were terrible and even inhumane. Now,
of course, these buildings are used very differently. Unfortunately,
instead of refitting their operations, many went bankrupt
in the early 90s. Thus went privatisation…
We were talking about the need to preserve industrial
architecture when no one yet understood what that was.
The first stage of our work was to prove that industrial and
civil architecture were aesthetically equivalent. Then they
started to get preservation status. And now they need to be
properly preserved. And that puts us between Scylla and
Charybdis. On one side, you have to save them from the
owner's efforts to leave as little as possible of the original
historical structure and, on the other, you have the canons
of preservation which, while good for other types of architecture,
greatly interfere with the refitting of brick buildings.
There's absolutely nothing you can do. You have to
maximise the space around buildings to give them good
viewpoints and make the outline visible; but you also have
to intervene to give preservation some practical flexibility.
Unfortunately, people have a hard time being convinced of
this. That’s where you need the attitude of an architect who
loves industrial architecture and who also understands
how to work with it. But while you wait, overly strict regulations
only contribute to the building's destruction. The
owner says: ah, there's nothing we can do. And the building,
in drips and drabs, slowly dies.
u Top: the Khronotron
Electronic Chronometric
Devices
Factory (originally:
the K.B. Zigel Mechanical
Factory) in
St Petersburg. Architects:
Ieronim Kitner,
Richard Berzen. 1893,
1902
Bottom: Tkachi
mixed-use centre
(previously: the New
Textiles Manufactory).
Architects:
Evgraf Anikin et al.,
1857–1905
But there are successful examples of restoration and use of
such buildings?
Of course, there are successful cases of adaptation. Obvodny
Dvor is a good example. The gas holder we mentioned before.
To some extent, Sevkabel as well, but it’s early days. Tkachi
is a good example. For a long time we had to defend the very
existence of the building – the owner wanted tear it all down.
Then it was put up for sale and the new owner slowly began
to make use of the building and restore it floor by floor. A
good example is the Universe of Water Museum 1 . We were
reproached for permitting a glass staircase and elevator. And
we tried to make the construction as light as possible. Actually,
if it weren't there, the museum wouldn't be there either. There
have to be emergency evacuation exits. The inclusion of new
elements has to be tactful. And it is also better to keep similar
functions for an industrial building that is being vacated: high
tech, IT, training workshops, studios for young creative types.
The Nevsky Manufactory was a sad case 2 . What’s next for the
site?
The Nevsky Manufactory building had not received any restoration
attention for a long time and it had no proper oversight.
There were plans for restoration that were never put into
practise. There were a lot of tenants. Now a working group
has been created, of which I am a member. A technical survey
is being conducted to determine what is still left there, what
can be restored, and what will have to be rebuilt. The owner is
obliged make a complete reconstruction.
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If we talk about unsuccessful examples of interference in industrial
brick architecture, which buildings can be named?
An example of an unsuccessful intervention is the Nevsky
Paper Mill, the Stieglitz factories, in the very centre of St. Petersburg.
The whole complex was marked for preservation,
but then a landowner was found who could get a court to
vacate its erstwhile heritage status. Now the front façades
of the buildings are in the protection zone – they cannot be
demolished – but a loft is being built that will spoil the building's
outlines. Inside there is an empty parking lot and very
poorly-made mirrored stained glass windows. When there is
no preservation status there is no professional inspection and
the owners do whatever they want. And, most importantly, the
three smokestacks that bore the names 'Faith', 'Hope', and
'Charity' were demolished – they were a symbol of the factory.
The names corresponded to the names of the first steam
boilers. This is a revolting attitude towards a complex that
deserves both protection and care. And now they're going to
build a housing complex there.
nary arches refer to the work
of Antonio Gaudi). The building’s
rhythm and proportions
also show marks of the
American architecture of the
1930s, although there are
almost no decorative elements
on the facades – if we
do not consider ‘decoration’
the brick envelope, which imparts
‘brutality’ to the exterior
appearance but is far removed
from the principle of
‘truth to material’ in Brutalu
Diversity of
residential and
industrial buildings:
the St Petersburg
brick style of the end
of the 19 th century
and the beginning of
the 20 th
From the examples of Petersburg’s modern brick architecture,
which do you personally like?
The residential complex on Piskarevsky Ave. is not too bad, at
the intersection with the Neva Embankment. But it's a shame
about the factory that once stood there. That was the Okhta
Paper Mill. However, inside the complex water tower did get
preserved. 3
Notes:
1. See: Project Baltia. 2007. № 1. Pp. 66-69.
2. The Neva Manufactory burned down in April 2021. The fire destroyed
all but 150m2 of the former factory interior and one person was
killed. See: www.rbc.ru/spb_sz/17/04/2021/607803b39a7947c928b
fa7b7 (accessed: 24.10.20 21).
3. See p. ?? present ed.
‘FOUR HORIZONS’
AND ‘HOUSE ON
A BEND IN THE
NEVA’ RESIDENTIAL
COMPLEXES,
ST PETERSBURG
Grigoriev and Partners
Architects: V. A. Grigoryev,
A. I. Dorofeyev with assistance
of M. A. Tyukhtyaeva,
E. V. Filchenko, N. A. Telesheva,
D. I. Vyazemskiy, E.V. Golgmren
General contractor: OOO Alyur
Developer: OOO DENGEN (project
declaration) / RBI
2017
u The erection of
the Four Horizons
complex marks
the renaissance of
the brick style in
St Petersburg
text: Evgeny Lobanov
photos: Ivan Smelov
‘… This is precisely the
“fate” of Metamodernist
man: to pursue endlessly receding
horizons,’ wrote Timotheus
Vermeulen and Robin
van den Akker in their Notes
on Metamodernism. 1 The
Four Horizons residential
complex stands on the site
of the barracks building (demolished
in 2010) built for
workers at the Okhta Textiles
Factory (1852-1854; architect:
Roman von Genrikhsen;
1900s: reconstructed
to a design by Vasliy Shaub,
1900s). The other factory
blocks (likewise built to a
design by von Genrikhsen)
were dismantled in 2007-
2008, although they had the
status of ‘newly identified
items of cultural heritage’
until 30 August 2005. Currently,
listed-building status
has been retained only
by the water tower, which is
part of the ensemble of the
new residential complex’s
courtyard, and by the iron
columns of the factory. ‘The
tower was in a fair state of
ruin,’ notes Arkady Dorofeev,
the project’s architect;
‘the facades were intact only
at the top. The tower was reinforced,
placed on a new
foundation, restored, and
wrapped in a four-tier colonnade
consisting of the same
historical columns.’ 2 The
residential complex has a ret
General plan
inforced-concrete framework
with brick cladding; construction
lasted from 2012
to 2017.
The brick facades of the
residential complex are reminiscent
of the industrial
architecture of the 19th
century, although their composition
also shows indirect
allusions to the tectonics of
the facades of Karl Ehn’s famous
Avant-garde Karl Marx
Hof in Vienna (and the cate-
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ist buildings (the load-bearing
structure here is a reinforced-concrete
framework).
The façades are clad with
facing brick in a dark-brown
colour (more than 1.2 million
bricks) made in Estonia.
Overall, the complex’s architecture
has been rated highly
by the public and experts
(as is witnessed by the Grand
Prix awarded at Arkhitekton
2017), including for preserving
‘the memory of the site’;
this is an interesting example
of the Metamodernist approach
to designing ‘elite’
housing.
In addition to Four Horizons
(two blocks of business-class
housing with a total
of 290 apartments), the
site of the old factory is also
now home to House on a
Bend in the Neva, two blocks
of comfort-class housing
containing 516 apartments
by the same developer and
in a similar style. The difference
between the two complexes
is mainly in the views
they offer. From the windows
of Four Horizons you can see
the embankments, Smolny
Cathedral, and Bolsheokhtinsky
Bridge. Arkady Dorofeev
has described the location
of this residential complex –
on a corner site with a view
of the aquatic expanse of the
Neva – as follows: ‘The avenue
begins perpendicular to
the Neva and then divides in
two, with Piskarevsky prospekt
going off to the north
and shosse Revolyutsii to the
northeast. We emphasized
this break in Piskarevsky
prospekt with a tower, setting
up the classic arrangement
where an avenue ends
in a vertical. So our first task
was one of urban planning.
The tower contains the complex’s
staircase.’ 3
Unlike most new residential
buildings, which are
‘boxes’ sliced off at the top,
this complex has an expressive
silhouette formed by
the steps of the terraces and
the lively rhythm of the flue
pipes. One of the complex’s
great strongpoints is its twolevel
underground car park
and green landscaped carfree
courtyard whose main
feature is the restored water
tower.
The blocks have a standard
sectional structure with
six to seven apartments per
storey in each section. The
corner two-storey penthouses
are interesting in terms of
layout and the views which
open up from the windows
and from the terrace. Most of
the apartments here, however,
suffer from the same
drawbacks as ordinary residential
units in economyclass
apartment blocks.
In spite of the apartments’
high cost, the luxury here
is not paraded for all to see
but concealed behind severe
brick walls. This perhaps has
to do with the character of
late capitalism, which, despite
growing economic inequality,
is often camouflaged
beneath superficial democratization
of society and the
living environment. In the
current situation, however,
the austere and monumental
forms of the architecture are
more likely associated with
the authoritative character of
the Russian regime.
Notes:
s Cross section
1. Vermeulen T., Akker R. van den. ‘Notes on
Metamodernism’, Journal of Aesthetics & Culture,
2010 vol. 2, issue 1, pp. 56–77.
2. See: Istoriya samoy krasivoy novostroyki Peterburga.
Zhiloy kompleks v promyshlennom style v nachale
Piskarevskogo prospekta: kak ego stroili i kakogo
v nem zhit’, URL: www.the-village.ru/city/architecture/
334763-dom-na-neve?utm_source=vk.com&utm_
medium=social&utm_campaign=rasskazyvaem--kakpoyavilsya-zhk-dom-na-iz
(last accessed: 24.11.2021).
3. Ibid.
v Standard floor
plan
The water tower
is a reminder of
the Okhta Textiles
Factory. Cast-iron
structural elements
discovered during
the dismantling
of the factory
workshops serve
as ‘shackles’ or
‘reliquaries’ for the
bricks
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vu The design
of this business
centre’s facades is
based on a combination
of brickwork and
metal decoration,
referring partly to the
Art Nouveau style of
Louis Sullivan and
partly to Modernism
DEPOT NO. 1,
BUSINESS CENTRE,
ST PETERSBURG
Architects: Artem Nikiforov,
Mikhail Voinov, Anastasiya
Lysenko, Kseniya Tatarinova
Working drawings: Nikita Bazzhin
(head), Tatyana Pankova (principal
project architect)
Client: Larisa Karaban
2019
text: Danil Ovcharenko
photos: Grigory Sokolinsky
Many interesting buildings
erected in St Petersburg in recent
years possess brick facades.
When working with
this noble and ancient material,
architects almost invariably
allude to the industrial
aesthetic of the past. Motifs
taken from red-brick factories
may be seen in Vladimir Grigoriev’s
Four Horizons residential
complex, and the imagery
of railway sheds has been
skilfully interpreted in Studiya
44’s Railway Museum.
This series of buildings
has recently seen the addition
of another curious example:
Depot No. 1, a business
centre designed by Artem Nikiforov.
Here a different approach
has been taken to historical
imagery. If Yaveyn’s
museum is an expressive
game with form and Grigoriev’s
residential complex is
a cocktail of historical reminiscences,
Nikiforov’s Depot
No. 1 is all about the decorative
design of the facades.
The Belgian handmade
clinker brick in different
shades, the ornamental
frames of iron around the
windows, and the shaped
brickwork of the walls and
window scuncheons together
make for a truly intoxicating
sight. Just look at the socle
of granite blocks laid on their
sides in the manner of bricks,
or the steel-girder canopies
of unique design… This is a
fineness of architectural detail
that surely seemed impossible
to achieve today.
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This rich exterior decoration,
however, is apparently
a deliberate strategy to conceal
the banality of the interior
content, for Depot No.
1 is of no particular interest
with respect to development
of the office building as
a type. Its programme is office
units with an atrium and
a concert hall: a standard set
of functions for a modern office
building. Nor is there in
Nikiforov’s project any notable
expressiveness of form.
Its site layout seems incidental.
The fact is that Depot No.
1 is a reconstruction of a historical
railway shed and
workshops building erected
in 1858-1861 to a design
by the architect Petr Salmanovich.
The original brick-
s The brickwork follows
the sometimes
arbitrary bends of
the walls, forming
surfaces which are
intended not just to
be seen but also to
be touched
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style building consisted of
two parts: a circular railway
shed and a Ш-shaped workshop
block. It is the latter
that has been converted into
a business centre by building
on two additional storeys
and fundamentally reworking
the facades.
Although the use of a
new and striking envelope to
swallow an historical building
is old hat today, it is a
sensible approach from the
point of view of the main
message carried by Nikiforov’s
work. Depot No. 1 is a
retro-manifesto that returns
us to the glorious days long
past when architects had yet
to become obsessed with a
social or ecological mission
and did not yet have a morbid
passion for endlessly balancing
forms, but merely busied
themselves with a clear,
if by no means simple task:
masterful decoration of facades
and the creation of a
beautiful environment to surround
us.
su Sketches of
elements of the
metallic decoration
v The freight station
buildings at Varshavsky
Station prior
to reconstruction
z 2 nd floor plan
t 1 st floor plan
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RECONSTRUCTION
OF BUILDING 12,
NOVAYA GOLLANDIYA,
ST PETERSBURG
ludi architects
Architects: Lyubov Leonteva,
Dina Budtova, Sasha Tolopilo,
Olya Belova
Client: Novaya Gollandiya
Development
2020
text: Liza Strizhova
photos supplied by ‘Novaya
Gollandiya: cultural
urbanization
Following further development
of the island of Novaya
Gollandiya, another building,
Building 12, has recently
opened to the public. This
warehouse for storing timber
in a vertical position was
built in 1848–1849 to a design
by Mikhail Pasypkin,
based on a project by Jean-
Baptiste Vallin de la Mothe
(based in its turn on plans by
Savva Chevakinsky). Interestingly,
this tradition of architectural
hand-me-downs
was further continued in the
21st century, when ludi architects
took over a concept devised
by West 8 (on the first
stage of reconstruction of
this island, see: Project Baltia,
2016, nos. 2–3 (28), pp.
108–112).
The north-eastern block
on Kryukov kanal links all
the island s outer facade
buildings together to form
a single Classical ensemble.
An important part of this
block is the rounded corner,
which is emphasized by
paired columns in the Tuscan
order overlooking ploshchad
Truda. The roof of the corner
section currently carries ‘You
are (on) an island , an installation
by Alicia Eggert. The
building is elongated, with
an asymmetrical pitched roof
and tall arched apertures
on the facades. Part of the
volume overlooking the island
s eastern inner canal is
slightly taller than the rest
of the building. This difference
in heights was initially
intended to accommodate
the different sizes of the long
beams stored inside.
A listed building of federal
significance, Building
12 has been restored and
adapted for new use. The reconstruction
project took
three years. A restaurant,
a bistro, and a hall on the
ground floor are now open
to the public; the remaining
spaces are given over to offices,
exhibitions, and multimedia
activities.
The status of architectural
monument is both an honour
and a burden. It imposes
numerous restrictions on
a building s use and restoration
since all historical elements
have to be preserved.
One of the most impressive
types of restoration in Building
12 is the treatment of the
brickwork. The facades were
sand-blasted, cleaned by
hand, and then covered with
special coatings. Additionally,
the cornices, the stonework
of the socle, the brick
rustication, and the stylized
buttresses were restored
and the system of roof rafters
was preserved. The building
s high arched apertures
have two kinds of frame: the
frames of the apertures facing
the city are of oak, while
those facing the island are
of metal. The use of slender
metal profiles gives the apertures
a filigree quality and
has enabled the large expanses
of glazing to be retained.
In spite of the orientation
on maximal conservation,
Building 12, which is part of
the listed complex, gives the
impression of an ultra-modern
building. This is partly
due to the use of high-tech
materials and structures.
The above-mentioned window
fillings leave no doubt
of their reliability or functionality.
Recourse was also
had to exclusive engineering
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ut The vaulted
space of the 12th
block at Novaya Gollandiya
now houses
commercial functions
that are here forced
to ‘follow form’ –
which is nothing if
not a blessing.
solutions, including a mechanized
underground car park
for use by the residents.
The cast-iron canopy at
the main entrance is a selfsupporting
construction
which is carried by four supports
and does not come
into contact with the building
itself. This is because
conservation restrictions
stipulate that the integrity
of the brickwork must not be
violated either inside or outside.
Attachments, where required,
are made in the joins
between the bricks. The design
of Building 12 s portico
echoes the canopies of other
buildings on the island
(on Butylka see: Project Balv
1 st floor plan
tia, 2017, nos. 2-3 (30), pp.
60-64). The graphic pattern
of the ironwork is picked up
by the vertical lines of the
drainpipes and by the narrow
fa ade lamps, which
were designed by the architects.
The black metal moves
from the building s exterior
to its interior, making an attractive
combination with the
terracotta of the brickwork.
In the ground-floor hall the
black metal elements look as
if drawn against the general
background of brick; they
are to be seen in the large expanses
of glazing, the design
of the lifts, and the reticular
structure of the lamps.
The staircases are likewise
of metal, with steps of bushhammered
black granite. The
spatial design and lighting of
the main staircase underline
its difference from the historical
surroundings.
The interior finishing materials
have been selected
with a view to their future
graceful ageing. They
include brass, iron, granite,
and limestone. The floor has
been covered with hexagonal
Mettlach tiles, as in Butylka.
The use of the tiles is no coincidence.
During the cleaning
of Butylka, a tile floor
was discovered. It proved beyond
repair, but it was nevertheless
decided to preserve
allusions to the tiles. Historical
constructions that have
been retained include girders
on the mansard floor and the
mechanism for lifting timber,
which has been turned into a
museum exhibit.
The most Instagrammable
spot in the building is hidden
away in the ground-floor
hall. This is the walls decorated
with mirrors in the entrance
to the toilets. The surface
of the walls is marked
out with black lines, creating
the illusion of endless space.
Here you can t help wanting
to curtsey – because, as the
Queen in another Looking-
Glass world said, curtseying
is a good way to save time.
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çade are acceptable solutions
in this context (though in reality
such solutions are often
applied).
The library on 12 Marshal
Tukhachevsky Street was
erected as a wing of a multi-storey
residential complex
constructed in 1983 (architects:
Svyatoslav Gaikovich,
Oleg Frontinsky, and Victoria
Veryuzhskaya). The house
is notable for the unusual
layout of the apartments:
in three levels, as a result of
which the façade acquired a
characteristic interpretation
reminiscent of Le Corbusier's
Marseille Unité d'habitation.
Unlike its southern prototype,
the structure has no
legs, and non-residential
functions are displaced into
a square and gathered into
an elongated two-story wing.
Lined with light coloured
brickwork, the structure
stands out noticeably in the
surrounding bedroom community
and is already a local
landmark. The competent
and careful rethinking of the
library wing by young architects
from the Serious Project
group has been a bright
spot amongst a series of
demolitions and distortions
of modernist heritage.
Library modernisation is
a process necessary for the
successful existence of this
typology. Employees understand
that the unstoppable
pace of digitalisation
has forced the library "talk
back" in order to maintain
its relevance - the organisation
of lectures, meetings, interactive
facilities, and venues
for various events must
transform the space into a
focus of cultural life. Classic
library solutions are organically
implemented here,
complemented by multimedia
resources, including a
darkened room with a virtual
operator. The SHKAF library
and art residence has become
a striking example of a
modern cultural centre in the
midst of a deteriorating and
SHKAF (SHELF)
LIBRARY AND
ART RESIDENCE,
ST. PETERSBURG
Serious Project
Architects: Grigory Pisarenko,
Alexander Belik, Natalia
Afanasyeva, Irina Nechaeva
Customer: Krasnogvardeysky
Library District (Saint Petersburg)
2020
text: Anton Tenditny
photo: Alica Gill
The ever-growing list of defunct
examples Soviet modernism
calls us to look at this
architectural heritage with
different eyes. If the earlier
desire to "renew" had demanded
that every object
adopt a radical design, now
we are increasingly returning
to a sense of reverence before
the past. The urge to determine
a building's "primogeniture"
and authenticity
during its reconstruction, to
emphasise the beauty of its
original details, had attained
fundamental importance.
The Krasnogvardeysky
District Libraries Special Projects
Committee expressed
great care in the modernisation
of one of its largest facilities
and chose to take the
path less travelled. This was
confirmed in the 2018 competition
for the revitalisation
of its district library in St.
Petersburg. The winning project
under the motto "SHKAF
(SHELF)" provided for a respectful,
one might say therapeutic,
attitude toward the
library building. The authors
were able to "cure" the building
and breathe new life into
it without changing its figurative
essence. Modernism is
art of a sterile breed. While
it seems timeless, ageing
wears hard on it, and such elements
as purity and transparency
should be preserved
over the structure’s lifespan.
Neither an aesthetics of ruination
nor a layer of makeup
smeared thick over the fau
During reconstruction
the brick facades
of the library block
were restored and
painted, which has
not disrupted the laconic
image of Soviet
functionalism.
Views of
interior before
reconstruction
© SHKAF
© SHKAF
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Tochka gallery
of architectural
photography.
The exhibition is
Architectural Variations
by Vladimir
Antoshchenkov and
Marina Nikiforova
The revolving
cupboards which
gave the library and
art residence their
names, following
reconstruction
The entrance areas
include a relaxation
zone for readers
who are tired
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generally unappealing Soviet
environs.
The desire to emphasise
the features of the existing
structure, to delicately
identify its advantages and
give it a fresh look, turned
out to be the key successfully
restructuring the site.
Eliminating the suspended
ceiling and employing skylights
brought natural light
and air back to the building.
The redevelopment provided
mobility and versatility
of the interior space, forming
a "flexible" interior that
can change quickly, adapting
to various purposes.
Having soaked up both
an educational and a creative
function (thanks to the
art residence as well as, with
Project Baltia, the opening
of Tochka ("Period") – a oneof-a-kind
architectural photo
gallery on the second floor),
the new space has managed
to bring in a constant stream
of engaged visitors.
The library's name is a
multi-layered metaphor. At
once a cupboard for storing
books and a kind of magic
wardrobe leading to "Narnia".
And indeed, the strict,
introverted façade of the
building conceals an incubator,
a separate world created
to store and digest various
ideas that​ can be extracted
from this "shelf" for external
use. Blank walls protect
reading rooms from city
noise. The brick façade of
the building recalls a citadel,
grotto, warehouse. In any interpretation,
the library wing
acts as a refuge for an introvert.
In fact, the appearance
of a cultural centre in a rather
featureless residential area
may – with the right cultural
policy – bring about a local
"Bilbao effect". Exhibi-
u 1 st floor plan:
t 2 nd floor plan:
4
tions, creative workshops and
lectures are already being
held there. The activity bubbling
inside is bursting out:
in 2020, SHELF, together with
the Project Baltia, held a seminar,
during which the concept
of the square and its adjacent
territory was developed.
3 4
1. Black Room
‘The place’: a theatre
and multimedia
laboratory
2
1 2 3
1. Designer’s Room
2. Idler’s Room
3. Dialogue, a universal
transformer room
2. Info Hall
3. Assembly Hall:
art literature, Access
(media module)
5 6
4. Basis Room:
children’s literature
5. Time for Yourself,
coffee zone
It is quite possible that
the emergence of a suburban
cultural space for the
new generation will inspire
Polyustrovo to take on a
new identity and prompt its
transformation from a faceless
district into a location
with its own unique image.
1
4. Building Hall:
literature for specific
professional
fields
7
6. Form, open workshop
7. Tochka, gallery of architectural
photography
SOIVA. METROPOLIA
POP AND JAZZ
CONSERVATORY
AND UNIVERSITY OF
APPLIED SCIENCES
Tommila Architects
Architects: Miia-Liina Tommila,
Yrj n Vuojala, (chief designer),
Hanna-Maria Virtanen (project
designer), Lauri Suuronen and
Riku Piirta (project architects),
assisted by Jussi Jokela, Laura
Pasanen, Camilla Sundin,
Stiina Ruusuvuori, Diana-Luiza
Rimnichanu, Otsov Askolin, and
Niina Rissanen
With the participation of
Kaleidoscopic Nordic AS (Silje
Klepsvik, Tone Megrunn Berge –
during the conceptual-planning
and sketching stage)
Client: Hamentie 135
2021
text: Vladimir Frolov
photos: Tuomas Uusheimo,
Anders Portman,
Kuvatoimisto Kuvio
The peripheral Helsinki district
of Arabianranta, where
this new cultural institution
has opened, has long since
been an attraction for tourists
and citizens. It is one
of those territories in which
the special character of the
postindustrial phase of the
development of the Finnish
capital is especially conspicuous,
but the local genius
loci is, of course, all about
industry – specifically, artistic
industry. In the 1870s
Swedes looking for access
to the markets of the Russian
Empire founded a ceramics
factory called ‘Arabia
(also this area s historical
name). By the second half of
the 20th century the factory
already occupied a gigantic
city block (the largest in the
city), consisting of buildings
erected at different times.
One of the most conspicuous
buildings in this block –
from the point of view of architecture
– was designed by
Karl Malmstrom (1942). Characteristically,
this structure
was given a fa ade decorated
with ceramic tiles, ceramic
panels depicting the history
of ancient decorative and applied
art, and a large inscription
with the factory s name.
Undoubtedly, the compositional
device used by Malmond
generation of architects
working on the project). In
the present complex we undoubtedly
see a continuation
of European architecture s
strom has its roots in Walter
Groppius Mannerist masterpiece
– the Bauhaus school
in Dessau (1925). In both cases
the side fa ade, especially
when viewed at a three quarters
angle, in effect becomes
the main fa ade (the most
recognizable and most often
reproduced). In both cases
the poster-like vertical of the
building s name announces
its function and ‘brand from
a distance. However, over
the period between 1925 and
1945 there had been a shift
away from Avant-garde utilitarianism;
d cor, ornamentation,
and the building s
surface had acquired a new
importance. The influence of
the Art Deco aesthetic, especially
in details, is clearly
legible in Malmstrom s building,
although his approach
to layout and volume remains
entirely of the school of Bauhaus.
This city block s new
hero – the Soiva complex – is
by Tommila Architects, who
have worked on the transformation
of this site since the
1990s (this is now the secown
reflections on the possibility
of progress and on the
preservation of certain unvarying
values that are immanent
to this type of art.
128 russia
brick
129
finland
brick

The project by Tommila Architects
illustrates a further
stage in this reflection: architecture
s turn at the beginning
of the current century
from the Neo-Avant-garde
and Deconstructivism to a
new materiality and monumentality.
Furthermore, following
the acceleration of
historical process, problems
typical of the situation in the
profession almost a century
ago turn out to be still partially
in need of a situation
even now.
The following analysis is
based on a comparison of
the three above-mentioned
buildings: Gropius ‘Bauhaus
, Malmstrom s Arabia,
and Tomilla s Soiva (‘Soiva
, incidentally, means ‘owl ).
The first thing we see is that
they share a Modernist attitude
to how the building is
situated in space. In all cases
the main viewing angle is
from the side. However, in
the most recent of the three
variants the effect is attained
by a new device – the organization
of a portal oriented
diagonally and looking directly
at whoever positions
herself to view the building
from the most advantageous
position. The situation that
arises becomes extremely
complex: the building s corner
repulses, and the portal
pulls you inside, giving rise
to a contradiction, raising
the emotionality with which
the building is perceived,
and undoubtedly bewildering
passers-by. When the viewing
point is changed to one
which is central to the fa ade,
the perception becomes less
tense, but the clarity of the
composition is lost too; the
portal s turn begins to seem
a gesture dictated by either
purely formal motifs or purely
functional ones – which
creates an impression of either
non-obligatoriness or
compulsion.
The second and third
projects are characterized
by attention to details
and texture. Here Malmstrom
probably has the edge.
v The building’s
interior is musical;
it’s as if you are walking
between white
and black piano keys,
carefully touching the
strings of the copper
railings
130 finland
brick
131 finland
brick

The fineness of the working
of the ceramic font and
its combination with the fa
ade tiles (as if the wall itself
is generating the inscription
but does not let go of it, leaving
it as an intrinsic part of
itself) and the sophisticated
stylization of the figures
on the panel are, of course,
a standard of ‘costumization
of architecture that is unattainable
today. Nevertheless,
Soiva is elegant in a certain
way, and the technique
of combining dark brick and
copper sheets creates an impression
of splendour.
A conspicuous difference
between this recent building
and its precursors is the
considerable diminution of
the role of the inscription/
brand in relation to the total
fa ade surface. In effect what
we have here is a standard
sign, although one that is integrated
in the design of the
entrance area. If for Gropius
and Malmstrom the building
s name is incorporated in
its shape, for Tommila this
is clearly a secondary aspect.
Possibly, the key thing
here is that Tommila needed
to create a building that is
home to two institutions. Another
factor may be that today
s architecture lacks confidence
in the longevity of
any functions at all… However,
architects, of course, do
not have to use a font to be
convincing.
In fact, the situation is
even more complex. The role
of accentuating element in
the fa ade, which in historical
buildings is played by letters,
is in Tommila s building
taken by the diagonal
portal. It is even possible to
read it as a kind of illuminated
initial – and the window
apertures, which are lined
with copper, as the remaining
parts of an unread ‘word .
The concealed significance of
this way of creating a modern
version of architecture parlante
is revealed by the architects
themselves when in
their explicatory note they
indicate that the colour black
reflects the idea of rock and
roll, while the copper is jazz.
Which is to say that the ‘frozen
music of the architecture
is here composed of architectural
elements: there
is a background jangle, and
then there are the accentuated
sounds of the melody.
The ‘musical performance
continues inside the building
too, where the atmosphere
becomes lighter as we
ascend from the lower levels
(basses) of the building
to the higher levels (wind instruments).
We should also note another
serious aspect of how
this new building differs from
its precursors: both 20thcentury
buildings are production-oriented,
while ‘the owl
is an educational and public
building. On the other hand,
all three are a part of what
we today call ‘the creative industries
, and that means –
to a certain extent – that
there has been no change
of paradigm; it is just that
here what is produced is not
things but sounds.
When we compare these
three buildings from different
times, it is impossible
to avoid the feeling that
the last of them seems the
most contradictory. In it dynamism
sits side by side with
a heavy static quality; openness,
with closedness; monumentality,
with elements
of play. Probably, all these
are marks of the meta-Modernist
epoch: superhybridity
as an attempt to respond
to all challenges at once, and
without giving preference
to any one of the found responses.
1 This is the origin
of the feeling of incompleteness,
the project s fragmentary
character. But being part
of something larger is certainly
by no means always
a bad thing; the question is
part of what precisely. Let s
look more closely: the Arabia
city block – a city in miniature
– is a good example
of an entity in which each of
the components works for
the benefit of the whole and
cannot be understood separately
from it. Here I would
merely like to add to this
that the whole made up by
the city and its architecture
is more complex than even
such a large block of buildings;
it consists of elements
that are sometimes extremely
remote from one another
in time and space.
Notes:
1. Jorg Heiser defines superhybridity as follows: ‘… this
is the name of a method which uses – or exploits – the
technologically accelerated possibilities of merging
different sources or influences in a single point; in itself
it is neither an aesthetic
u The history of the
creation of the city
block containing the
Arabia Factory
Bottom: the industrial
stage; top: the
reconstruction stage
involving byuro
Tommila
t Walter Gropius.
The Bauhaus
building, Dessau.
1926
t Carl Malmström.
Arabia Factory,
Helsinki. 1942
s 1 st floor plan
photo: Markus Koljonen
132 finland
brick
133
finland
brick

The image of the new
cultural centre is
based on a combination
of historical
brick and high-quality
modern glazing
HANZAS PERONS,
CULTURAL CENTRE,
RIGA
Sudraba arhitektura
Architects: Ilze Liepina, Ieva
Landmane, Ainars Plankajs,
Martins Ostanevics, Jurgis Prikulis
2019
text: Mariya Fadeeva
photos: R. Hofmanis
Hanzas Perons is the first
major cultural building to
have been built in Latvia
with private money since
the country obtained its independence.
This structure
marks the start of New Hanza,
a large development project
which is part of an ambitious
plan to transform the
district of Skanste into Riga’s
calling card for the 21st
century. The new cultural institution
occupies a former
warehouse at Riga’s freight
railway station (built in
1903). In the past there were
15 warehouses here, on six
tracks. The station loaded its
last freight in 2009; reconstruction
work began in 2017.
Unlike other buildings
on this site, this warehouse
was not under a conservation
order. Nevertheless,
the decision was taken to
preserve it. Its floor area
was expanded by the addition
of longitudinal galleries
in place of the loading
platforms, as well as galleries
and extensions at the
ends of the building. This increased
the initial floor area
of 1228 square metres to
4426. The warehouse itself
– 15 metres wide by 80 metres
long, without a single
internal support – has become
an exhibition hall capable
of seating 1200. Builtin
mobile acoustic partitions
allow the hall to be divided
into three smaller spaces,
including two halls of
467 square metres and 294
square metres, in which different
events can be held simultaneously.
The ground-
134 latvia
brick
135 latvia
brick

u Roof and floor plan
floor annex contains an
entrance hall; a new wide
staircase leads to a cloakroom
and toilets in the basement
below. The second
floor contains green rooms.
Sudraba arhitektura already
has several reconstruction
projects to its
name; not surprisingly, here
too they were attentive to
the building’s historical materiality
and took pains to
underline its distinctive aesthetic.
The reconstruction
of the old walls required
the replacement of 27,790
bricks. The old railway
tracks, gates, windows, the
roof rafters, and many other
details – including even
the plaque indicating the address
– were preserved and
restored. The specially designed
benches fastened to
the old walls fit the industrial
style. Another allusion to
the building’s history is the
café zone in the form of an
old railway coach placed on
an authentic turntable made
by the Riga Coach-Building
Factory. The new elements
made from wood and metal
and the continuous terrazzo
floor point up the historical
textures. The warehouse
itself, enclosed in continuous
glassed galleries, resembles
a museum exhibit
revealing Riga’s industrial
past. Admittedly, this is an
exhibit which visitors are allowed
to touch when they
come here for a concert, exhibition,
or conference.
u Southern and
Northern facades
t Eastern and
Western facades
136 latvia
brick
137
latvia
brick

VILJANDI PARK HOTEL,
VILJANDI
KAOS Arhitektid
Architects: Margit Argus, Margit
Aule, Kaiko Kerdmann, Kalju
Kisand, Maris Kerge
2018
Text: Karina Kharebova
photos: Terje Ugandi
The Viljandi Park Hotel is
situated in the centre of the
town of the same name and
seems to grow out of the
latter’s historical architecture
– namely, a Neo-Renaissance
building erected in
1910. This handsome building
was originally a guesthouse
belonging to the Estonian
businessman Andres
Ormisson. Ormisson handed
over his guest rooms for
use first by a military hospital
and then by an educational
institution. Soon the
building fell empty – and remained
in a state of decline
until 2016, when it passed
into the hands of new owners.
It was they who decided
to restore the building’s
original function and give
back to Viljandi this lost
piece of its puzzle.
KAOS Arhitektid was
asked to preserve the little
that had remained from the
building’s original fittings
and at the same time create
a modern boutique hotel.
Unfortunately, the historical
interiors had been
lost almost in their entirety,
and there were no surviving
photographs of them.
The lack of archival materials
inspired the architects
to use their imaginations
and look for distinctive details
capable of transporting
guests into the era of
Ormisson and Art Nouveau.
This explains the stylized
lift with its graphic elevator
shaft and the elegant wall
panels in the hotel rooms.
The latter owe their design
to an old panelled door that
was found gathering dust
in the hotel’s basement and
captured the architects’ imagination.
Another portal into the
past is the authentic courtyard
of brick which has
been adapted for use as
an atrium. The brick exterior
is softened by wood –
used here for the passageways
which, high up on the
top storeys, link the hotel
rooms with the corridors
and lift. The wooden elements
give the space a geometrical
quality and at the
same time simplify navigation,
suggesting possible
routes to visitors.
Now glazed and restored,
the atrium courtyard is the
hotel’s heart. This is where
visitors find the reception
and lounge zone, and from
here they can enter the conference
hall and restaurant.
The restaurant interior is
a homage to Villem Ormisson,
an artist who was a son
of Andres Ormisson. On the
restaurant walls are seven
interpretations of paintings
by the younger Ormisson,
mainly views of Viljandi. The
influence of these works is
noticeable too in the palette
of colours used in the hall –
a restrained and understated
space, but with brightly
coloured inserts of furniture
and textiles.
The same approach has
been taken in the design of
the hotel rooms, of which
there are 37. Each boasts
colourful emphases and elegant
snow-white fittings,
which make the already
high ceilings seem even
higher. Another feature of
the hotel rooms is not so
immediately obvious: all
138 estonia
brick
139 estonia
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37 bathrooms have an individual
design.
In spite of its slightly disturbing
name, KAOS has here
managed to create a balance
of history and modernity.
The clearest proof of this
is the reviews left by the hotel’s
visitors.
s 1 st and 2 nd
floor plans
u Site plan
140
estonia
brick
141
russia
brick

ON JULY 27 AT THE PAVILION IN NOVAYA GOLLANDIYA ALEKSANDR POPADIN GAVE A LECTURE TITLED ‘KOENIGSBURG FUTUROTYPES’ AS PART OF THE
HEROES OF ARCHITECTURE SERIES ORGANIZED BY PROJECT BALTIA AND THE NEW HOLLAND: CULTURAL URBANIZATION PROJECT. AFTER THE LECTURE
WE GOT IN TOUCH WITH OUR GUEST, THE WELL-KNOWN KALININGRAD WRITER AND ‘LOCAL’ ARCHITECTURE CRITIC, BY ZOOM SO AS TO DISCUSS THE
PAST AND PRESENT OF THIS UNIQUE AND MAINLY BRICK CITY ON THE BALTIC SEA.
CITY K. AN INTERVIEW WITH ALEKSANDR POPADIN
was how the so-called east ‘Winfried Wing’ came into being.
In this respect Koenigsberg Castle is an example of ‘endless’
rethinking, a living organism which due to its size no epoch
was able to reconstruct from top to bottom. Its wings were different,
especially their facades, which were variously brick,
plastered, Gothic, and Neoclassical. In the 1930s there was
talk about the need to impose a unified style, but at that time
the citizens of Koenigsberg were unable to reach agreement,
took fright, and merely rebuilt the impressive south-western
corner in the Neo-Gothic style. It’s the corner shown in all the
photographs: the pediment with the main tower.
Collocutors: Vladimir Frolov, Mariya Maksimova
Vladimir Frolov: Kaliningrad is a city of many ks, at least in
the Russian language. There’s a ‘kingly’ theme, a quasi-kingly
theme (Kalinin), and brick, which in Russian also begins with
a k (kirpich) – Kaliningrad is for the most part a brick city. At
your lecture you talked a lot about the distinctive character of
interwar brick architecture in Koenigsberg. Let’s discuss this
heritage, but without forgetting older fortifications which continue
to be part of the Kaliningrad landscape.
Aleksandr Popadin: Let’s begin with the fact that Koenigsberg
was founded as a fortress city. De jure it in fact remained a
fortress city until its very end in 1945. If we listen to reports
from the Soviet information bureau in spring 1945, the way
they put it was: ‘Our troops have reached the fortress and
city of Koenigsberg’, i.e. the word ‘fortress’ came before ‘city’
because for the military a fortress is more important than a
city. Koenigsberg was always getting ready for war; that was
what drove its development. From the start its structure and
many buildings took into account the possibility of battle –
so there’s lots of brick. There’s no limestone here, but we do
have good clays, and there’s the usual German tradition of using
clay to make bricks. Koenigsberg was a red-brick city, and
most of the churches here are Gothic Kirchen; they were made
from red brick right up to Renaissance and Baroque times.
Each epoch possessed its own technology of making and
laying bricks, and all these brick strata co-exist in the city’s
environment. One of the streets near where I live is ulitsa
Krasnokamennaya, whose name (‘Red Stone’ in English) is a
carbon copy of the German ‘Rotenstein’. Even now, Rotenstein
still has its so-called ‘Brick Ponds’. That’s where the clay was
quarried – and where bricks were made. On the next street,
there was a workshop for training people to lay bricks; traces
survive in the form of moulds in the plaster of an inconspicuous
wall…
To come back to military brick, Kaliningrad still has many
fortifications. About half of the bastions and ravelins from the
Aleksandr Popadin
is a Kaliningrad
culturologist, a
writer, and a local
architecture critic.
He is the author of
a series of books
of walks around
Kaliningrad.
V.F.: And yet the Teutonic rhombi did not save the city from
ending up in another country. The best-known symbol of
Soviet Kaliningrad is the half-built House of Soviets, which has
taken the ruined castle’s place as a symbol. This is a tower but
of concrete, not brick, i.e. it uses a completely different architectural
language that suits the age of International Modernism,
an age which doesn’t like to mention local identity. This
enormous grey structure is the main emblem of the Sovietizaw
Trading yard,
subsequently
Königsburg City
Hall. Architect: Hans
Hopp. 1923
x West wing of
Königsburg Castle.
Photo from the
beginning of the 20 th
century
middle of the 19th century and the remains of the fortress’s
Second Ring can still be seen in today’s landscape. So there
is a lot of fortificational brick. Residential brick, on the other
hand, was always kept covered up, inside buildings’ bodies,
under plaster.
If we exclude churches, brick as a façade material became
fashionable in Koenigsberg in the middle of the 19th century,
along with Biedermeier and the Neo-Gothic style, which
was used for the age’s most imposing architecture. The end of
the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries were, in my
opinion, the peak of the evolution of brick craftsmanship in
Koenigsberg: there was an amazing variety of brick types, as
well as of decorative elements such as glazed brick.
Red-brick industrial architecture of the end of the 19th century
needs a special mention: it’s more or less identical all
over the world, but in Koenigsberg it took the form of new port
warehouses. These are still part of the city’s genetic code,
part of how ‘the city’s solemn meeting with water, with the
sea’ is presented.
Almost at the same time, before World War I, came a new
surge in the use of bricks, with the worldwide spread of the
Art Nouveau style (Jugendstil in Germany) and Eclecticism
(Historicism). Villas were built from yellow brick of supreme
quality. Even today on ulitsa Kutuzova you can still see examples
of the combination of yellow and red brick – Villa Makovsky
or Villa Michaelis, for instance. The latter is in every
guidebook. There is government-standard brick, military
brick, and smart residential brick for burghers. All this diversity
is still to be found in Kaliningrad, although approximately
50% of the city’s old buildings were destroyed and new structures
were erected in their place in Soviet times.
Incidentally, a good example of the Eclectic style was
Koenigsberg Castle, which began as a fortress-citadel. When
the Teutonic ecclesiastic state was turned into a secular dukedom,
the defensive function was relegated to the background,
and the duke began turning the citadel into a secular palace.
Then came the fashion for Neoclassicism and, accordingly, the
next generation of rulers reconstructed the castle to suit: this
V.F.: At the lecture you mentioned that the seemingly purely
decorative techniques of brickwork in works by Hans Hopp and
other Koenigsberg architects from the interwar period were in
fact allusions to Teutonic fortifications…
A.P.: Yes, it’s curious to observe how Koenigsberg architects
in the 1930s sought genetic links with medieval Koenigsberg,
although there was now a new aesthetic paradigm, Bauhaus
had entered the scene, and the epoch of Functionalism and Art
Deco had begun. And they found this genesis in the decorative
element which exists in many Teutonic forts: the rhombi
and serpentine shapes which we see on the façade of the
Friedland Gate, on the walls of Marienburg Castle, and on
the east façade of Koenigsberg Cathedral. I have managed
to find no German sources that could explain the rhombi,
but one day the Kaliningrad architect Oleg Vasyutin and I
decided to get to the bottom of why these rhombi are found on
medieval buildings and why they started appearing again in
the 1920s. It was a real piece of investigation. We worked out
the construction technology used by the medieval masons to
reinforce the castle walls. A brick, as is well known, has two
sides: a long one and a short one. We realized that builders
in the Middle Ages had worked out that, when subjected to a
blow, the short side of the brick resists better than the long
side – so fortificational structures were built with as many as
possible short sides looking out from the wall – then the wall
would better resist a hit by a cannonball or a siege machine.
The second piece of cunning was that some of the bricks were
deliberately made stronger through more intensive firing
(making them darker in colour) or glazing. Extra-strong bricks
of this kind were laid with their shorter sides outwards to create
an internal lattice, a structure, and it was this that in the
event of a cannonball hit took the additional force. The lattice
of extra-strong bricks improved the wall’s resilience and due
to the structure of the brickwork automatically formed a snake
or ‘double snake’ on the façade, a rhombus which structurally
behaved like the iron rods in reinforced concrete. This is one
part of the story, the medieval part. And then, in the 1920s
and 1930s Koenigsberg architects began learning new technologies
involving a reinforced-concrete framework but made
the façades from high-quality brick: the materiality began
speaking for itself. And they often introduced into the facades
of these new buildings motifs taken from rhombi or snakes;
it was an allusion to tradition, Teutonic fortresses, and, more
broadly, the genesis of the fortress as such. Most buildings
with rhombi on the façade are of red brick: Hotel Moskva,
the reinforced-concrete post-office, the Southern Railway
Station, the House of Firemen – they’re typical examples of
red-brick architecture in which decoration of this kind plays a
significant role.
tion of Kaliningrad. However, its very incompleteness points,
so to speak, to the collapse of this socialist ‘concrete’ utopia.
For 30 years the question has been: to demolish it or not?
What is your opinion as a citizen of Kaliningrad: what should
be done with this building?
u Fortress wall and
Wrangel Tower, part
of Königsberg’s Second
Defensive Ring
u Part of the fortress
brickwork
A.P.: The House of Soviets is a key structure for the historical
centre of Kaliningrad. And the hill on which it stands is a place
of strength, a place of authority; it’s where the city began.
It was from here that the Amber Road, which passed nearby,
was controlled, and accordingly this is Mons Regius, King’s
Hill. To begin with, let’s understand why the House of Soviets
stands in a vacuum. The city centre was smashed by the war.
After 1945 it was not yet clear whether Kaliningrad would be
Soviet or not. This is why it was used first as a mine: they
extracted from it everything they could. The city’s buildings
were taken apart for their bricks, which were sent to Lithuania
and to restore Leningrad. So some houses in your St Petersburg
were repaired in the 1950s using our Koenigsberg bricks
and some of your roads with our cobblestones.
So the medieval city centre was taken apart. The reason
why the House of Soviets was built was the 100th anniversary
of Lenin’s birth in 1970. Most programmes of action in the
Soviet Union were organized to mark important dates. Approximately
eight years before the centenary, the Party’s top
figures from all over the USSR got together in Moscow. They
were told: ‘Dear comrades, we have Lenin’s 100th anniversary
coming up. Everyone one must think up something big to mark
this great event.’ And in each region of the USSR the Party
bosses conceived a megaproject of an ideological character
which should be built or at least have its foundations laid
in 1970. In Bryansk, for instance, it was the enormous Hotel
Rossiya, and in Kaliningrad it was the House of Soviets. And
were it not for this haste and the desire to make a splash with
a megaproject to mark the anniversary, the ruins of Koenigsberg
Castle would still be standing today… But there was a
need to erect a large new building to represent Soviet authority
– historically and symbolically. The House of Soviets was
supposed to house the Party’s regional and city committees.
Which means that the delegates to the regional and city councils
were supposed to sit there, i.e. this was to be a concentration
of all the branches of power. It is impossible for symbols
of historically distinct authorities to exist in the same spot, so
the ruins of the castle were demolished without any regret.
The nuance is that the castle began as the citadel of the
House of the Convent – a very dense, massive building, alphoto:
Aleksandr Popadin
142 russia
brick
143 russia
brick

most without windows, a square fortress. But the House of
Soviets is also square in plan like the House of the Convent,
with the same kind of internal courtyard – and the Latin word
‘convent’ means ‘council’ (‘soviet’ in Russian). The House of
the Convent was erected on King’s Hill 750 years ago. Without
even knowing this, the Soviet architects and ideologists
reproduced the symbolic system of power on the same spot,
simply in another material, in another architecture. Personally,
I like the fact that this is an honest building: it doesn’t pretend
to be anything else than it actually is. The House of Soviets
is an emblem of its age, a normal symbol of authority. This
is not those khrushchevki pretending to be little Hanseatic
houses while standing on a much wider street. To demolish
this building and build something else is, I think, absolutely
wrong equally from the points of view of ideology, symbolism,
and pure economics. The problem of the House of Soviets is
that it stands in isolation on its territory. A king needs a retinue,
needs buildings around it. What’s more, the House of Soviets
is part of a pair: it should have the Central Square next
to it, only the square does not read as a square because it
has no facades to define it. It is Modernist and too big; it falls
apart, dissolves in the empty space. So the House of Soviets,
if we’re talking about what needs to be done with it, needs a
building to stand alongside it. It needs a partner: the city’s
main building needs a new main square.
Mariya Maksimova: What, overall, is Kaliningraders’ attitude to
Soviet architectural heritage? Is it disliked? When I was in Kaliningrad,
I often heard locals say that the city’s true architectural
history is the history of Koenigsberg, not Kaliningrad.
HOUSE OF SOVIETS IS AN HONEST BUILDING:
IT DOESN’T PRETEND TO BE ANYTHING ELSE THAN
IT ACTUALLY IS
A.P.: Yes, of course, people don’t exactly love the Soviet past.
But I am a Soviet person, I was born in the Soviet Union, and
I grew up in a Soviet centaur house, i.e. in a khrushchevka
placed on German foundations and roofed with tiles taken
from an old German roof. I can understand both sides. So I
would say: previously, ‘Soviet’ meant ‘comprehensively bad’,
and it was clear that everything foreign was better. Now I
see more and more people beginning to find value in what is
Soviet: they admit there was such a period in our lives and
it had its achievements, in particular in architecture. If you
have some knowledge of the history of architecture, then you
also realize there is sense in valuing, loving, and preserving
certain Soviet buildings.
The complication is that the Soviet period gave Kaliningrad
only 12 public buildings built to original designs. Kaliningrad
was a provincial city; it was closed to foreigners, and
so it was mostly standardized buildings that were built here.
Only private buildings could be erected to one-off designs,
and if you tried to build something big, you had to have your
project approved at a special department of the Communist
Party Central Committee. As a rule, approval would not be
given. The Kaliningrad Picture Gallery was built under Soviet
rule, but the official papers categorized it as a shop, i.e.
the city’s boss deliberately erected it as a gallery but could
not risk calling it so officially. Those were the circumstances
in which our local city bosses had to act, so there were
very few original Soviet buildings. Nevertheless, compared
to what came earlier, when everything Soviet was thought
to be absolutely useless, I see a positive tendency afoot
in society. Many people like me defend the House of Soviets
and the House of Arts – there’s a campaign to have it repaired
and the façade altered. After running up against criticism,
the authorities have decided to preserve the building’s
original appearance; this is normal, high-quality architecture,
Soviet Modernism. It’s just we need a little more time
to realize that it’s not just Constructivism that is valuable in
the Soviet era, but also later Soviet Modernism. In the West
that’s something people have already realized.
V.F.: Let’s change topic and talk about your activities as an
agent of urban change, a player in urban planning. You have
organized a number of architecture competitions and set up a
special organization called ‘Heart of the City’. What were your
objectives? How is it that a Kaliningrad intellectual and not a
civil servant managed to launch such a serious initiative? This is
extremely rare in Russia today…
v Olshtyn Restaurant.
Architects:
Nikolay and Nataliya
Batakov. C. 1979
A.P.: After the collapse of the USSR, i.e. in the 1990s, the city
had a problem with subjectivity. It became clear that the city
needed ‘making’, and this was intensively discussed at the
business games which the city hall of that time organized. I
took part in them, and it was then that I came up with a culturological
‘concept of historical actions’ which would make
the city a city: Kaliningrad at that moment was overshadowed
by Koenigsberg; the comparison was not at all in its favour.
In the 1990s people used to say: ‘What did we do in Soviet
times? Nothing that was any good: we merely fulfilled the
production plan. Now Koenigsberg, that was real life, whereas
we…’ All told, it was a bad life. I could not have influenced the
entire city, so I started acting in a private capacity, started doing
special projects which fitted my concept in that they ‘set
in motion’ a part of the city’s subjectivity, a part of its history.
Over the course of 30 years I have had four such ‘historical’
projects. The first was my book, Mestnoe vremya.
Progulki po Kaliningradu (‘Local time. Walks around Kaliningrad’).
The objective was to find a new dignity for Kaliningrad
in a difficult historical situation: Koenigsberg was historically
a large, high-quality presence whereas we were
historically few; we were surrounded by khrushchevkas and
yet wanted to retain our dignity… The book met this demand
and was a local bestseller. It allowed Kaliningraders to see
themselves in a new modern capacity – to see that Kaliningrad
is interesting, talented, is no longer bashful or repentant,
and no longer says, ‘Look, we’re so small and Koenigsberg
is so big.’ There was this idea that Kaliningraders could
become subjects when they acquired a description, a mirror,
and this self-awareness made them subjects: they would
become proper Kaliningraders. Previously, the city was described
in economic terms; in Soviet times people would say,
‘Kaliningrad is a powerful industrial centre!’ and then describe
the port and the factories. Well, I wrote a book based
on the idea that ‘City = people’. This was the first project
that was part of my concept of ‘local historical actions’. My
book is still loved and remembered, and I wrote another two
in the same genre – which still, in my opinion, shape how
Kaliningraders see themselves.
The second project which I did using the ‘lever of historical
reflection’ was a public campaign for the city’s anniversary
in 2005. In 2001 it was by no means clear that Kaliningrad’s
anniversary celebrations a) could take place, b) would be permitted
by Moscow. Together with my allies from the Culture
Foundation (Nina Peretyaka), I organised an entire public
campaign to ensure that the anniversary celebrations took
place. We were joined by lots and lots of people, and together
we changed the position of Moscow, which did not want to put
on a celebration. We Kaliningraders won this round, and the
anniversary helped everyone understand that the city was not
60 years old but 750. That this was legal, ideologically OK,
and that the motivating force behind all this was not Germanization…
that this was respectable and civilized. We ended up
having three presidents come to the celebrations – the Russian,
the French, and the German.
The third project in my ‘historical action’ series was an encyclopedia
of Kaliningrad Region and Kaliningrad. It was published
in two volumes. Together with the region’s department
of culture, we found money and put in a lot of work with our
team of authors. Unfortunately, the effect was absolutely local;
it did not come off as something historical. Because the
encyclopedia is not today’s format, is not up-to-date. In the
19th century, in the 20th perhaps, it could have worked, but
not in the 21st. I made a mistake in my choice of instrument –
it’s a dead form.
The fourth action in my personal series came about almost
by accident. In 2010 Kaliningrad acquired a new governor:
Nikolai Tsukanov. And Svetlana Sivkov, a major federal cultural
politician – director of the Museum of the World Ocean – offered
me a job as deputy chairman of Kaliningrad Region’s
Culture Council. I took it and then realized I could use this important
position in a long and beautiful game. I proposed
setting up a special programme to find new instruments for
working with cultural monuments and complex historical territories.
And I suggested establishing a special office to carry
out the programme.
This was preceded by an architectural prologue of two
parts. In 2005, for the celebrations of Kaliningrad’s 750th anniversary,
the local authorities and Union of Architects held
an international architectural symposium dedicated to the
central part of the city. This was followed by an international
workshop in 2007, involving teams of architects from Finland,
Poland, Germany, and Russia. The teams produced fundamental
urban-planning proposals for the city centre. Essentially,
they did the work of a master-planning institute – laid down
a conceptual foundation. After the collapse of the Soviet Union,
the country’s master-planning institutes had fallen apart;
there is no one today to do conceptual and strategic planning.
All the Genplan (Master-Planning) Institute does is allocate
land. Well, what concepts lie behind this, apart from taking
over as much territory as possible? Usually, no concept at all.
This international workshop in 2007 marked out a territory
in the centre of Kaliningrad and recommended holding an international
open architecture competition to plan this territory.
I began preparing this in 2013. I got the Culture Council to
help set up a special bureau called ‘Heart of the City’.
My idea was that the international competition would allow
us to publicly and transparently find a conceptual architectural
solution for the central part of Kaliningrad and avoid
the usual conflicts of interests over key territories. Previously,
initiatives for transforming the city centre had come from
investors. The investors simply wanted to build and earn
money, nothing else. And if a major investor came to a key
territory, another investor would envy the first and start being
obstructive. I was forced to publish a large ideological
text about how King’s Hill should be a ‘territory of peace’,
at least during the competition. We can fight as much as we
like over other territories, but this part of the city can be reanimated
only if we say to each other: ‘We won’t fight here!
We won’t take the commission from one another. We’ll do
everything cleanly, honestly, transparently.’ Seen from the
developers’ point of view, this is a very naïve civic ideology,
but I think it’s the only correct one. Political support for
the activities of Heart of the City came from Svetlana Sivkova
and formal political support came from Governor Tsukanov,
who responded positively to my proposal for this programme
and suggested that I should be the one to set up
and head the bureau.
Later, in my new position, I organized two international architecture
competitions: an urban-planning competition for
50 hectares in the city centre in 2014 and in 2015 the ‘Postcastle’
competition for the architectural design of a specific
building. There was a problem to do with the fact that local
architects had no faith in me: ‘He’s just some culturologist,
what can he possibly do…’ None of the big Kaliningrad architects
entered the first competition; they were sure it would
fail. But they didn’t know that this was the logical continuation
of my concept of ‘historical actions’ and that I had no intention
of stealing a million from the cashbox and making off
with it in the direction of Poland…
V.F.: How would you describe the results of the bureau’s activities,
and why did the initiative come to an end?
A.I.: I don’t agree that it has ended: the project is bigger than
the bureau itself; meanings are bigger than instruments. The
initiative was part of the civic action begun by the symposium
in 2005 and then extended in 2007 with the workshop, and
the two competitions were simply its continuation. I had a
technical advantage as a neutral figure; I wasn’t representing
any of the groups of figures from business or official
structures that exist in Kaliningrad. Had that been so, rivals
would not have allowed the project to go ahead. But everyone
thought: ‘He’ll fail, we’ll allow him to fall over, and then we’ll
make our move and pick up the pieces’, and that was how a
chance of success emerged.
With regard to the competition brief, the team and I (I
was not alone: the architects Oleg Vasyutin and Olga Mezey
played a key role in the overall process) consulted international
experts (from Germany and Sweden) very thoroughly about
how to hold the competition. The first competition we held
was an urban-planning competition, concerning 50 hectares
u Site for the
second Heart of the
City competition:
Postcastle. Here
we see the Central
Square and the
House of Soviets.
Right, beneath
the lawn: the
foundations of
Königsberg Castle
photo: Aleksandr Popadin
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© Studio 44
in the centre of Kaliningrad. The idea was to settle the urban-planning
network and propose ideas for what to do with
the House of Soviets and the castle. As usual, the civil servants
wanted all the problems solved in a single competition,
although obviously that’s not how things work and a load
of questions remained unanswered. An answer was found,
though, to the question of the urban grid for Kaliningrad’s
empty centre. First place went to Nikita Yaveyn’s Studiya 44
from St Petersburg, and second place to Christian Devillers
and his colleagues. Devillers is a famous French architect. He
came up with the best solution for the upper part of the territory,
where the House of Soviets is located and near which the
castle used to stand.
The second competition was held the following year, in
2015. There were 100 entrants, 49 of whom reached the final.
It was then that many Kaliningrad architects realized
that everything was honest, everything would come good;
they decided to take part. This competition was not about urban
planning; it was for the design of a specific building: entrants
had to resolve the conflict in styles and symbolism
between the House of Soviets and the castle. The House of
Soviets is a zombie, a body without spirit, without life. And
the castle is a ghost, the image of a castle. It lives on as a
memory but has no body. The culturological and symbolic
task was to come up with ideas for reconciling and marrying
the two. The winner of the second competition was the
30-year-old architect Anton Sagal. He considers himself a
Kaliningrader, having lived here for seven years before going
off to Milan, where he studied architecture at Milan Polytechnic.
He was just finishing his MA at the time of the competition.
He proposed the best solution for reconciling the
House of Soviets and the castle and took first place in spite
of the fact that his project drawings were incomplete. He
was a lone entrant but decided to take part. His entry was
noticed by Hans Stimmann. When Stimmann explained Sagal’s
idea to the other members of the jury, everyone agreed
that it was the best. Second place went to Nikita Yaveyn’s
Studiya 44.
M.M.: Recently the press published another project by Studiya
44 for this site. This time, in place of the House of Soviets there
is an imitation of an old Koenigsberg urban space, but on a different
scale. Do you think this project successful?
V.F.: And who was the initiator of the project? This was clearly
not a competition but a direct commission.
A.P.: First let’s finish with the bureau. By the beginning of
2016 we had fulfilled all the objectives which we, the Heart
of the City team, had set ourselves with regard to the central
part of Kaliningrad. The best architectural and urban-planning
solutions for this site had been found through two competitions.
After this, the problem passed from the architects
(development of content) to the politicians (realization). The
politicians were supposed to decided which project was to
be implemented – from the 49 that made it to the final of the
second competition or from the first three winning projects
(which made political intervention legitimate in the eyes of
the public). Our governor at that time was Nikolai Tsukanov.
He initially gave me carte blanche for my project – and
then withdrew it since he had a favourite architect in Artur
Sanits. Even before all the competitions Sarnits had created
a cartoon and a model that were precise copies of the castle;
he showed them to Tsukanov, saying: ‘We must recreate the
castle, that’s what everyone expects of us, it’s our cultural
mission.’ Tsukanov expected that ‘Sarnits’ castle’ would
win the architecture competition, but that was not what
happened: a 1:1 reproduction of the castle is not a work of
architecture, still less in an international competition. At
the same time, I realized that if the jury didn’t give at least
a symbolic prize to Sarnits, I would be sacked the following
day! I asked the members of the jury to create a special
category of prize to give to Sarnits – and the jury came up
with the idea for a special prize sarcastically called ‘For
dreaming’. Sarnits simply submitted a precise reproduction
of the castle, and there is no architectural worth in such an
approach. Look at how the Berlin Palace was recreated: the
Germans didn’t just copy the old palace; what they’ve done
is critical reconstruction. Anton Sagal’s project won the second
competition because he adopted the ideology of critical
reconstruction as an algorithm for joining old and new and
applied it to Koenigsberg Castle and the House of Soviets,
rather than simply copying the castle, as Sarnits did. This is
the fundamental difference between ‘reproduction of historical
buildings’ and ‘reproduction of symbols of Big History
through reproduction of a genotype.’
Now let’s turn to the new project by Studiya 44.
v Design proposal
from Studiya 44,
2021. View of the
buildings from
Moskovsky prospekt.
The complex’s
facades are stylized
to resemble Königsberg’s
‘warehouse
architecture’. The
wet-asphalt effect
used in the render is
intended to reinforce
associations with
historical buildings
that were usually
built at the water’s
edge.
V.F.: Yes, but first: why did the bureau disappear? Did the result
of the second competition not full satisfy the bosses?
A.P.: Absolutely correct. The competition did not satisfy
Governor Tsukanov, and Popadin was in his way. Artur
Sarnits and Nikolai Tsukanov clearly wanted to work with
the castle as developers. Their intention was to hand over
the territory on which the castle stood to a private Polish
‘investor’. The Polish company, as far as I understand,
intended to then go to the Germans and say, ‘Let’s recreate
the castle – using your money.’ I’m surprised that anyone
could have thought of a scheme like that. It’s clear that
Moscow would never countenance that kind of thing. And
that’s what happened. When I was dismissed in May 2016,
the governor put the ex-commercial-director of Sarnits’ firm,
his former deputy, in my place. And they planned to transfer
the castle site (perhaps together with the House of Soviets)
into private (Polish) hands. Such a scheme looks very naïve
from the point of view of politics. And three months after I
was sacked, President Putin lost his patience with Governor
Tsukanov and dismissed him.
The new governor, Anton Alikhanov, was 30 when he took
up his position. He was not ready, of course, to take responsibility
for recreating something; he had no opinion of his own
on this matter. But, as a politician, he was still forced to answer
the challenge of King’s Hill. After all, there had recently
been two well-conducted competitions, and it was an impressive
site, so he needed to make some kind of proposal. And
the local government had for a long time wanted to sell the
House of Soviets and the adjacent land to an investor. In the
end they came to the conclusion that the best and most diplomatic
solution would be to begin by commissioning a concept
from the winner of the first competition, the major Russian
firm Studiya 44. So that Yaveyn’s team could transform the
most noticeable non-agricultural land next to the House of Soviets
(an overgrown empty site and the former medieval town
of Loebenicht) into something that at least looked interesting
on the drawing board – by sketching some beautiful buildings.
From the point of view of location, the choice was absolutely
right: if the King’s Hill site is to be brought back to life,
it’s best to begin with the eastern part.
I’ll explain why Studiya 44 won the first competition: it reproduced
the genesis of old Koenigsberg on the site of the
Altstadt. Essentially, this was also critical reconstruction, as
at Franco Stella’s Berlin Palace – only applied not to a building
but to an urban-planning structure. And it was so successful
that Studiya 44 went on to win the World Architecture Festival
(WAF) with this project.
And now in the new commission of 2021 for the House of
Soviets and the old town of Loebenicht Studiya 44 has taken
the same approach to the eastern lot at King’s Hill. Its proposal
is more or less as in the first competition, but with one
exception. We at the Heart of the City Bureau spent a great
deal of time writing the terms of reference for the competitions,
discussing them with economists and sociologists,
and laying down regulations regarding building height and
functions. Yaveyn was given the terms of reference or brief
for 2021 by what seems to have been a potential investor,
who wanted, like all investors, to raise the building height
to the maximum. What Studiya 44 tried to do with its project
was: a) respond to the genetic legacy of medieval Loebenicht
(and their solution was, to my mind, not bad from
the structural point of view); b) make use of the ideas developed
in the competitions held by the Heart of the City Bureau
(they created the façade of a new main square and continued
the South Terrace; this works well in terms of urban
planning), and c) simultaneously respond to the investor’s
demand for as much height as possible. The result was a
conflict between sense and building height. The height kills
the entire urban-planning genesis and all these wonderful
nuances and ideas – reduces them to decorum.
The decision to demolish the House of the Soviets (as the
investor wanted) and replace it with a ‘non-symbolic’ Government
House is a clear demonstration of how not to work
with symbolic spaces, when the investor ignores their symbolism.
There is another aspect that few people will notice: Ivan
Kozhin (the author of Studiya 44’s project) understands,
u Design proposal
from Studiya 44,
2021. View from the
south-west of the
South Terrace and
Government House
© Studio 44
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s Design proposal
from Studiya 44,
2021. Site plan
combined with
design proposal for
the first Heart of the
City competition for
what used to be the
old city centre: here
the adjacent site on
Moskovsky prospekt
is broken up into several
small streets.
Left, an archaeological
park has been
created in place of
the foundations of
Königsberg Castle.
In the centre Central
Square stretches towards
the Lower Lake
and ulitsa Shevchenko.
Right: a complex
of new buildings;
the large ‘doughnut
building’ in the
centre is Government
House.
© Studio 44
knows, and values the red brickwork of which we were talking,
and in this new project he tried to create facades that
allude to port storehouses, having in mind something like
HafenCity in Hamburg or the new district on the Right Embankment.
However, this approach contains a critical shortcoming:
there is no large expanse of water nearby to make
it logical. There is the Lower Pond, but it’s not very big, and
there are two buildings that will be reflected in the water if
you look from the direction of University Bridge; and that’s
all. In these circumstances to create the entire complex in the
port warehouse style is wrong. Loebenicht was a city, not a
development built at a single moment in time in a single style;
like any city, it was motley, the work of many authors. So it’s
logical that each building in the new project should have its
own face and its own programme, but with all the buildings
being linked and limited by an overall urban-planning concept.
For this you don’t have to reinvent the bicycle; it’s just
the way it’s done all over the world.
Let’s go back to the bureau. It had met all the objectives
which it had been set at that moment; new objectives needed
to be drawn up by politicians and the general public, but
neither Governor Tsukanov nor Governor Alikhanov were
able to do so. Yes, they closed the bureau, of course, but
the project continued to exist as a civic initiative, as part of
a long story – you can’t just close me and the energetic Kaliningrad
architects down. After being sacked, I took with
me all the accounts at the bureau, renamed the bureau’s Facebook
page ‘Heart of the City Mission’, and continue to
run this page as a public mission. So I’m keeping interest
in this subject alive so that the ideas we developed remain
up to date. People know about them, quote them, remember
them, and people from all kinds of different levels periodically
ask Governor Alikhanov, ‘Why not return to Heart of
the City?’
So from the point of view of the developer it looks as if the
project ‘failed’, but from the point of view of the kind of culturological
project I was doing, it came to a proper conclusion:
a new norm was created (the use of honest, open international
competitions, not personal caprice, to resolve complex architectural
problems). Simply by its very existence, this precedent
will now influence the processes occurring around the
King’s Hill. The chain ‘symposium 2005 – workshop 2007 –
competitions 2014 and 2015’ has established a systematic approach
which is now unlikely to be ignored. We can only wait
to see how this story develops.
V.F.: To conclude, I’d like to remind you that you once wrote
for our magazine an amusing note on Kaliningrad’s future
architecture school, calling it ‘the K school’. What do you think
is happening today with Kaliningrad architecture, given the
numerous projects that have been realized in the city by large
St Petersburg and Moscow firms?
A.P.: Clearly, the Kaliningrad school has not yet taken
wing. If it does so at any point in the future, it will be at the
intersection of three lines: interpretation of Koenigsberg’s
heritage, the emergence of a ‘new client’ (currently Kaliningrad
is a destination for programmers and IT specialists
from all over the CIS; as commissioning clients their brains
work differently), and the emergence of new construction
technologies, in particular 3D printing. It is at this intersection
that the ‘new Kaliningrad architecture’ can take shape.
And in every other respect, it’s the same as everywhere in
Russia.
For instance, Oleg Vasyutin is now doing a project for renovating
the old Ponart Brewery – which, incidentally, is an example
of 19th-century industrial architecture, red brick. Vasyutin
is turning the abandoned factory into a public space for
an investor; it’s a good, modern project. Today there are already
enough such spaces in Russia – Vinzavod in Moscow,
Novaya Gollandiya in St Petersburg – converted historical or
industrial buildings. But these are all trends that can be observed
all over Russia, whereas I see a unique ‘Koenig-trend’
as a chance created by a confluence of circumstances: the
emergence of a ‘new client’, Kaliningrad’s favourable scale
(it’s a small, comfortable city where it’s fine to ride a bicycle),
the presence of the sea, and the proximity of Europe and of
German architectural heritage. All the more so since the new
‘IT colonizers’ have good examples to follow – the burghers’
colonies of villas in the Koenigsberg districts of Amalienau
and Maraunenhof.
Notes:
1. On this see: Sukhin, D. ‘Will the heart of Kaliningrad start beating?’
in Project Baltia, 2014, no. 3 (23), pp. 8–10; Ovcharenko, D.
‘The return of rationalism’, ibid., 2015, no. 3 (26), pp. 8–10.
2. Popadin, A., ‘Kaliningrad: the K-school after 30 years’, ibid.,
2017–2018, no. 4–1 (31), p. 112.
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YOU WOULD THINK THERE COULD BE NOTHING MORE NON-ARCHITECTURAL THAN DEATH. EVERYTHING WE BUILD AND DESIGN COUNTERACTS
DEATH AND AFFIRMS LIFE. HOWEVER, IT IS NOT JUST LIVING CREATURES THAT ARE MORTAL: EVERYTHING MATERIAL IN THE WORLD MUST END. THE
BIBLE SAYS, ‘EARTH AND SKY SHALL PASS’, AND ONLY WORDS THAT BELONG TO THE SPIRIT ARE NOT SUBJECT TO PUTREFACTION. ARCHITECTURE
CONTAINS DEATH AND, AS STEPAN VANEYAN WRITES, ‘IS PRESENT AS ITS OWN ABSENCE – IN SYMBOLS AND HINTS.’ ARCHITECTS WORK WITH
THE THEME OF DEATH WHEN THEY CREATE CHURCHES, MONUMENTS, CEMETERIES, AND CREMATORIA; AND THIS THEME SOMETIMES EMERGES
DURING REFLECTIONS ON THE STATE OF CIVILIZATION TODAY. SUCH IS THE PROJECT ‘TEMPLE OF WASTE’ BY THE ESTONIAN ARCHITECTS KTA –
A VISUAL POSTSCRIPT TO THE HISTORY OF THE CONSUMER SOCIETY. VILEN KUNNAPU SENSES DEATH IN TODAY’S ARCHITECTURE, WHICH HE CALLS
‘BRUTALIST’ – PROBABLY MEANING NOT THE STYLE, BUT A CERTAIN COARSE QUALITY THAT IS INHERENT IN BOTH THE BRUTALIST MOVEMENT OF
THE SECOND HALF OF THE 20TH CENTURY AND ARCHITECTURE CREATED TODAY. IT IS POSSIBLY THIS THAT EXPLAINS THE INCREASED INTEREST
IN HISTORICAL BRUTALISM DESCRIBED BY THE HISTORIAN ANDREY LARIONOV. LOOKING CONSTANTLY AT ENORMOUS BUILDINGS MADE FROM
BRICK OR, MORE OFTEN, CONCRETE COMPELS US TO SEEK RELAXATION IN SOLITUDE AND LEADS SOME OF US TO THE CEMETERY, WHICH COULD,
THINKS VALERIYA TOLKACHEVA, BECOME YET ANOTHER ‘COMFORTABLE PUBLIC SPACE’. NEVERTHELESS, THE PRESENCE OF DEATH IS AN INESCAP-
ABLE CHALLENGE TO EVERYONE WHO IS ALIVE. A CHALLENGE AND AN APPEAL TO REFLECT. ARE WE BUILDING THE RIGHT CITY? AS ST AUGUSTINE
SHOWED, THERE ARE ONLY TWO KINDS OF CITY. ‘CITY OF LIVING – CITY OF THE DEAD’ WAS THE NAME GIVEN TO A WORK BY THE RECENTLY DE-
CEASED MAJOR ESTONIAN ARCHITECT AND ARTIST LEONARD LAPIN. AN INTERVIEW WITH LAPIN, TAKEN IN DISTANT 2003, CONCLUDES THE DISCUS-
SION SECTION OF OUR 37 TH ISSUE.
ARCHITECTURE OF DEATH, AND DEATH TO ARCHITECTURE: THE ARCHITECTONIC BODY
BETWEEN LOGOS AND THANATOS
text: Stepan Vaneyan
illustrations: Julia Malinina
Let me immediately answer the question concealed in the subtitle. The
question implies that the contents of the quotation marks is material intended
for the act of meaning-generation, and anticipates all the following
observations and sketches, which assume that all practices of
generation – of body, space, text, meaning – are equal and equivalent.
Accordingly, the transition from practice to practice may be carried out
not just by going to extremes, but also by crossing these limits – by taking
things to infinity, to indeterminacy and openness in all directions,
concerning the most extreme changes that transform the initial and at
times transient beyond recognition. This is something that must be done
if only so that there should be nothing to forget: in order not to undergo
the torture of repeat recognition; in order not to use it for its purpose
(only for its purpose!), thus attributing to the essential meanings that
are not its own; in order not to reject that which is given. In other words:
in order not to deprive of life, in order not to take over someone else’s
life, and in order not to use it as one’s own.
For this reason I’ll also lay down immediately some principal qualifications
concerning, respectively, what architecture is, what death is, and
what is meant by building (designing) architecture, what is meant by dying,
and for whom this means something. Who is responsible for making
sense of that which has been stripped of sense, i.e. of the dead? The answer
is clear (but that does not mean that it is the right answer) and is as
follows: architecture is responsible for space; death, for time.
The extremity of death is self-evident. Architecture, it rapidly becomes
clear, walks close by and even competes as a ‘last thing’. It extends
to the very edge: both ontologically (for instance, the architectonically
articulated dispute between earth and sky) and epistemologically
(intentional ectasis of the flesh); both existentially (as the location and
mode of human existence) and, most importantly, referentially (transcendence
of the mimetic, ‘lack of a way out’, self-reproduction, the impossibility
of expression outside oneself or outside space). Architecture
gets to speak the ‘last word’ in its incarnation as symbolic and symbolizing
discourse: what is built to last is by the same token expressed in order
to insist.
Moreover, as a performative practice, a game which draws into its
structures anyone who approaches it, architecture is equivalent to death
interpreted as the result of dying, i.e. of the endless displacement-continuation
of ‘life in the direction of death and after death’. Architecture
as life and life as Eros carry and conceal but also reveal the mystery of
death – the hidden aspect of life-as-existence that produces the new by
sacrificing the old.
The terminal nature of life is reproduced in architecture – in the form
of a living space with the liminality and transitiveness characteristic of
this space. And it is reproduced with the help of rituals in the case of sacral
architecture, i.e. in the case of a sacral place that is understood
and accepted as a sanctum. In other words, in the
case of architecture being recognized as an instrument of ritual
(of transition / parting-meeting / completion of a journey).
Architecture and death: metaphor realities?
Taken as a theme, ‘architecture and death’ implies a conjunction
of the two. Everything that is in one way or another
conjoined with architecture acquires, in one way or another,
the experience of the built condition as separation from
the ground and the experience of corporeality as integral, ordered
articulation of the individual parts and a functioning enclosure
of material volume. And the ‘body as flesh’ additionally
implies vitality combined with a unique personality.
That which is bound up with death experiences dying, completion,
and, moreover, the dying of itself as a living creature.
Death is not just an existential of finiteness: it is not, of
course, just human existence – although it is probably only
human beings – that is/are conscious of their mortality, but
not of their death (!). This gives rise to the impression that
death is more than life since it not only follows it as its own
horizon but also inherits from it. However, in order to die,
you must not just live but also live corporeally. To die is to be
stripped of one’s flesh; you may even remain a body, although
being returned to the ground, for instance, implies loss of corporeality
too – not simply just in the process of putrefaction
and decomposition but in literal conjunction with the earth,
i.e. in loss of one’s own substantiality, concreteness, and, accordingly,
dimensionality. The earth’s body is the same womb
whose borders (form, in other words) are indeterminate and
therefore irreal, which in its turn implies the same absence
(instead of presence!). We might say that non-existence also
has death as its reference (signifier) without in any way coinciding
with it.
So architecture and death presuppose much in common:
not just shared attributes or traits but essential conditions
such as corporeality, i.e. specific density, and liminality, i.e.
separation from the other, that which is external or hostile. It
is important that this ‘other’ is present in the form of a reference
– to what is beyond oneself. This makes it possible, as
already briefly touched upon, for every interpreter concerned
(if he is an honest interpreter, of course) not just with crossing
the borders of the interpreted but also with the limits of his
own interpretive efforts to feel relatively calm.
This complementariness – of architecture and death – implies copresence
too. For this reason, it is beneficial to be able to observe, notice,
and describe this kind of oscillation of the extremes of life (death)
and the extreme point of the flesh (architecture).
This dependence is reinforced and deepened by the above referentiality,
metaphor, shift, and displacement – beyond itself. And just as life
contains its own alternative, so architecture contains its own alternative.
If architecture is corporeal, it itself contains its opposite: emptiness or,
more precisely, lack of corporeality – for instance, in the form of interior
space or space in general. Space in its turn is capable of containing alien
– i.e. non-architectural – flesh, e.g. human flesh. In this way architecture’s
existence is undermined by existence, presence, or even Presence.
And this other presence and presence of the Other supposes the same
transcendence of limits, which implies – to begin with – self-awareness,
a going beyond and out of oneself (ekstasis), i.e. the same referencing
(which may be reinforced by architecture’s mimetic claims). All analysis
is rationality; all deliberation is decomposition; all self-awareness and
all cognition are fatal for that which belongs only to the present and that
which cedes its place to the future.
Architecture which allows another existence-presence with a tendency
for ekstasis to be generated within itself is mortal in its essence.
So the main thing in architecture is its transcendence: architecture is
tied to existence in its most primordial aspects – corporeality and spatiality
– and so is easily overcome through the crossing of borders.
Additionally, there is a dimension of ‘horizontal architectonics’: it is
extremely important to build not a means (= a building) but a function (=
communication here and now).
In other words, architecture as reality (possessing its own means-form
of everyday existence) and metaphor (enabling its own transcendence) and
likewise death as both reality and metaphor witness to, and make statements
of, a reference to space and to the body as absence of presence.
Furthermore, both death and, it turns out, architecture – as means of
going beyond the limits of the physical – claim to be a language of metadescription
that uses the same body and the same death as material, as
the natural (physical) for the sake of its overcoming.
The same architecture, when faced with death (and this is
its own face: death is a mirror of the architectonic spirit), constructs
the truest metaphysics, offering existence on top and
above. The latter aspect is extremely interesting and promising:
it is the overcoming of the horizon of the same earth and
(or), most importantly, the horizon of the gaze. It is this presence
inside architecture – a presence which examines, needs
illustrative clarity, prefers the visual, and chooses spectacle
and demonstration, i.e. show and staginess – that is truly and
mortally implacable (since it cannot hear) in its finality, in its
essentially eschatological quality, requiring a compensatory
use of imagery…
Architecture: death of the body?
Thus architecture as a way of arranging a place through
projection of flesh is the replacement (designation) of the
body (the living). This means that as an image of the body, it
functions as a symbol of death.
More seriously, though, architecture is precisely not an image
of the living body (the body in rest is architecture in equilibrium).
Architectonics is what brings death! For architecture
is also emptiness (non-existence) and the filling of emptiness
(the placing of the living in the abyss!).
But is every death architectural? How many deaths are
there if it turns out that every death is a ceasing of life in its
corporeal aspect?
It turns out that mortality supposes the completion of that
very life, say, which is process, which carries within it its own
completion, which finishes in dying, and whose end is also the
end of dying. Death is a renunciation not just of life but also of
everything that accompanies life and of everything in which
life is manifested: illnesses and sufferings, for instance, incompleteness,
and all kinds of ugliness.
ARCHITECTURE GETS TO SPEAK THE ‘LAST WORD’ IN ITS
INCARNATION AS SYMBOLIC AND SYMBOLIZING
DISCOURSE: WHAT IS BUILT TO LAST IS BY THE SAME
TOKEN EXPRESSED IN ORDER TO INSIST
However, the problem is that dying supposes not just natural
but also artificial forms of the end of life. And these artificial
forms usually involve human intervention – implying a
handmade, even if extremely sinister, aspect. In other words,
however strangely this may sound, they imply an element of
artifice, usually accompanied by an element of legitimacy…
And the most concrete (carnal!) aspects of that mortality
which is represented, I emphasise, in and by architecture are
killing and sacrifice. Architecture is capable of supporting the
taking away of life and of presenting this act as, for instance,
a tribute or gift, making it apt both plastically-corporeally
and aesthetically. Every wall may be used as background for
a body-figure placed before it and ready to part with life. And
if you raise from the ground a horizontal, not a vertical plane,
the mortification of the living creature will be on another – literally
another – level of existence, by the same token separating
from literality, acquiring symbolism and, as a result, new
meaning (death will cease to be something final since beyond
it – beyond its semantics – follows insurrection-recreation or
even resurrection!).
Furthermore, the place near and around the sacrificial altar
is arranged by design, thereby confirming the possibility
of communion with the victim and accordingly consecration, if
the sacrifice serves the objective of communion, as a medium
of communication with the transcendental. So architecture, it
turns out, is an executive means of, or condition for, the transcendence
of death! And its functional liminality is reinforced
by the ritual and religious transitiveness already mentioned.
Furthermore, what is important is not just the aspect of com-
150 discussion
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discussion

ty of temporary cessation (a monument) and as renewal of the
journey (a document).
Architecture for death, and death for architecture?
But what means exist to radically overcome this almostubiquity
of death and its accompanying affects-moods, the
most severe form of which is, of course, fear-horror?
Sacral (in fact, liturgical!) architecture is capable of
ensuring a slight reduction in mortal horror given that horrortremendum,
disturbance, trepidation, and instability, upon
entering a space which is architectonic, i.e. by definition stable,
are able to recede into the background (without, of course,
disappearing completely). This neutralized and delayed fear is
a characteristic trait of the sacral – of a place and space which
is dedicated to the presence of the numen. But this kind of
dedication may be experienced as a kind of sacrifice…
Here are forms of the conspicuous (revealed) and concealed
(hidden) sacral:
– mausoleum: death and dream (liberation of what is
‘inside’ the body?);
– crypt: displacement into the inaccessible and closed
(absent);
– ruins: a sign of incomplete presence of chronos
(Kronos-Saturn) inside a space, and a sign of mortality –
liability to destruction, even if incomplete (just as resistance/
stability are also incomplete). A trace of time and a stimulus
for remembering as an alternative of consciousness.
DURING THE COURSE OF LIFE DEATH IS PRESENT AS
ITS OWN ABSENCE – IN ALL KINDS OF SYMBOLS AND
HINTS, AS A REMINDER OF ITSELF, AS THE POSSIBILI
TY OF TEMPORARY CESSATION (A MONUMENT) AND AS
RENEWAL OF THE JOURNEY (A DOCUMENT)
– the architectonic act (overcoming of the material as initial and
natural: death of earth);
– destruction of the previous (untouched) place (clearing of the site:
preparation for erecting a building);
– the phenomenology of the building site: analogies with burial: the
foundation pit and the sinking of foundations into the earth as burial and
preservation (without the possibility of revealing to the world that which
belongs to the earth).
What in architecture can die?
– the reversibility of signifiers and signifieds in the speech act
(architecture is statement; diachrony may remove it from life);
– architecture and death as mutually supplemental (not
complementing one another but adapting to one another);
– the use of architecture implies the death of the project’s author;
– the beginning of interpretation and death of the interpretation’s
author (this is a characteristic of the diachrony which is at the basis of
speech, i.e. of discourse; architecture, of course, speaks);
– the structure of the experience of interaction with architecture
itself (its possession of aspects and horizons). It is not simply the case
that the observer (and, potentially, the interpreter), being situated
inside architecture and strangely, if inconspicuously, having no access
to architecture as a whole and being simultaneously a spatial-corporeal
part of it inside it, is content with the fragmentariness of his/her own
experience of interaction with architecture; rather, this incompleteness
is the basis and condition for his/her sense-giving (interpretive) efforts.
It is only the consistency and diachrony of acquisition and loss of the
perceived that compel one to put together and construct a picture of the
whole called architecture.
And the clear acknowledgment of the necessity of the architect’s death,
the death of the builder, continues in the likewise inevitable death of the
viewer. Only if viewers reject their visual autonomy will they be
able to see body too in architecture. This presence of mortality
in the very act of seeing is very comprehensible: vision directed
at space requires an interpretive effort. Space cannot be
seen sensorily; it is perceived only as an alternative to bodily
experience. And the death of touch is the condition for the
maturation of space. For this reason the next inevitable step is to
reject vision as scrutinizing, to reject contemplation of the view
or spectacle, reject three-dimensional space for the sake of the
two-dimensional plane: the acquisition of meaning is possible
through the death of the viewer and the birth of the reader,
who has no need for space which must be overcome in the act
of movement/assimilation and who is satisfied by the plane of
reading, which is full of signs that are free of resemblance…
In this way we are set free to read architecture – which,
however, is capable of speaking and itself playing its partimplicature.
Narrative play around, outside, and inside
architecture – especially about architecture itself – is mortally
dangerous and therefore inexhaustible.
This is also what is indicated by the structure of the act
of (re)presentation) – reference as a replacement of loss (the
expulsion of the signified as archivization and memorisation);
– analysis: decomposition-disjunction;
– the imperative of deconstruction-differentiality
(diachrony and history);
– pain/illness: pathos and pathology (clinical medicine
and symptomatology as symbols of classical interpretation).
What can be built from death?
But something remains? Yes, what is nothing remains!
But someone remains? Yes, He Who is everything remains!
munion with the victim, not just communication with other participants
in the sacrifice, i.e. the aspect of elimination of distance, but also the aspect
of renewal of distance: the ritual should have a completion, should
die inside and in connection with the architectural space whose being
left empty on the inside does not mean, however, its complete elimination.
What remains are memories, expectations, traces, deposits, and accordingly
consequences and continuations.
So after death comes the metaphorification (metabolism!) of semantics
that exists outside synchrony (not just in the Jungian sense but also
in the profoundly structuralist sense of the word). This is transitivenessprojectivity
and transferability not just of the coming new life, but of the
coming life of new meanings, i.e. of a new interpretation that manifests
itself in the possibility of speech and in its possibilities.
However, in the fact of the termination of corporeality, in the realization
of its mortal fate there is likewise sense, given that the steadiness
of the flesh and its essentially mandatory identity with itself is its stability
and architectonic quality: the flesh implies, around and nearby, emptiness
that is to be filled with flesh and for this reason is in a state of
expectation. But the flesh is filled with sense in its eschatological finiteness
too; the exhaustion and depletion of the flesh is its being filled with
something else: emptiness enters the corporeal habitation…
So the source of all semantics is the above transitiveness, which also
sets vital and existential indices, and the presence of a goal, the end of
the journey, the attainment of what has been planned and conceived.
Moreover, the setting of objectives is itself arranged and based on absence,
on an initial insufficiency, absence-emptiness, a flaw, a need
whose satisfaction is cessation…
So during the course of life death is present as its own absence – in
all kinds of symbols and hints, as a reminder of itself, as the possibili-
In general, all these are mnemotopes: the forgetting
(for a time!) of death and the preservation of memory (a
place for remembering as the consequence of memory’s
intactness).
A mnemotope of an utterly special type is the memorialmonument.
This stimulates the process of remembering and
brings to life the forgotten or simply lost.
Finally, the most important universal is the ability of the
sacral and simultaneously architectonic to constitute atopias
and heterotopias...
However, it is possible to discern the sacral also in
parasacral forms of reality where it is important to preserve
possibilities for communication with what is transcendental
but not necessarily beyond-the-limits…
Below are forms, types, and ways of preparing for a
meeting with death itself, where death is understood,
however, as a phenomenon entirely of this world and
therefore partly controllable:
– clinics, homes for the elderly (resistance to death);
– hospices and so on (preparation for death);
– crematoria and cemeteries (maintenance of death).
Paradoxically, however, it is not just architecture that
may be used for high, deep, and numinous purposes, but
also Thanatos itself. Thanatos is terminal and productive for
architectonics…
Architecture in its pre-architectural stage is already
infected (or vaccinated) with mortality. The very structure of
the act of designing assumes the liquidation of its final stage
(a completed project is merely a destructible sheet of paper):
The illustrations
are from Distopolis
(2019-2020), a series
of paintings by Yuliya
Malinina. Works by
Yuliya Malinina are
to be found in private
collections in Russia,
Great Britain, Germany,
Italy, China,
and other countries.
She lives in Moscow
Stepan Vaneyan has
a doctorate in art
history and is a professor
at the History
Faculty of Moscow
state University
152 discussion
153
discussion

EMOTIONAL DEATH AND THE MANDALA
text and graphics: Vilen Künnapu
We know that death is merely the moment when the soul (spirit) moves
from one form of existence to the other, passes through a ‘gate’. We
know or we assume that the beyond is in fact actual reality, where most
things happen. However, people pass through several deaths during
their lifetimes. These are emotional deaths. When a stage in life is no
longer producing life, it is over. People realise that a lesson has been
learnt and let it go. This is emotional death and spiritual awakening.
Sometimes this is accompanied by geometry and architecture based
on the mandala. We know that a mandala is a circle that contains the
whole life of a human being. The centre of this circle is that person’s
spirit. The mandala nourishes people in its divine centre, which is its
heart. The mandala considerably increases the frequency of sanctity
and is usefully perceived in connection with big rebirths in life.
I have experienced several emotional deaths and rebirths in my life.
All of them are linked with the mandala or, to be more precise, architecture
based on the mandala. I have also witnessed other people changing
and their so-called real deaths; the mandala has always played a part.
In 1999 I went through a kind of spiritual crisis. In August I happened
to be at a ceremony on the island of Naissaar, near Tallinn, conducted
by Native Americans. The ceremony started at 10 p.m. and finished
at 10 a.m. This was an especially powerful Native American
Church Peyote ceremony. I happened to sit next to the roadmen. In
short, in the evening one ME entered the tipi tent, and, the following
morning, another person emerged whose appearance resembled mine.
A new life began without alcohol or other pleasure-giving substances.
Tipi tent mandala-shaped geometry had a huge impact on my first
emotional death.
Between 2003 and 2008 I was a volunteer social worker at Tallinn
Prison. I helped conduct meetings for the spiritual rehabilitation of prisoners.
Together with the prisoners, we also designed a circular mandala
temple on the central prison square, to be used for the prisoners' poetry
evenings. The temple was never built, but several prisoners have moved
on with their lives today, and in a positive direction.
The prison temple did not materialise, although I designed a similar
shape, this time three storeys high, on the Narva Road in Tallinn. This is
now known as the House with Three Towers. The result is a mighty power
station of cosmic energy based on the numbers 3, 6, 9. It was Nikola Tesla
who said that whoever knows the meaning of the numbers 3, 6, and 9
can perceive the universe. One inhabitant in the middle tower, the Finnish
businessman Pekka V., actually experienced a change of personality:
he became a Buddhist and a painter.
In the house on the castle hill in Rakvere I used the image of four energy
towers. The chimneys widened at the top and radiated light as mandala
towers. I have talked with the inhabitants of the house. They say
that when they sit in their living rooms under the towers, they often lose
perception of time and have a feeling of cosmic infinity.
For a Finnish friend I designed a stupa-shaped temple in the forests
of Vääna, which is both Christian and Buddhist. The temple sits on a river
bend sheltered by tall coniferous trees; it continues to exude peace and
dignity. Its owner, however, experienced real death. I hope that building
the temple helped him on this journey. It is said that if you build a temple
in your life, God will build you another in heaven.
It is usually assumed that true sacral structures were built only in the
past. However, when visiting old ruins – the Egyptian pyramids, for example
– we perceive that these no longer work. The spiritual instructor
Reene says that systems change every 25,000 years, and the pyramids,
for instance, have switched to a frozen state. New pyramids, new energy
towers, and temples are being created today. We too are taking part
in this process. Many temples are created in one's mind as opposed to
on a physical level, although physical mandala structures are also significant.
In 2010 I visited the former capital of Thailand, Ayutthaya. This ruined
city possesses a special holiness. It has numerous stupas and other sacral
buildings. I chanced upon a group of three stupas, which
was an especially strong power station of cosmic energy. I
made a quick drawing of it and later in my studio turned it into
an acrylic painting. The energy of this painting can change
people's lives.
Today's world is breaking up people, family, everything.
And modern brutalist architecture encourages it. Brutalism
lacks divine softness; it is the DEATH of architecture. DEATH.
These buildings do not breathe life, warmth. They have no
feminine elements, pillars, sculptures, or symbols. 10% –
15% of the souls of the Earth’s inhabitants are allegedly from
TODAY'S WORLD IS BREAKING UP PEOPLE, FAMILY,
EVERYTHING. AND MODERN BRUTALIST ARCHITECTURE
ENCOURAGES IT. BRUTALISM LACKS DIVINE SOFTNESS;
IT IS THE DEATH OF ARCHITECTURE. DEATH
Sirius. They have come here voluntarily to spread the teachings
of Sirius, honesty, love and mandala architecture. They
are helping Earth carry out a huge change – a change of dimensions.
Mandala-based temple architecture helps people
transition from one state into another more smoothly. Architecture
influences man's spirit, heals the body. Geometry is
all-powerful.
Vilen Kunnapu is an
architect and artist.
He is a partner at Tallinn
based Kunnapu
and Padrik architects
Stupas in Ayutthaya,
2018. Canvas,
acrylic, 120 x 150 cm
154 discussion
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discussion

DEATH AND THE CITY
text: Valeriya Tolkacheva;
graphic art: Liza Khukhka
The cemetery is probably one of the most contradictory types of open urban
public space in Russia today. Many planners, when putting together
frameworks of vegetation and arranging networks of public spaces, see
a cemetery on the map and are puzzled – as if they’ve met something unknown
to their profession. Below, I try to fathom how to solve this equation
with an unknown variable, why plastic flowers are such an important
attribute, and how the digitization of death shapes how cemeteries will
look in the future.
A cemetery is an urban complex or object which contains places (territories)
for burying the dead or their ashes following cremation. This definition
makes clear that we are talking about, first, an urban-planning
object; second, an object which contains specially allocated burial places;
and, third, a technology for burial: the dead or their ashes are buried.
This is the order in which I propose solving the present equation, but, in
order to understand all these specifications, let’s start by taking several
steps back.
vious ages. It consists of old cemeteries in the central/middle
parts of cities and constantly expanding new cemeteries
outside the city limits. The system of managing the cemeteries,
as in Soviet times, has remained in the hands of the state,
which often does not have sufficient resources for this purpose.
At the same time, 80% of cemeteries do not have proper
legal status in the cadastral system. 3
For various reasons few are interested in changing cemeteries’
legal status. First, for municipalities this would be
an additional burden on an anyway meagre budget. A good
cemetery comprises the basic infrastructure for a proper city
park: lighting, paving, greenery, storm drains, buildings for
equipment, administrative buildings, waste-disposal sites –
and all this infrastructure needs to be properly maintained.
Second, to organize a cemetery that meets all the sanitary requirements
is not that easy. One of the main regulations stipulates
the depth at which underground water can lie – and
this is difficult in a country 7% of which consists of swamps
and another 60-65% of permafrost. There have been cases
where coffins have buckled when the permafrost has melted.
Stony soils also create difficulties for burials – which is why
cemeteries in Karelia are usually situated on separate hilly islands.
Third, this is a difficult and taboo topic; few politicians
are prepared to get involved with it.
Old cemeteries are also problematic. St Petersburg is a
good example of how a historical centre is typically encircled
by a ring of old cemeteries which today, due to the deficit of
green infrastructure, are used as public spaces by residents
of nearby residential areas. The most striking example of this
is on Vasilievsky Island: Smolensk Cemetery. Here Petersburgers
sunbathe, read books, walk their children in pushchairs,
and picnic. The main difficulty here is to determine the
boundaries of what is permitted; it’s a very fine line.
Urban-planning role
The cemetery is the final chord in the funeral procession, the end
point in a logistical chain involving movement of dead bodies. As in the
case of every other urban-planning object, cemeteries are subject to
rules and regulations, of which the most important relate to sanitation.
In Russia, as in Europe, burial grounds were initially situated beside
sacral buildings such as churches and monasteries. People were buried
where their funeral services were held; often corpses were kept for
long in the basements of churches. The burial grounds tended to be full
to overflowing; people were buried in several layers. Changes started
happening in the 17th century; burial procedures were overhauled during
the Petrine reforms. The church continued to regulate burial services
but was now subordinate to secular authority. Rampaging epidemics led
to the emergence of the first sanitary regulations: new cemeteries were
now created outside the city limits. The next major changes came in Soviet
times, when burial procedures became entirely the business of the
atheist state; this led to the development of a number of urban-planning
scenarios.
First, some of the old Christian cemeteries in the centres of major cities
were turned into parks. Relatives were offered reburial sites at new
out-of-town cemeteries and were given time in which to transfer the mortal
remnants themselves. Above all, this reform affected Moscow: some
of the capital’s central parks are former burial grounds. 1
Secondly, cremation was actively promoted: there was a policy of
popularizing crematoria. However, for economic and technological reasons,
this tradition did not take hold. For a long time Moscow had only
one crematorium, 2 and this was unable to keep up with demand; most
burials continued to take place at cemeteries.
Today in the new Russia we have an infrastructure inherited from prespect
the deceased by offering up something bright, beautiful, and technologically
advanced. This is why plastic flowers have become so common.
The gravestone (cross) has not always been the central element of
the burial place. In Europe it was only in the 16th century, with the emergence
of the idea of the cemetery as a philosophical garden, that people
started setting in stone the name and birth and death dates of the
deceased and of placing a short phrase on the headstone. This tradition
came to Russia later; for a long time roofed crosses were commonly
used. In the atheistic Soviet era the familiar type of headstone came to
prevail. We might also mention memorials honouring major crime figures
in the 1990s, when the burial place was decorated with emblems of contemporary
luxury such as cars, mobile phones, and other such objects
carved into the stone.
It is important to note that each year (usually, on Lazarus Saturday)
city-dwellers come to tidy up their relatives’ graves. On the basis
of works by the anthropologist Jan Chipchase, the anthropologist Sergey
Mokhov believes that for post-Soviet ‘redecoration society’ the practice
of looking after a grave was a way of manifesting respect for the deceased
and of maintaining links with one’s ancestors; repairing the grave
was a memorial practice. 6
Burial technology
The Constitution of the Russian Federation sets down a person’s right
to be buried in earth, water, or fire. Burial in the ground at a cemetery
continues to be the most popular form, in accordance with religious and
family traditions.
According to Sergey Mokhov, in Russia today death is almost always
a dramatic event. 7 Few people are ready for death; this is a taboo topic.
When someone dies, the relatives of the deceased, while under great
psychological stress, have to decide how to bury him or her, and the only
guides at hand are agents selling the services of burial companies (the
agents start ringing the relatives immediately after the tragic event, having
been informed of the death by the hospital). The range of options
is usually very restricted, and the only choice in effect available to the
Burial sites
Inside, a cemetery is interesting from the point of view of
division of responsibility: there are graves, which are looked
after by the relatives of the deceased; and there are public areas
which are the responsibility of the managing company.
Most graves today have their own standard set of elements:
a gravestone, railings, plastic flowers, and sometimes
a small place where people can sit. Let’s examine how these
elements have become such an important part of our burial
culture.
Railings first appeared in European cemeteries in the
Middle Ages as a means of protecting graves from cattle,
which at that time were free to graze wherever they liked.
In Russia, however, railings came into use relatively recently.
After World War II there were no regulations on this
score – and railings were a way of indicating the presence of
a grave. 4 In time, lack of space became the main difficulty.
Few people are bothered about preserving the paths leading
to graves, and everyone tries to fence off as large a piece
of land as possible – which means that as new burials occur,
the cemetery workers have to perform miracles of acrobatics
in order not to step on graves while carrying a coffin to a
new burial deeper inside the cemetery. This situation gives
rise to discussion about respect for the dead and how to regulate
the paths leading to graves which are in the depths of
a cemetery.
Plastic flowers and wreaths are an important attribute of
many cemeteries. Based on numerous interviews, 5 the historian
and anthropologist Anna Sokolova has concluded that the
increasing prevalence of plastic flowers is motivated not so
much by utilitarian concerns as by a desire to honour and regriever
is between blue and pink lining for the coffin.
Burial practices are a reflection of prevailing ideas about
life and death. The modern agenda includes trends for the
transition from the material to the non-material: desacralization
of the body, ecology, a craft approach to goods (uniqueness,
orientation on the individuality of the consumer), and
digital and technological immortalism.
If the first three trends above (including for biodegradable
coffins, mushroom suits, the devouring of the body by wild
animals, resomation, sending ashes into space to be scattered
there, etc.) are as yet difficult or impossible to find in
the Russian market, immortalist ideas have a long history in
Russia.
At the end of the 19th century the thinker Nikolay Fedorov,
the founder of cosmism, proposed colonizing outer space, including
with dead people, so that there would be room for all
and everyone would be able to resurrect (Fedorov’s ‘common
cause’ involved resurrecting the dead before the Day of Judgment).
8
At the beginning of the 20th century these ideas culminated
in Konstantin Tsiolkovsky’s development of a space rocket
and in the philosophy of biocosmism – meaning endless freedom,
including freedom from death. It is possibly this philosophical
basis that was the cause for today’s Russia becoming
the second most important arena, after the US, for
transhumanism and immortalism. 9 Only two countries in the
world – the US and Russia, each with its own distinctive ideology
– offer cryonic services (freezing of the body or parts of
the body). We should also mention the public movement ‘Russia
2025’, established by Dmitry Itskov in order to promote
the practice of cybernetic immortality by creating a multilevel
digital copy of a person – an ‘avatar’.
Likewise gaining popularity all over the world, including in
Russia, is the idea of using chatbots to communicate with the
deceased – by means of interaction in social media processed
156 discussion
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discussion

BRUTALISM AND DEATH: THE MORGUE ON DETSKAYA ULITSA
text: Andrey Larionov
by the neural network of an artificial intellect. ‘Chatbots representing
the deceased will in years to come probably become a common phenomenon,
but this is not digital immortality as such – it’s just its ersatz,’ notes
the futurologist Aleksey Turchin.
Digitalization and the strong immortalist tendency in Russia are capable
of changing how cemeteries look. Today ideas for headstones proposed
by young architects in architecture competitions already feature
QR codes referring to the deceased’s social media, interactive headstones,
and chatbots. On the other hand, these are still extravagant experiments;
the background against which they take place remains traditional.
What next
The pandemic has left its mark on various fields of human life and
death. Never before has mankind daily followed the numbers of the dying
or planned its trajectories in life based on these numbers. People today
are beginning to think more of death, to make plans for it, and so it
is probable that burial procedures will be better prepared and the market
in burial services will become more diverse. Soon we shall possibly see
new forms of gravestone and burial site.
Furthermore, people are spending more time at home or exploring
nearby areas. If you’re trying to get away from the noise of the city, there
continues to be nowhere better than a cemetery. This is probably the
only place in large cities where it is quiet, there’s no advertising or entertainments,
and you can be alone with yourself and give yourself up to
truly important existential thoughts.
Many cemeteries need more looking after and renovation of their communal
infrastructure, which is something that municipalities cannot always
afford due to problems with cadastres and resources. More and
more cities are including cemeteries in the All-Russian Competition of
Best Projects for the Creation of a Comfortable Urban Environment; cemeteries
have already been renovated under this programme. Federal programmes
are perhaps the only chance of putting in order the broken infrastructure
bequeathed by the Soviet era.
So the cemetery is a true public space with its own unique scenarios
of use. And if ‘talk of death is talk of life’, 10 then can there be anything
more important than cemeteries as a type of space for our cities?
Notes:
1. See: Sokolova, A., ‘Novy mir i staraya smert’: sud’ba kladbishch
v sovetskikh gorodakh 1920-1930-x godov’, Neprikosnovenny zapas,
2018, no. 1 (117), pp. 74-94.
2. The crematorium was situated in the converted church of Serafim
Sarovsky and Anna Kashinskaya at Donskoy Monastery (Editor’s note).
3. See: Mokhov, S., Arkheologiya russkoy smerti. Etnografiya
pokhoronnogo dela v sovremennoy Rossii, Moscow, 2021.
4. See: Mokhov, S., Rozhdenie i smert’ pokhoronnoy industrii: ot
srednevekovykh pogostov do tsifrovogo bessmertiya. 4-e isz., ispr. i
dop., Moscow, 2020.
5. From a personal conversation with A.D. Sokolova.
6. See: Mokhov, S., Arkheologiya russkoy smerti.
7. Ibid.
8. Bernstein, A., The Future of Immortality: Remaking Life and Death in
Contemporary Russia, Princeton; Oxford, 2019.
9. See: Bernstein, A.: ‘They all look like punks to me’ (URL: sreda.v-a-c.
org/ru/read-14 (last accessed: 29.10.2021)).
10. See: Mokhov, S., Istoriya smerti. Kak my boremsya i prinimaem,
Moscow, 2020.
When a new stratum of Soviet brick architecture appeared in the 1970s
and 80s, there could have been no better demonstration of how we
lagged behind foreign architectural trends by about 20 years. Elaborate
and not very functional (although passing themselves off as functionalist),
these buildings were inspired by western Brutalist architecture of
the 1950s. An interesting trait of this movement was falsity, even if the
falsity was unintended. Alison and Peter Smithson, authors of the philosophy
of Brutalism, wrote: ‘We continue to be functionalists, but our
functionalism means consciousness of the existing situation in all its
complex contradictoriness and disorderliness.’ However, Brutalism was
essentially merely playing at functionalism, whereby functionality was
transformed into an artistic device. The creators of the term were themselves
aware of its inaptness: ‘For us “Brutal” meant “truthful;”: for others
this became a synonym for coarse, unrefined, physically exaggerated
use of beams that were three times wider than necessary’.
When at the very beginning of the 1970s the Soviet Union grew weary
of Mies van der Rohe’s merciless Modernism, it was the above concealed
contradiction that largely made the Brutalist aesthetic a suitable alternative.
This aesthetic continued to be formally perceived as Functionalism,
and furthermore allowed architects to make free use of the architectural
‘superfluities’ banned by Khruschchev in 1955 while individualizing the
artistic image. Ponderous architecture made from red brick with windowsills
of unworked concrete became a feature of the cultural landscape of
every Soviet city.
PONDEROUS ARCHITECTURE MADE FROM RED BRICK
WITH WINDOWSILLS OF UNWORKED CONCRETE
BECAME A FEATURE OF THE CULTURAL LANDSCAPE
OF EVERY SOVIET CITY
In the interest in Brutalism that has grown among the public in recent
years there is, in fact, more interest in degradation and decline than
in the movement’s artistic system. In people’s minds today Soviet Brutalism
is inseparable from the late Soviet period of stagnation and general
degradation. If in the 1990s and 2000s the response to this period
was extremely negative, today it attracts us as something exotic and
an object of nostalgia for a past era. This interest is similar to the interest
in the exclusion zone around Chernobyl, in all those statues of Lenin
covered in silver paint, in half-abandoned scientific research institutes,
bus stops in Central Asian republics, and other emblems of that age. It is
more an interest in history and culture than in art.
The aesthetic system of Brutalism, when combined with the reality
of Soviet and post-Soviet life, gave rise on the one hand to a landscape
that struck idle observers as very picturesque and on the other to a terrible
anti-utopia for those who actually had (or have) to live inside this environment.
Everything, of course, depends on the location and the goal:
what is fine for a museum in the Mediterranean or a villa in a suburb of
Paris is unlikely to be suitable for a hospital, children’s home, or home
for the elderly in a northern country – and not just a northern country, as
we know from the sad story of the long-abandoned Istituto Marchiondi
Spagliardi in Milan (1959; architect: Vittoriano Vigano).
Nevertheless, many large multifunctional health institutions in Leningrad,
as well as polyclinics, schools, sanatoria, residential institutions,
and other objects of social infrastructure, were designed in the Brutalist
style. Enormous red-brick machines for life and death (built from lowquality
materials and now in a poor condition), interaction with which
demands the expenditure of a great deal of energy (both physical and
emotional, on banal things such as looking for the entrance, the way out,
the lift, or the staircase, and on endless wandering through garishly illu-
minated endless corridors) have formed our negative attitude
to this architecture.
If harmless boarding institutions and sanatoria populated
with the elderly stir in us a feeling of melancholy, of stopped
and quickly passing time, then hospitals fill us with real fear,
a feeling of our defencelessness in the face of all this concrete
and brick, and buildings that provide services to the dead are
the quintessence of antihumanism and anti-aestheticism. But
is this reaction really deserved?
On Detskaya ulitsa on Vasilievsky Island in St Petersburg
stands a morgue designed in 1977–1978 by Zaida Gotsban
and Tamara Filippova: the morgue of the Lenin (now: Prokrovskaya)
Hospital. Built at the same time as several hospital
blocks in red Soviet brick, the morgue is the hospital’s most
artistically thought-through building. Death and death’s accommodation
in institutions is a very cumbersome bureaucratic
process, and the morgue – the central stage in that process
– is the most monstrous place on this path. Hospitals
offer hope of life on earth; churches, hope of eternal life (it
doesn’t matter whether you are a believer or not). Morgues offer
no hope. They are death multiplied by bureaucratic procedure.
But the Soviet atheist had no church to go to; he or she
had only the morgue.
In the complex of buildings at the Lenin Hospital it is the
morgue that is the semantic and architectural accent. This in
itself is a sign of a certain perversion of logic. At the centre of
the morgue is a circular volume with a concrete base, a windowless
wall of red brick, and strip glazing. The larger part of
this rotunda is a funeral courtyard with an enormous oculus
in the centre. ‘The design of the funeral courtyard with its two
rows of tall columns,’ dryly says the explanatory note for the
design project, ‘forms two rings (around the perimeter of the
exterior wall and in the middle of the courtyard) with an exposed
system of annular and radial beams. This will help create
a courtyard interior that will suit the sorrowful rituality of
the ceremonies occurring here.’
The walls conceal you from other people’s eyes: the courtyard
is only for those participating in the funeral ceremo-
v Zaida Gotsban,
Tamara Filippova.
Block of subsidiary
services at the Lenin
Hospital. Façade on
Sredengavansky prospekt.
1978. Archive of
OAO LenNIIproekt
158 discussion
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discussion

photo: Andrey Larionov
ny. So you find yourself standing in the centre of the asphalted funeral
courtyard under a concrete sun consisting of radial and annular beams,
through which the Petersburg sky frowns at you as rain or snow falls.
The initial image of the sun gives way to this sky. Suddenly, this cold
and repellent space is penetrated by a religious motif. Looking upwards,
you see not just the sky but the ‘heavens’ (arched roof construction) of a
traditional Russian church built from wood. The courtyard assumes the
function of the church, an institution which is absent from the Soviet system
of coordinates. The central ring is supported by six columns standing
on a stylobate paved with gabbrodiabase (black stone) with steps
and benches. This is almost a motif taken from Classical architecture: a
rotunda on a stylobate, a pagan altar.
The exterior is meagre. The red planes of the walls are only infrequently
pierced by rows of strip glazing. ‘The laconicism of the facades
combines with the large plastic forms of the volumes,’ we are again succinctly
informed by the explanatory note. In the direction of Srednegavansky
prospekt there rises the tall, narrow, rectangular chimney of the
boiler house – the second architectural accent after the rotunda. If the
funeral courtyard has assumed the role of a church nave, it makes sense
that the chimney should be a belltower. Simple, slender, of red brick: you
could almost mistake it for one of the numerous belltowers by Gottfried
Bohm. Admittedly, you have to chase away the thought that naturally occurs:
is this perhaps a crematorium chimney?
The link between the morgue and church architecture is further reinforced
by the similar compositional patterns in outstanding examples of
western architecture from the 1950s to 1970s (for instance, the catholic
cathedral in Liverpool or St Mary’s Church in Leyland, UK).
The occurrence of such architectural motifs demonstrates that, however
much we try to rationalize life, we are incapable of rationalizing
death – which requires that a place be provided for celebration of a ritual,
regardless of what form this ritual takes. This is why it is
the morgue that is the centre of the hospital’s architectural
composition; only this requires the inclusion of the truly irrational
and accordingly truly artistic. The Lenin Morgue cannot
be denied an aesthetic, humanism, intelligent symbolism, or
the desire to live up to the mood of ‘sorrowful solemnity’. And
it is indeed a non-trivial example of good architecture. However,
places like this are evaluated by those who come into contact
with them, i.e. ordinary people – and for such people they
will always be a cold and airless brick-and-concrete sack. This
reveals Brutalism’s lack of universality: as an artistic system,
it is too emotionally tinged due to its formal qualities.
Andrey Larionov
is an architecture
historian, leading
specialist at
St Petersburg’s
Committee for State
Use and Preservation
of Monuments,
and a member of
ICOMOS. He lives
in St Petersburg
Notes:
1. Cited from Ikonnikov, A.V., Zarubezhnaya
arkhitektura, Moscow, 1982, p. 125
2. Mastera arkhitektury ob arkhitekture,
Moscow, 1972, p. 568
y The mourning
courtyard at the
Lenin (Pokrovskaya)
Hospital
u The mortuary
at the Lenin (Pokrovskaya)
Hospital.
General view
photo: Aleksey Bogolepov
160 discussion
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discussion

THE WASTE TEMPLE
KTA: Mihkel Tuur, Indrek Runkla
2021
The Waste Temple is a project that is aimed towards the era after several
thousand years. The idea is to collect the material waste we produce
to create depositories for the next generations. Those landfill structures
will function as new quarries for the future population, hoping that they
have use for this kind of partly decomposed substance. Instead of hiding
our trash like it is done nowadays, we suggest that the depositories
should be located where we want our descendants to dwell.
To assist people in this grandparental care, a new religion is created
with its temples, priests and rituals. The temples will be the places
where we can dispose of our leftovers and where they are then neatly
stored for future discovery.
The proposed Temple is situated in downtown Tallinn at the location
of the current Tammsaare Park (designed by KTA in 2012–2016).
It is a stepwell with multiple levels. It fills up with waste as our civilization
gradually reduces our pollutive practices or as it collapses under
its own load.
Notes:
1. This project was shown at the exhibition ‘The houses that we need’ at the Estonian
Museum of Architecture (21 June – 21 November 2021). Curator: Jarmo Kauge
162 discussion
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discussion

164 discussion
165
discussion

PROJECT BALTIA PLANNED TO RECORD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE TALLINN ARCHITECT L E O N H A R D L A P I N (1947–2022). OUR CORRESPONDENT
MAIT VÄLJAS HAD ARRANGED A MEETING, BUT IT WAS NOT FATED TO HAPPEN. THOSE WHO KNEW THE ESTONIAN MASTER GUESS THAT ABSOLUTELY
SIMPLE THINGS COULD SOMETIMES TURN OUT IN INTERACTION WITH HIM TO BE IMPOSSIBLE, WHILE OTHER THINGS – THE MOST INCREDIBLE
THINGS – COULD HAPPEN AT ANY MOMENT. WE DID NOT KNOW ONE ANOTHER, AND YET HE GAVE ME, THE EDITOR OF PROJECT BALTIA, A BOTTLE
OF WINE SIMPLY BECAUSE IN THE RESTAURANT OF THE ARTISTS’ ASSOCIATION ON FREEDOM SQUARE HE FOUND OUT I WAS FROM RUSSIA. LAPIN
WAS A FREE ARTIST IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD. NOW HE IS NO LONGER AMONG US, BUT HERE IS ANOTHER UNEXPECTED GIFT – A PREVIOUSLY
UNPUBLISHED INTERVIEW HE GAVE ALMOST 20 YEARS AGO TO OUR MOSCOW COLLEAGUE ANATOLY BELOV. THIS INTERVIEW HAS BIDED ITS TIME
AND NOW, IN THIS LAST ISSUE OF PROJECT BALTIA ON THE SUBJECT OF DEATH, WE CAN HEAR THE ARTIST’S LIVING VOICE. THE SOUND OF A CALL TO
FREEDOM.
BORN OUT OF EMPTINESS. INTERVIEW WITH LEONARD LAPIN
Interviewer: Anatoly Belov
At the end of May I had a call from Vladimir Frolov, the editor of Project
Baltia, telling me of the death of Leonard Lapin – the eminent Estonian
architect, artist, architectural theorist, and former editor in chief of
MAJA: Eesti arhitektuuri ajakiri. Lapin and I knew each other through my
father, with whom he had been friends since the 1980s; both had had a
connection with ‘paper architecture’.
During my conversation with Frolov, I recalled that in 2003 I had done
a short interview with Lapin as part of the preparations for the 20th anniversary
of ‘paper architecture’ at the Shchusev Museum of Architecture
in Moscow – an exhibition which, alas, never happened.
My interest in Lapin then, at the beginning of the 2000s, was due to
the fact that I had found two of his works in the so-called French catalogue
of ‘paper architecture’ published in 1988. And I just could not understand
how works by the Estonian master could have found their way
into a catalogue devoted to what seems to me a profoundly Moscow phenomenon.
1
Lapin and I met on 8 November in Tallinn, at the Museum of Occupations
– a symbolic location. With us were my parents, the family of the
architect Mikhail Khazanov, and Vilen Kunnapu, the former chief architect
of Tallinn, and his wife Livi. It was a grey, overcast day, drizzling, but
everyone was in a simply wonderful mood.
Leonhard Lapin and Anatoliy Belov in Tallinn. 2003
photo: Mikhail Belov
Leonard, tell us how your works ended up in the French
catalogue of ‘paper architecture’.
Well, there’s nothing much to say. Some people approached
me and asked me to give them my works for publication
somewhere. I think it was Elaine Laroche, who was head of
exhibitions at Centre Pompidou. Tomas Rein and Vilen Kunnapu
were also supposed to provide their works, but at the
last moment something fell through. I was the only Estonian
whose works were published.
How did you come to be a ‘paper architect’ in the first place?
When I had just begin designing architecture in the 1970s,
I didn’t have much luck: for various reasons the authorities
refused to implement many of my projects. So it wasn’t the
good life that I turned me into a paper architect. But I was still
always first and foremost an architect…
Leonard Lapin:
Tallinn architect,
architectural theorist,
artist, poet. Professor
of the Estonian
Academy of Arts.
Following his death
at the age of 74, his
ashes were scattered
over water.
u Leonhard Lapin
showing his artworks
Strange. To my mind, your works published in the catalogue
are more like Suprematist paintings than architecture.
The objective was to create architecture, but the means of
implementation was pictures of this kind. What is important,
of course, is not the work itself but its function.
166 discussion
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discussion

These works stand out for their clarity and structure. You get the feeling
that that is what is most important for you in architecture.
Yes, that’s very important. You can have any idea, but if you cannot give
this idea structure, then it ceases to have any kind of practical point.
Incidentally, this is a very interesting and complex question: how to
move from emptiness to structure. For me architectural ‘production’
breaks down into four stages: making sense of emptiness; creation of an
idea out of emptiness; designing architecture; and working drawings.
‘Paper architecture’, to my mind, is situated in the interval between the
first and second of these stages. In it a philosophical principle combines
with well-developed figurative structure. ‘Paper architecture’ is the most
conceptual phenomenon in the architecture of the second half of the 20th
century.
But it’s true what they say – that each has his own version of ‘paper
architecture’? There is the ‘paper architecture’ of Boullée, the ‘paper
architecture’ of Corbusier, etc. Isn’t ‘paper architecture’ more a byproduct
of the architect’s activities?
Each has his or her own ‘paper architecture’, but we shouldn’t call this
a by-product. Some projects have no client at all. ‘Paper architecture’
in this sense is just another subdivision of architecture. And the most
surprising thing is that ‘paper architecture’ is not just something that
people draw. The so-called seven wonders of the world, including the
hanging gardens of Babylon and the lighthouse of Alexandria are also
‘paper architecture’ – only, with the exception of the pyramids, no one
has seen them: they are essentially architecture that is ‘conveyed’ in
words. ‘Verbal’ architecture: that’s what is meant by ‘born out of emptiness’.
It was the Neoclassicists who first started drawing ‘paper architecture’:
Piranesi, Boullée, Ledoux. This was what might be called a stylistic
reproduction of the imperial architecture of Ancient Rome. Incidentally,
I am increasingly inclined to think Neoclassicism the most important
phenomenon in world architecture over the course of its entire history:
the foundation of everything. Note that when architecture has been in
crisis, it has always come back to Neoclassicism. Just consider the 20th
century: Stalinist architecture, the architecture of fascist Italy…
You want to say that EUR too is Neoclassicism? 2
Of course. Metaphysical 1930s Neoclassicism.
Let’s go back to the ‘paper architecture’ of the last quarter of the 20th
century. If we believe everyone has his or her own ‘paper architecture’,
why in Russia did this take the form of an entire movement?
The thing is that in the 1970s Soviet architecture was in a bad way: it was
very grey, monotonous. Young architects – both Russian and Estonian –
joined forces to protest against Soviet greyness. In this respect you
could say with regard to both Estonia and Russia that they were under
Soviet occupation. So the movement was born from protest.
u Design for a monument
to the Anti-
International: bread
for asses. 1974
BRICKWORK
COMPETITION
2021
AAG
MENDELSSOHN
ARCHITECTURAL
WORKSHOP
ENVIRONMENT
OF STRELKA:
SCIENCE
QUARTER
u Cold bloody precise
spring machine
Anatoly Belov:
publicist, editor,
editor in chief of
Project Russia
(2013–2016). Lives in
Moscow.
Notes:
s City of the
living – city
of the dead.
1978. Estonian
Museum of
Architecture
1. For more detail on the two (Tallinn, Moscow) branches of ‘paper
architecture’ in the 1970s–1980s, see: Kurg A. ‘Towards ‘paper architecture’:
critical architecture of the late-socialist period in Tallinn and
Moscow’, Project Baltia, 2013-2014, no. 4–1 (21), pp. 114–120 (editor’s
note).
2. The street block of the Esposizione Universale Roma (EUR) was built
in 1935–1943 by a group of architects led by Marcello Piacentini (editor’s
note).
168
discussion

POETRY IN BRICK. RESULTS OF THE SECOND ALL-RUSSIAN BRICKWORK COMPETITION
ON 2 DECEMBER IN KAZAN, WITHIN THE FRAMEWORK OF THE FIRST ALL-RUSSIAN ARCHITECTURAL AND CONSTRUCTION FORUM ‘KAZANYSH’,
PARTICIPANTS SUMMED UP THE RESULTS OF THE SECOND BRICKWORK COMPETITION FOR ARCHITECTS AND DESIGNERS UNDER 30. ORGANISERS
OF THE COMPETITION WERE PROJECT BALTIA MAGAZINE AND THE FIRM ARCHITAIL
THE PRIZES OF THE COMPETITION WERE AWARDED AS FOLLOWS:
‘Urban Brick Building’
1st place – ‘Soldatsky Lane, 8a’ (Peter Elverum, St. Petersburg)
2nd place – ‘Experimental Music Center’ (Anton Fedin, Moscow)
3rd place – ‘Schiaparelli House’ (Sergey Dzyuba, Arseniy Kovalev,
Vera Kuznetsova, St. Petersburg)
‘Suburban Brick Building’
1st place – ‘Skirting Space’ (Boris Nemtsev, Ilya Sukharevsky,
St. Petersburg)
2nd place – NOR-TYPE (Ilya Metalnikov, Moscow)
3rd place – ‘Heidegger Tower’ (Mikhail Sitnikov, St. Petersburg)
t The prize bricks
were made by
the St Petersburg
ceramist and artist
Andrey Shreter
Vladimir Frolov with jury members of the Brickwork competition
Ilsiyar Tukhvatullina, chief architect of the Kazan city and chairwoman of the jury with
an architect Yevgeniy Zadorozhny
‘Brick in Public Space’
1st place – ‘Tidal’ (Alexey Agarkov, Veronika Davitashvili,
Anastasia Savelyeva, Moscow)
2nd place – ‘Vodopole. Iya River Museum’ (Vitalina Barysheva,
Natalia Gribanova, Yekaterinburg - Saint Petersburg)
3rd place – ‘Kanonerskaya Zastava’ (Anastasia Igosheva,
Dmitry Ilyin, St. Petersburg)
‘Brick interior’
1st place – ‘Ceremonial Complex’ (Olesya Drozdova,
Daria Pyatnitskaya, St. Petersburg)
2nd place – ‘Core’ (Yulia Zakharova, Elizaveta Boreisha,
St. Petersburg)
3rd place – ‘Museum of Optics and Light’ (Anastasia Lungu,
St. Petersburg)
A special prize from the Project Baltia magazine was awarded to the project
‘Live in a brick’ (Mikhail Chervonny, Anastasia Starova, St. Petersburg).
The expert council of the competition included: Irina Shkolnikova, Lecturer
of the Department of Architectural Environment Design of St. Petersburg
State University; Fedor Oparin, architect, Senior lecturer of the
Department of Architecture of the St. Petersburg Academy of Arts; Evgeny
Lobanov, Associate Professor of the Department of Equipment Design
in Environmental Objects of St. Petersburg State University; Evgenia Repina,
architect, Professor of the Department of Innovative Design of Samara
State Technical University; Evgenia Petrashen, Senior Lecturer of
the Department of Design of St. Petersburg State University.
text: Ekaterina Liphart
photos are provided by 'Kazanysh' forum
Architects from different all over Russia came to the Kazanysh
Festival to evaluate brickwork design projects. The Brickwork
competition included: Ilsiyar Tukhvatullina, Chief architect
of Kazan; Evgeny Zadorozhny, head of Chado; Andrey Doynitsyn,
head of New Race; Ruben Arakelyan, head of WALL; Nata
Tatunashvili, partner of the bureau NOWADAYS office; Anna
Yagubskaya, architect, winner of the 2020 Grand Prix of
the Brickwork Competition; Yuri Khitrov, head of ARCHITAIL
Northwest; Vladimir Frolov, editor-in-chief of Project Baltia.
Moscow architect Alexey Kozyr voted remotely.
Contest participants developed their own versions of the
‘brick style’ in four categories: ‘Urban Brick Building’, ‘Suburban
Brick Building’, ‘Brick in Public Space’ and ‘Brick Interiors’.
The final nomination was added in 2021. The winners
were awarded cash prizes: a Grand Prix in the amount of
100 thousand rubles and a first prize in each nomination of
25 thousand rubles.
Applications were received from more than 60 Russian cities,
but this time fortune turned to St. Petersburg. The experts
selected five finalists in each nomination with designs
presented at the Kazanysh Festival as well as in St. Petersburg,
at the DAA Design District.
‘We must note the quite high level of projects submitted
for the competition. Some of them are linked to specific places,
some represent more abstract studies, but among those,
and others, there are a number of worthy pieces showing a
non-standard course of thought and the right kind of cultural
nous. Nevertheless, the high quality of the graphic presentation
sometimes distracts from shortcomings in the design,’
said Evgeny Lobanov expert of the competition.
As Vladimir Frolov, curator and instigator of the Brick
Competition, noted: ‘Compared to last year, we see more serious
results, especially in the 'Public Space' nomination.
This topic has become better developed and has acquired
the particular outlines of the architectural genre to which it
has been applied. We see complex, interesting and smart solutions.’
It was this particular nomination that brought together
completely different structural typologies: there was
a place for museums, a bridge, and even a bathing pool. ‘The
new will begin with public space,’ declare the winners in this
category.
Nevertheless, the competition favourite was the design
submitted for the Urban Brick Building nomination – ‘Limbo’
by Elizaveta Dvorshchenko and Boris Gusev from St. Petersburg.
This proposal, according to Ruben Arakelyan, is ‘a subtle,
philosophical, poetic spatial gesture that combines features
of all the other nominees.’
In general, the jury members and consultants took
note of the superior level of submissions in 2021 as compared
to 2020. It was also important that there was a certain
continuity in summing up the results: for the second
time the grand prize has gone to architects putting forth
not just high-quality brickwork, but also a profoundly philosophical
and, at the same time, relevant statement for urban
planning. Nevertheless, by all accounts, architects
sometimes lacked the courage to experiment with masonry
types and palettes. According to Evgeny Lobanov, ‘the
works of the competition winners are highly appreciated
and can serve to drive future participants on to further architectural
exploration.’
170 competitions
171 competitions

LIMBO
Grand Prix
Authors: Elizaveta Dvorshchenko
(Society of Young Architects),
Boris Gusev (KATARSIS Architects)
City: Saint Petersburg
How would Petersburgers
perceive Vatny Island as if it
had been caught in a lethargic
dream? The Petrograd region
between Tuchkov and
Bourse bridges has undergone
repeated changes in development
projects. The residential
complex ‘Europe
Embankment’ was planned
here, then they decided it
would host the ‘judicial quarter’,
and, in 2018, authorities
turned to the idea of creating
a ‘Petersburg Zaryadye’ - the
Tuchkov Buyan park. None of
the projects has yet reached
its logical conclusion, and today
the territory is in limbo,
like a restless soul, somewhere
between heaven and
hell.
This is the rather wry
name the Brick Competition
favourites gave their project,
which would have the Vatny
Island site hosting a park and
a crematorium. According to
Vladimir Frolov, this work ‘belongs
to that critical architectural
genre that might include
the Italian architects
of Superstudio or 'Labyrinth'
from the 1960s and ‘70s.’
The creators of the crematorium
have made as
their theme the acceptance
of the impermanence
of life and death’s inclusion
in the natural process of urban
existence, offering to
integrate burial sites into
the urban environment and
make them more open. ‘It
was the detachment of society
from this subject that
intrigued us as architects.
This is an opportunity to
formulate your statement,
your manifesto,’ noted the
project’s authors.
The architects used Danish
crossbar brick of the Petersen
factory set in a tranquil
light grey. This long and
thin brick resembles plinths –
the oldest of building materials.
The authors design the
portal of the main entrance
with infrequent gaps, using a
‘Brazilian style’, in which the
bricks are set in an end-onend
stack bond.
According to the architects,
brick here is not just
a facing material – it serves
as a ritual artefact used by
a person who accompanies
their beloved on a final journey:
‘Having lost a loved one,
there is a feeling of emptiness
and loss. Escaping all
those around you, one remains
alone. Before you is
a portal. You enter. You are
being guided within. Light
seeps in between the bricks.
You are aware of where this
path leads. And remain alone
with the loss. A farewell. A
seeing off to the last journey.
A rush fills your ears. The
fire goes out, a brick is set in
your hands, a that remains as
a material trace.
One rises and sees the
light, hears the sound of water.
In front looms a forest
and a wall consisting of hundreds
of identical bricks.
He leaves the brick behind
and retains the memory of
The bridge linking Vatny Island and Petrogradskaya storona
How a wall grows with the passing of time
the departed person. A person
in limbo who has passed
this way. There is a fresh
smell of trees around him,
the sound of the city in the
distance.’
The Grand Prix is traditionally
awarded to a work
that puts across the spirit of
the times in a subtle, poetic,
artistic form. ‘The architects'
reaction to the drama
of the last few years is felt in
the project, and such an response
seems very compelling
to the jury,’ commented
Vladimir Frolov.
t The master plan
for the complex includes
reconstruction
of Vatny Island
Columbarium Bridge, interior Crematorium, interior
Principal façade
172 competitions
173 competitions

SOLDATSKY LANE, 8A
1st place in the nomination
‘Urban Brick Building’
Author: Peter Elverum
(TOBE architects)
City: Saint Petersburg
The author's proposal is to
streamline the urban chaos
of modernity in which architecture
and urban planning
lack integrity and a
linking experience. The architect
sees the urban fabric
of historical St. Petersburg
as a continuous search for
ensembleness. Having discovered
a random gap tearing
the fabric of Soldatsky
Lane and destroying the unity
of its motif, the architect
has designed a city house
that brings together the features
of romanticism and asceticism.
Describing his approach
to working with such
a small plot, where an improvised
parking lot had congealed,
the architect emphasised
that ‘...such sites are
difficult to build and each requires
an individual and sensitive
approach. Working on
their design can lead to interesting
and inspiring results
that will continuity in the city
landscape.’
The architect used coalfired
Danish ochre brick not
only in the exterior, but also
in the interiors. Brick recesses
on the ceiling form Monier
arches give the interior the
aesthetics of a loft.
The expert of the competition
Evgeny Lobanov noted
not only the project's positive,
but also its negative
elements: ‘The proportions
of the façade are well calculated
and fit into the rhythmic
structure of the adjacent
building (although the huge
arch introduces a certain dissonance
into the strict rectangular
composition). Thus
it is all the more unfortunate
that the floor plans have significant
flaws that would be
difficult to correct without
changing the entire structure.
The flat floorplans have
no entry space to take off
shoes and hang up coats.
Thus they force residents to
tread through a ‘dirty zone’
from the bedroom to the
bathroom and the common
areas.’
Nevertheless, according
to the general opinion of the
jury, the project is a canonical
example of a city house,
which contains many important
ideas on how to explore
the theme of the architecture
SKIRTING SPACE
1st place in the nomination
‘Suburban Brick Building’
Authors: Boris Nemtsev,
Ilya Sukharevsky
(St. Petersburg Academy of Arts)
City: Saint Petersburg
dom and infinite variability
in the use of the second level
of the house, why is there
no flexible layout on the
first floor?’
However, despite critical
appraisals, the jury members
agreed that the plan was
quite unique and offered creative
solutions for the superstructure
of the upper floors
in the style of ‘traditions of
Russian brick architecture’.
of everyday life. ‘There is not
a single place in this project
without an amazing idea and,
despite its modesty, it has a
serene nobility and a craftsman's
careful attitude to
their work. Such good buildings
are those that together
can make up a good city,’
Nata Tatunashvili maintains.
Following the principles of
participatory design that
are so much in fashion
these days, these architects
have developed a typology
of the suburban residential
building, ‘whose residents
independently build
the upper floors.’ The authors'
idea, in their opinion,
‘solves the problem of
cohabitation for a family in
two generations and also
uses the maximum available
resources to expand the
structure.’ As jury member
Evgeny Zadorozhny noted:
‘The project is based on the
principle of the ‘half a good
house’, developed by the
Chilean firm Elemental. Architects
create the foundation
of future houses, and
residents take up the task
of completing them.’
Analysing the project,
Evgeny Lobanov, is perplexed:
‘The detailed and
beautifully drawn plan of the
first floor is confusing. If the
basis of the concept is free-
174 competitions
175 competitions

TIDAL
1st place in the nomination
‘Brick Interior’
Authors: Alexey Agarkov,
Veronika Davitashvili,
Anastasia Savelyeva (Do Buro)
City: Moscow
The architects proposed a
plan to master the deserted
Kola Peninsula by creating
points of attraction in is sever
landscape – brick public
spaces like fortresses on undeveloped
rocky shores. The
architects would combine
new-fired bricks with salvage
found on the peninsula,
but the structures still retain
their monolithic tone.
The project is based on
the idea of subordinating the
man-made before the natural:
‘Brick fills natural niches
and forms multi-level pools,
access to which is regulated
by tidal forces. At low tide,
they are enclosed volumes in
which you can fish or enjoy
the surrounding landscape,
and when the water rises to
four and a half meters, you
can sail to them by boat.’
Travellers flocking, like pilgrims,
to the ‘tide’, will be
able to stay in houses with
stoves, surrounded by an entourage
of red brick walls.
It is assumed that public
spaces would help expose
the local character of the surrounding
area by introducing
onto the uninhabited land
processes of agglomeration.
‘This is an architecture that
works within the cycles of
nature, this is real synergy,’
Nata Tatunashvili stressed.
CEREMONIAL COMPLEX
1st place in the nomination
‘Brick Interior’
Authors: Olesya Drozdova
(private architectural practice),
Daria Pyatnitskaya
(ludi_architects)
City: Saint Petersburg
The winners of the interior
nomination, as well as the
Grand Prix winners, have
turned to the topic of burial
– and put forth a structure
in the antique spirit.
Artificially aged Dutch Engels
brick of brown shades
mottled with white is used
here.
Architects apply timeless
archetypes – symmetry,
arches, vaults, columns
– and present a
basilica like structure descending
from Roman models.
A special place in the
project is occupied by natural
light passing through
the oculi dotting the arches
of the ceremonial centre.
Street lamps, according
to the creators, have a
beneficial effect on visitors'
emotional state. In the altar
area of the entrance group
there is a cross, in Christian
tradition symbolising the
voluntary acceptance of the
sufferings of earthly life.
176 competitions
177 competitions

‘RED THREAD’ AND ‘URBANGROVE’. RESULTS OF THE AAG MENDELSSOHN ARCHITECTURAL
WORKSHOP
v The lectures and
the review of the results
of the workshop
were held at Linii
at the Mayakovsky
Library
text: Ekaterina Liphart with assistance of Maria Maksimova
photos: Ivan Chernykh
On St. Petersburg's Petrograd Island there are many monuments
to the Constructivist era. Counted among them is the
Red Banner knitting factory built by the German architect Erich
Mendelssohn. The decision to turn to Mendelssohn was no
accident – he had already come to fame with his use of modern
materials – reinforced concrete and glass – for the design
of a hat factory in Luckenwalde, Germany. He had also developed
an advanced ventilation system that made up a prominent
part of the building's exterior as characteristic shaft-like
superstructures.
Russia's only architectural ensemble built according to
Mendelssohn's design is now gradually coming out of decay.
Its landmark power station has been restored and
plays a key role in the urban planning strategy of the site.
The Mendelssohn residential complex has been set next to
the INTERCOLUMNIUM bureau design while the rest of the
former factory site still awaits the hour of its reconstruction.
Indeed, the buildings' condition has long prompted
justified concern on the part of St. Petersburg's urban activists
and architects.
It was to the latter, those most jealously defending the factory's
fate, that AAG Mendelssohn Architectural Workshop organisers
turned with the request to lead a team of young architects
that would be invited to transform the street spaces
of the former factory as part of the project workshop. More
recently, AAG investment and construction holdings bought
2.5 hectares of the factory's territory in order to create residential
lofts and shopping promenades. Unlike other examples
of Constructivism on Petrogradsky Island that have been
adapted as public spaces, such as Lenpoligrafmash complex
or the Levashovsky Bakery, the developer will transform most
of its portion of the Red Banner complex into housing. In order
to arrive at the best site design, AAG turned to our magazine
in order to conduct a workshop for architects under 30.
Curator Vladimir Frolov, in turn, invited Georgy Snezhkin (of
Chvoya bureau) and Stepan Liphart (Liphart Architects) as project
mentors.
The architects were familiar with the site firsthand as they
had worked with it over the years. Chvoya bureau prepared a
proposal that adapted the power station for a concert hall, and
Liphart Architect is currently working over new architectural
elements for the residential complex on the factory site.
The jury that evaluated the team's projects included:
Margarita Stiglitz, Doctor of Architecture, Professor at the
Center for Innovative Educational Projects at the Stieglitz
State Academy of Art and Design . ; Ivan Kozhin, architect,
partner of the bureau Studio 44; Larisa Kanunnikova, Deputy
Chairman of the St. Petersburg Committee for Urban Planning;
Elena Bogomaz, architect at MLA+ bureau; Nadezhda
Kerimova, landscape architect; Lisa Savina, curator and art
manager; Ivan Donkin, Project Manager of the AAG Investment
and Construction Holdings; Ilya Filimonov, architect of the
INTERCOLUMNIUM Bureau; Vladimir Frolov, editor-in-chief of
Project Baltia magazine.
The workshop's task was not only to come up with new
elements of the environment for the old factory, but also to,
as much as possible, capture the spirit of Expressionist and
architecture. Yet, at the same time workshop participants
must work as though the German master himself were the
final arbiter of the outcome.
‘LIVE IN A BRICK’
Honourable mention by the jury
(nomination ‘Suburban Brick
Building’)
Authors: Mikhail Chervonny
and Anastasia Starova (Saint
Petersburg Academy of Arts)
City: Saint Petersburg
This work of architects from
St. Petersburg can rightfully
be called the most ‘bricky’.
Using Danish red brick made
in the homeland of the writer
Hans Christian Andersen,
the authors came up with a
house project for his most famous
fairy–tale character,
Thumbelina: ‘Crushing bricks
creates a [living] space.’
‘The work captivated
the jury with the quality
of graphics and, of course,
the idea itself: a country
house consisting of a single
brick, hollow inside,’ noted
Vladimir Frolov.
178 competitions
179 competitions

CHVOYA STUDIO PROJECT
First Prize
Mentor: Georgy Snezhkin
Participants: Zoya Dolzhikova
(architect, St. Petersburg), Ksenia
Chenpalova (architect, Samara),
Olga Rozova (Land Development
Agency LLC, St. Petersburg),
Karina Zimina (Saint Petersburg
State University of Architecture
and Civil Engineering), Sergey
Yanchenko (Turin Polytechnic;
St. Petersburg)
u The multi-level
relief resulting from
the shape of the
terrain makes the
complex’s setting
more ‘natural’
The Chvoya team went beyond
the seminar's technical
requirements not only in offering
solutions for the Red
Banner's street spaces, but
in also developing ideas concerning
the internal content
and appearance of the complex.
Having demonstrably
rejected turning the site into
a gated complex, the project
team proposed making
the courtyards and interiors
of the factory accessible
to the general public. Architects
based their conception
on a ‘red thread’ designating
an individual's path as the
route taken by a resident or
guest of the complex. The interweaving
of threads – the
trajectories of the movement
of individuals – gives rise to
a dense, yet still permeable,
urban fabric integrated into
the city. Individual ‘threads’
go beyond the boundaries
of the site, opening the factory
to the city and giving
shape to new routes. ‘In the
future, these paths will create
a connection with the embankment,
provide access to
Krestovsky Island and direct
visitors to Petrovsky Park.
These connections, internal
and external, will create a
powerful social hub,’ the authors
of the project say.
Weaving the factory site
into the urban fabric, the architects
provided public areas
for bypassers to stop and
relish the surroundings. The
pedestrian route is based on
a promenade, a square and a
garden with a historical fountain,
the coating of which
is finished in a red, ‘avantgarde’
colour. The factory
workshops themselves were
also to be made available
to visitors. However, the architects
did not give specific
recommendations for the
u ChVOYA proposed
using a promenade
and public spaces
to make the factory
territory permeable
new purpose of once industrial
buildings. It seems that,
attending to their conception
of them, Red Banner’s buildings,
like ancient temples
that have long lost their sacred
function, would serve as
an open-air museum of architecture.
Towering not only in principle,
but also materially
above reality, the team made
use of a ‘flight’ theme (before
the Revolution the factory
had been home to the
production of Gamayun biplanes)
and proposed to link
its buildings with transparent
‘air’ bridges floating
weightlessly over the landscape.
Air bridges ‘flow’ between
the workshops and
provide a high-line-type
pathway opening onto a
unique assortment of buildings.
The levitating path becomes
itself a new architectural
object, acting as a
variation on the theme of the
third manufactory, a black
dye shop in Mendelssohn's
original design that was left
unbuilt owing to budget constraints.
Climbing and touching the
upper layers of the factory's
‘atmosphere’, the architects
proposed installing two vent
shafts that were planned in
Erich Mendelssohn’s original
conception, yet unincorporated
for the same budgetary
reasons. Having lost
its original functional purpose,
which was to ventilate
the workspace of toxic production
fumes, it has become
a sculptural element, a hommage
to Erich Mendelssohn
himself.
u The complex’s centre
is the square between
the Mendelson
residential complex
and the reconstructed
factory blocks
v Landscape design
plays with the thread
motive
180 competitions
181 competitions

t Graphic work by
Dmitry Ilin, a member
of the Mendelson’s
Children team
t Parts of
the industrial
infrastructure found
on the site are used
as an art object
LIPHART ARCHITECTS
PROJECT: ‘MENDELSSOHN'S
CHILDREN’
Mentor: Stepan Liphart
Participants: Anastasia Lungu
(SPbGASU), Alexandra Solovyova
(SPbGASU), Olga Kozhukhar
(Saint Petersburg State
University of Architecture and
Civil Engineering), Dmitry Ilyin
(St. Petersburg Fine Arts Academy
of Arts), Polina Vorokhova
(MARCH Architectural School).
Team ‘Mendelssohn's Children’
(its name refers to ‘Iofan's
Children’, the architectural
association created by
Liphart) decided to experiment
with landscape architecture
and pick up on the
theme of natural growth out
through the factory's structure
that had taken its own
course through neglect, proposing
an ‘Urbangrove’ concept.
‘We took the existing
scenario based on the natu-
Delving into the topic
of industrial artefacts, the
team also turned found concrete
pillars on the site into
art objects. As the authors
emphasised, ‘This conveys
not only a monumental funcral
absorption of the building’s
shell by greenery as
the basis for the design,’ noted
one participant. In opposing
the soft naturalness of
flora to constructivist strictures,
the architects emphasised
symbiosis of the urban
and the natural.
They proposed combining
public and private functions
on the territory of the
former factory, keeping in
mind the needs of both residents
of the surrounding
spaces and those of the future
complex. To delineate
the plots, the team came up
with an inexpensive 'popup'
solution: large mobile
coils found on the site
would serve to divide it into
public and private zones.
The factory space, which
had always been closed to
the public, would be opened
at its flanks by means of a
promenade, a public courtyard
and a so-called greenery
sector.
t Diagram showing
movements from
Chkalovskaya metro
station
tion, but also frames the
axes of the courtyard. These
are then transformed into
smoother forms, due to the
introduction of geoplastics
and green spaces’.
vThe site plan for
Mendelson’s Children
highlights the
zone of the fountain
and promenades as
the main attractors
in the grounds of the
old factory
s The promenade
zone is treated as an
urban forest where
you can be on your
own simultaneously
with the city and with
nature
182 competitions
183 competitions

WORKSHOP RESULTS
The workshop jury expressed their satisfaction with both teams’ proposals
and engaged in active discussion as to what should best guide their
decision – aesthetics or practicality. Ivan Donkin noted that he focused
primarily on the financial feasibility of the proposed ideas. The proposal
of the Mendelssohn's Children team seemed to him more realistic, better
elaborated and detailed. The AAG project manager was joined by Margarita
Stiglitz, who emphasised that, from a utilitarian point of view, ‘a
green space with a private courtyard is more attractive to users.’ Nevertheless,
Liphart Architects proposal, according to Ivan Kozhin and other
jury members, was too de-contextualised, as it could have been applied
to any other site.
Lena Bogomaz emphasised the vivid image put forward by the team
led by Georgy Snezhkin. She described it as extravagant and more
complex in its execution: it ‘is associated directly with the place and a
clear bond to the context.’ Other members of the jury agreed with Elena.
They called Chvoya bureaus' project ‘impressive’ and ‘compelling’
with its idea of creating a united multi-level space and end-to-end transitions.
The chairman of the jury, Larisa Kanunnikova, summed up the discussion,
emphasising the isolation of both projects from the districts' current
development strategy: ‘The city has a plan for the development of
the area in question extending until 2030, this must be taken into account.’
The Deputy Chairman of the Urban Planning Committee, emphasised
that the factors of greatest priority in determining the winners of
the competition were the creation of a discrete form and the creation of
that which best suits the designed environment. The key theme of the
workshop was the avant-garde. According to the chairman of the jury,
the team led by Georgy Snezhkin best coped with the main task – to rethink
‘…the urban environment through a new form that is emerging from
this city block.’
Nevertheless, the majority of the jury members agreed that when
transferring ideas to the plane of design and implementation, a combination
of the two teams' approaches would be optimal. And, regardless
of how AAG holding will choose to implement these projects, there is no
risk that, in either case, the aesthetics of space would be lost, since the
architectural appearance of Liphart's new buildings is ‘adaptive and correct,’
and is a true inheritor of Mendelssohn's principles.
After the discussion, the opening of the project exhibition and the
award ceremony took place in the Liniya space, where the participants
were presented with issues of Project Baltia magazine and gifts from the
Choice-SPb company.
The worskhop's expert council included: Pyotr Sovetnikov and Vera
Stepanskaya, founders of KATARSIS Architects bureau; Evgeny Novosadyuk,
architect of the Studio 44 bureau; Ekaterina Scheblykina, architect
of the Orchestra Design bureau; Elena Maslova, Development Director
of the Choice-SPb company.
Workshop partners included: Mayakovsky Library’s Line Branch and
the company Choose-SPb.
The workshop included offline and online lectures by Yana Golubeva,
Elena Maslova, Lisa Savina, Stepan Liphart, Margarita Stiglitz and Nadezhda
Kerimova. Recordings of online lectures are available on Project
Baltia's You-Tube channel.
THE ‘SOFT POWER’ OF RUSSIAN SCIENCE
FROM OCTOBER 25 TO NOVEMBER 2, ST. PETERSBURG HOSTED THE FORESIGHT EVENT ‘ THE ENVIRONMENT OF STRELKA. SCIENCE QUARTER’,
ORGANISED BY PROJECT BALTIA AND THE SPARTA FOUNDATION FOR CULTURAL INITIATIVES. THE YOUNG ARCHITECTS, UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF
MENTORS AT KATARSIS ARCHITECTS, WERE CONFRONTED WITH THE TASK OF RETHINKING THE STRELKA AREA AT THE TIP OF VASILIEVSKY ISLAND.
THE SITE IS HOME TO A SIGNIFICANT NUMBER OF SCIENTIFIC AND EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS AND PARTICIPANTS WERE TASKED WITH LINKING
THEM AS A SINGLE PUBLIC SPACE.
© Sparta
Petr Sovetnikov
Sergey Lyulin, deputy president of the Russian Academy of Sciences,
and Vladimir Frolov
Georgiy Snezhkin, partner at KHVOYA architects, mentor of the workshop
Stepan Liphart, owner of Liphart Architects, mentor of the workshop
Text: Ekaterina Liphart, Daria Byvshikh; photos: Polina Lovchikova
About a third of Vasilievsky island's Strelka is make up of former commercial
infrastructure. Until the end of the 19th century, the site functioned
as a port receiving goods. Warehouses and customs and exchange
offices form a classic ensemble that skirted the rim of the island
the Makarov Embankment, the Exchange Bridge and the Strelka monument
itself. At the turn of the 20th century, when port functions were relocated
from the city centre, former industrial and commercial buildings
were refitted and took on new residents in the form of scientific, ministerial
and museum institutions. It was these institutions, in combination
with elements of the Petrine era of the city's foundation, that were destined
to determine the site's fate for decades to come.
Today, the most important educational and scientific institutions of
the country continue to function on the Strelka, along with a number
of museums, but city residents and and visitors are still woefully uninformed
of what goes on there. Opening up the work of science, making
scientific research seem more attractive, and also giving proper emphasis
to Peter the Great's original conception of this territory as one of the
central elements of the capital's design – such was the purpose of the
foresight event. This was preceded by a number of strategy sessions organised
by the Russian Academy of Sciences and the Sparta Foundation
for Cultural Initiatives (with the support of the Russian Ministry of Science
and Higher Education Gazprom Neft PJSC).
As a result, the task set during the event was to find ways to revitalise
the existing spatial structure of the district where first fiddle would be
played academic institutions and the Academy of Sciences itself.
The young architects selected as a result of the portfolio competition
had ten days to answer the programme's four main questions: 1) build a
scenario for the development of the public territory up to 2024 and beyond,
2) create schemes for landscaping and functional reorganization,
3) present draft designs of the transformer conference pavilion and the
interiors of research centres (based on Russian Academy of Science's Institute
of Macromolecular Coumpounds), 4) come up with a usage plan
for the courtyard of the Russian Academy of Sciences at University Embankment
5.
The project created by the team put together walking routes set out
over several levels. The transit route runs along the embankment of the
Mendeleevskaya Line and along Tiflis Lane. A pedestrian green belt rings
the Otto Institute (the district's core), and each of the other members in
the ensemble form a multifunctional promenade along Exchange street
and adjacent alleyways. Furthermore, penetrating deep into the quarter,
into interior courtyards of the research institutions, the architects have
lain a ‘secret’ route through the Kunstkammer, the Zoological Museum,
the Northern Warehouse and the Philosophical Garden inside the former
Gostiny Dvor on the St. Petersburg State University campus.
The warehouse basement floors are to be used for the popularisation
of science: open laboratories, clubs, and science-themed shops outfitted
with local souvenirs. At the same time, along the inner perimeter of the
warehouses, the street level is to be brought down to where it was at the
18th century allowing one to see the full face of the buildings' façades. A
two-level square thus appears in front of the Exchange's western façade,
and this becomes the site’s ‘launchpad’. The main entrance to the scientific
quarter is supposed to be taken through the pedestrian square at
the Lomonosov statue, which will also become a focal point.
Entrances to the quarter emphasise public art objects designed to activate
interdisciplinary collaboration among those working in the area as
well as artists and average citizens.
The centres of public life circle around the courtyards of the Academy of
Sciences and the Northern Warehouse. Here, foresight event participants
propose spaces for summer meetings, film screenings and exhibitions,
and also provide for the construction of a temporary conference pavilion.
Important features of this architecture are its transformability and multifunctionality
– the ability to transform a common hall with a 300-person
capacity into three small ones with the help of sliding partitions.
A pilot model of the modern interior of the scientific institute was proposed
using the example of the Institute of Macromolecular Compounds.
The architects' decision is based care toward the building's historical
layers: the team suggests focusing on unique artefacts and materials, integrating
them into the interior. The new layer spawns a futuristic inte-
184 competitions
185 competitions

rior – a capsule reminiscent of the inside of the spaceship airlock from
Stanley Kubrick's ‘Space Odyssey’.
The scientific quarter on the Vasilievsky Island Strelka is designed to
become a scientific and socio-cultural cluster that attracts not only scientists
and students, but also locals and visitors. Sergey Lyulin, Deputy
President of the Russian Academy of Sciences, Corresponding Member
of the Russian Academy of Sciences, took an active part in the preparation
of the foresight event programme. Mentors were Vera Stepanskaya
and Pyotr Sovetnikov (heads of KATARSIS Architects). Ilya Mukosey, architect
and founder of mukosey: architecture/design/media bureau,
was the seminar consultant. The selected venues of the entire event
were the Saint Petersburg State University of Aerospace Instrumentation
Tipping Point co-working centre and the Dokuchaev Central Museum
of Soil Science where foresight event participants presented the results
of their work.
The expert council included: Anna Katkhanova, Advisor to the city
Chairman of the Committee on Urban Planning and Architecture; Andrey
Lyublinsky, designer and artist; Andrey Ukhnalev, leading researcher of
the Department of the History of Contemporary Architecture and Urban
Planning of the Research Institute of the Theory and History of Architecture
and Urban Planning, PhD in Art History; Victoria Raubo, founder of
V bureau; Lisa Savina, art critic, founder of the Sparta Foundation Sparta
for Cultural Initiatives; Viktor Korotych, architect, urbanist, employee
of MLA+ architectural bureau; Andrey Larionov, architectural historian;
Vladimir Frolov, editor-in-chief of Project Baltia; Sergey Lyulin.
Foresight event participants included: Veronika Bratsikhina, architect
(Repin Academy of Arts, St. Petersburg); Olga Kalaykova, architect (Renovation
Group); Ivan Kazadaev, architect (Repin Academy of Arts); Saveliy
Zagrebin, architect-urban planner (Saint Petersburg State University
of Architecture and Civil Engineering); Alyona Svoekoshinova, architecturban
planner (Saint Petersburg State University of Architecture and
Civil Engineering); Yulia Chernysheva, creative producer (Independent
Media); Lev Kuznetsov, architect (‘Cake’ architects); Dmitry Novikov, architect
(WRIGHT FORM studio); Natalia Sosonkina, architect (ARUP). Coordinator:
Daria Byvshikh.
x Site plan showing
ages of the buildings
x Plan showing the
locations of public
spaces
x Plan showing
pedestrian routes and
access points for the
territory
x Plan showing the
boundaries of the
Northern Warehouse
186 competitions
187 competitions

ILYA MUKOSEY: CONSULTANT'S AFTERWORD
Ilya Mukosey: architect,
head of mukosey
: architecture /
design / media, curator
of ARKH Moskva
since 2019
t Plan indicating
problems on the
territory
interview: Ekaterina Liphart
Do you think the foresight event has achieved its goals?
I take this foresight as the first step. We can say that we managed
to break the ice. When they asked me to participate, I
immediately wondered: ‘Can you really do something with the
Strelka’? It turned out that that you can. The main thing is that
this stereotype was, if not broken, then a little bit bent out of
shape.
How long might it take to implement such an idea?
For example, uncovering the warehouse foundations may not
take much time. Most time-consuming will be getting the
proper permits since the scientific quarter is an historical
monument. Time will also be needed for an archaeological
survey and comprehensive planning. The technical side of the
matter can be done relatively quickly.
Let's recall what's going on with the Moscow Polytechnic Museum,
where they’ve also uncovered the foundations. They promised
to open it just before the start of the pandemic, but this has
yet to happen. When working with heritage, even in the very city
centre, no one is immune from surprises. So the most optimistic
forecast is five years from the moment the decision is made.
To begin with, as an experiment, you can work with a small
portion.
The participants' include a lecture pavilion in their proposal. As
a pilot project we could put this into play.
By the way, yes. That could be done quickly and without much
coordination, as Vera and Petya from KATARSIS managed to
do in the Nikolsky Market.
However, I am not quite sure that there is a need for exactly
such a pavilion as it's been currently designed. Perhaps
this needs a separate competition, or at least the current version
needs serious refinement. The main issue is whether or
not the courtyard will be open to the general public, and so
far this hasn't been settled. If the pavilion is used only by researchers,
then it will be hard to argue for its social significance.
If the public is allowed, then there will have to be a
long series of approvals from both the Academy of Sciences
and at the city level. This may take several years.
The foresight project is intended to put the site into action at
the invitation of citizens. Do you think such openness will interfere
with the life of these research institutions?
Of course there is a part of scientific life that is best done
without participation of the general public. There are secret
experiments, some experiments are potentially dangerous.
Let that happen somewhere out there, in the depths of the
laboratories. But, besides, the people that do science are
ready to let visitors into almost any of their laboratories when
it's appropriate to do so.
What needs to come out is the educational theme, the story
about what it is scientists are doing. And there is no education
without the public. In general, the standard approach
should be this: the more transparent the scientific workplace
is the better. This also applies to the university site, which is
now fenced off. Besides, this is a good place to take a stroll
and hang out.
There is a large field for experimentation here and, if all project
stakeholders show the same level of flexibility as the Institute
of Macromolecular Compounds of the Russian Academy
of Sciences, with which we worked during the foresight event,
temporary projects can be done without serious investment.
This is what is called ‘tactical urbanism’: only take steps that
are reversible and then see if things don't improve. If they do,
then think about what it takes to consolidate your efforts.
The foresight event took the first step – ideas were put to
paper. The second step is a real experiment.
The habit to displace scientific and educational institutions to
the suburbs is a problem, as we see with the university. In your
opinion, will the proposal of the foresight event participants
help to consolidate existing institutions here?
A lot of strong science is being done in Russia, but few people
know about it and even fewer people believe it means anything.
We have to attract attention to it so we ourselves can begin
to believe it. The easiest way to do this is when science is ‘at
hand’. Anyone walking around the city centre can walk into the
block in just about the same way as they would go into one of
the industrial zones that have since become creative clusters.
Science must remain at the centre of events. Moving to a
quiet suburb is permissible only when there is nothing left to
prove. We still have to sell our point, to ourselves first of all.
Since the late 1980s, we’ve been hearing that Russian science
is poorly funded, there is little money in it, usually not enough
equipment. But the main position seems to be that scientists
are just engaged in some sort of nonsense. We have to try very
hard to change such a stereotype. To do this, the daily work of
scientists needs to be showcased. Then young people will be
more willing to try their hand and, in general, the socially-accepted
image that we give to a scientist will change.
What reference-points have inspired you while you were working
on the project?
We illustrated the interior concept with a collage based on
Pavel Pepperstein's design from his exhibition ‘Man as a
Frame for Landscape’ held in 2019 at the Garage Museum 1 .
Capsules turned out to be relevant concept: in our case, ‘new’
science is placed in them. They, in turn, are immersed in the
historical interior.
As for more complex architectural and urban planning parallels,
we considered a number of scientific districts in major
European cities. But our project has no direct match among
them. 2 Our story is unique.
DESIGN & TECHNOLOGY
ARCHITILE
ZODCHESTVO
ABD ARCHITECTS
KNAUF
VYBOR
ALEDO
Notes:
1. The exposition design was made by the Italian-Russian Grace bureau
under the leadership of Ekaterina Golovatyuk.
2. Nevertheless, the organisers specified a number of analogues in
the terms of reference, including the Knowledge Quarter in
Liverpool, Think Corner in Helsinki, Pierre and Marie Curie
University Campus in Paris, among others.
188 competitions

Yuri Khitrov director
of ARCHITILE
North-West
It is obvious that brick is an absolutely eco-friendly material;
but most large projects in big cities actually erect a reinforced
concrete frame, insulate it, and then lay over a brick façade.
Which is to say, this is a multi-layered type of masonry where
most of the ecological benefits of this material are lost. Brick
construction is breathable, maintains a comfortable environment
in terms of humidity as it takes away excess heat and
moisture.
The trend toward ecology is there in the market and all the
builders that use brick talk up its properties. However they
don't mention that it's laid over a frame of reinforced concrete.
In any case, this certainly doesn't do any harm to the
structure and does add some ecological value. In many cases
a reinforced concrete frame is used while the whole volume
of the wall is laid with a brick. Then it is insulated and a beautiful
brick facing laid on the outside. This technology allows
you to quickly build houses and at the same time get an environmentally
comfortable living space. This is because the wall
gets the whole benefit of the material so the room doesn't become
a sealed casket, as is the case in an entirely reinforced
concrete building.
In other cases, unfortunately, brick merely plays the role of
ornamentation. Architects talk a lot about this: for example,
Sergey Choban, as part of his course on the ANFI platform, devoted
an entire lecture to the quality of building materials and
their application in modern projects.
In addition, one should mention the ecological advantages
that come out of making brick. No harm is done to nature,
because brick is a completely recyclable material and it can
be safely reused for further construction. Even if the house
was demolished, and not dismantled, you can still use broken
brick as an underlying layer. It does not have to be specially
disposed of, unlike polymer façades that only get twenty
years of shelf-life. Brick can be a hundred percent recycled
and be safely disposed of. The hazard class of waste is an imt
x Elbphilharmonie
— Hamburg
Concert Hall, 2017
THE BRICK AGE OF ORNAMENT INTERVIEW WITH YURI KHITROV
interview: Vladimir Frolov;
transcription: Anna Rybalka
photos are provided by Yuri Khitrov
Yuri, the company ARCHITILE is an active player in the St. Petersburg
market. Is it possible to say that in recent years our city
has seen a quantitative increase in brick consumption?
I started working with brick around 2013. Since then consumption
has not changed radically in quantitative terms,
but statistics will speak about the use of bricks in general –
both as a building material for load-bearing walls, and as
façade facing for a range of projects in residential parts of
St. Petersburg and in the Leningrad region. In Petersburg's
historical centre, brick has practically never been used. You
can count on your fingers the number of completed projects
on Vasilyevsky, Krestovsky, or Petrograd Islands. And they
used fairly simple shapes, colours and textures. This was
partly due to the fact that Russian factories could not produce
any interesting façade material, and imported materials were
significantly more expensive. If they did use imported bricks,
then, as a rule, they bought the most basic varieties made in
Estonia or Latvia.
Recently, with the average improvement in the quality of
life, the cost per square metre in the city and in region, the active
promulgation of information about Western design via
the Internet, international travel, a course has been outlined
for the use of more expensive and high-quality façade material,
brick included.
Can you name a landmark project in St. Petersburg that might
serve as a catalyst for the development of this genre?
Over the past ten to fifteen years perhaps such a project
would be the Four Horizons residential complex created
by Grigoriev and Partners 1 . Out of the examples of brick
architecture in the city we've mentioned, this one is clearly
the leader – and one of the most significant buildings of the
decade in general. The complex is located at the intersection
of the Sverdlovsk Embankment and Piskarevsky Ave., where
the Okhta Paper Mill (in Soviet times the Vozrozhdenie Textile
Mill) was previously located. The architect and developer
managed to create a splendid building from an architectural
point of view while keeping a sense of the place with redmottled
brick on the façades and by preserving the factory's
brick water tower.
One of the iconic objects in St. Petersburg is Gerasimov
and Partners' Venice building on Krestovsky Island. It is better
known as the "House of the Griffins" 2 . I think it performs perfectly
its ceremonial, formal role on Krestovsky Island – the
favoured location for the city's crème de la crème – and also
pleases the eyes of the public walking in the nearby park.
Has it come clear to you what sorts of differences there are in
the way brick is used here and abroad? Judging by the various
awards in the field of brick architecture, we can say that the
variety of textures and types of masonry in Western practise
is very extensive – and it’s for redevelopment when the use of
handmade brick is especially successful, when you can push off
from the old image.
Europe has preserved production facilities that have been
operating using the same technology for centuries, and so they
still have the option to use an identical product for renovation
and redevelopment. Some old ring furnaces have even acquired
UNESCO status, and they continue to burn bricks with peat or
coal. We in Russia, fortunately, sell such bricks for real connoisseurs,
sometimes even for large developers. In general, many
European manufacturers imitate hand-moulded brick. This
allows you to preserve the texture and apply the same brick
colour in the new building that was once used in the old one.
And this helps the developer and investor preserve the identity
of the place since they don't have to search for some material
for the façade that was used a hundred years ago.
Basically, handmade bricks are not made at all in Russia.
Soviet, and even the most modern Russian factories, are quite
large, yet they produce a standard brick that is very different
from handmade, and this complicates an architect's work.
We have to replace the found material with a simpler type that
doesn't allow us to identify the new object as related to the
historical building we’re familiar with. Such a building is obviously
simplified without the complex masonry patters of
the older form. Meanwhile, Russian factories from the early
1900s were famous for the production of special elements
that allowed them to build interesting façades. Currently, in
the process of renovation and reconstruction, imported bricks
are used – in particular from the Netherlands and Belgium.
An example of such an object is the Grani Multi-Use Centre on
Petrograd Island in St. Petersburg 4 . Three or four floors are
done in old brick and, for the upper two, I chose bricks out of
two factories from two different countries, getting a mix, and
so we were able to come up with more or less similar textures
and colours. Everything was done taking into account the requirements
of KGIOPE (The Committee of State Monitoring,
Use and Protection of Monuments, History, and Culture – Ed.)
Before moving on from technical questions, it's important to
touch on ecology. Brick, as we know, is a "green" material, but
today it is often used in conjunction with reinforced concrete
that serves as the support. To what extent are such solutions
environmentally friendly (especially in terms of their impact on
human health)?
w Bremer
Landesbank building,
Bremen, 2016
v Ecumenical Forum.
HafenCity, Hamburg,
2012
Four Horizons is an example of "redeveloping" a factory site.
This principle is something that came to us from abroad, and
your company has set up a number of educational trips on the
issue, including one to the Netherlands. Can you share your
impressions?
In Holland, as well as Germany, industrial sites are being
turned into large modern residential blocks. But, unlike the
Germans, the Dutch are often more willing to make use of new
materials, combining them with brick and experimenting with
architecture in general. If we talk about Northern Germany,
where there are many docks and port areas, then there continuity
with the historical buildings looks more obvious to me.
In St. Petersburg, such a trend has also emerged, an example
of which is the Docklands block 3 . Here, the customer and the
architect, as it were, transferred the image directly from the
port area of London (called “Docklands”), linking this theme
to the history of the place: there were also once warehouses
on the site. However, they were different in appearance, so
this is a continuity that was created artificially. Other developers
in St. Petersburg in previous years were not so subtle
in their approach to historical heritage. Often, during the
regeneration of old brick factories, façades are mercilessly
faced over with granite or polymer panels, and this robs the
place of its aura.
190 design & technology
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portant factor, and ceramic brick waste belongs to the fifth
hazard class, that is, it's practically safe.
Is it possible to compare 19th century buildings and modern
brick buildings in terms of their environmental compatibility?
If we took a 19th and a 21st century brick building and compared
them, then the modern one would be more environmentally
friendly in terms of energy efficiency, heat preservation,
and energy use, because the load-bearing wall would be more
energy efficient. But from the point of view of the front façade
material, there would be practically no difference, since this is
clay from the same quarries and is fired in the same way.
Is there a difference in masonry mortars?
Masonry mortar can now be coloured, but there are still
architects who do not pay enough attention to this fact, nor
consider that it makes any difference to the customer, and
so on the construction site the client tends to use ordinary
cement. This despite the fact that mortar makes up 20%
of the area of a brick face. And often the colour of the mix
determines the perception of the colour of the façade, which
plays a cardinal role. If we lay the same brick with different
mixes, people may not even understand at all we're using
same brick. We try to help architects and customers arrive at
the right conception.
If we return to the topic of unique bricks and high-quality work
in the material, which buildings in Russia stand out?
If we talk about the largest Russian brick projects, then
Sergey Skuratov's Sadovie Kvartaly (“Garden Quarters”) is
one of the best. And not only in the Russian context, but also
in the context of European integrated architectural solutions
using this brick. Many of Skuratov's projects, for example,
ART HOUSE or Copper 3.14, made their way into the European
professional press because they were conceived and executed
at the highest level. And, if we're talking about Petersburg,
we can mention Docklands again. It is also built at a completely
European level: the complex no different from many of the
best Dutch or Danish projects. This is an example of the use of
a very expensive façade that came from brick out of the oldest
European family-owned factory.
To expand the geography a little outside Moscow and Petersburg:
what signs of growth in brick do you see at all in Russia?
Maybe Kazan, where we summed up the results of the second
Brick competition?
A large number of brick buildings of the highest level are
in the stages of design and implementation in the capital
of Tatarstan, and many architects, including some from
Moscow, are now working on large building sites there. If we
talk about completed projects, then Rostov, Krasnodar, Voronezh,
Nizhny Novgorod are cities where brick architecture
is now much more developed than in St. Petersburg. And,
if previously private houses were mainly built in brick, now
it's multi-storey housing, and public spaces, restaurants,
hotels.
In the south, the developer and architect have more opportunities
to work on complex solutions for the façade. I've seen
many significant projects done entirely in brick over the past
three or four years, and the image is complemented by rustics,
decor, slate eaves or ceramic tiles. If we talk about the
rest of Russia, modern brick architecture is now being actively
pursued in Novosibirsk, Yekaterinburg. Large developers
are building residential complexes, perhaps not with the most
expensive brick, but with good architecture, combining brick,
plaster façades, natural stone, building neighbourhoods and
changing the urban environment.
Let's turn to the Baltic context. You said that Balts had an influence
on the development of brick architecture, at least in our
part of Russia – the North-West – since, apparently, they’ve
preserved some old technical capacities. Have you ever been
there and what would you note in this regard? Both architecturally
and technologically.
If we talk about brick architecture in the Baltic and Scandinavian
countries, it is generally quite restrained. At the same
time, the tradition of erecting multi-storey houses and public
buildings is definitely present. They prefer wood or granite,
natural stone in private housing construction, but a certain
number of brick factories still operate in Finland. Globalisation
has put an end to some of them.
There are still factories operating in Estonia and Latvia,
which are now part of international concerns. Many enterprises
have been modernised in Scandinavia or built anew, taking
into account the market in the Russian North-West. Now
the influence of the Nordic and Baltic countries – in terms of
supplies and, probably, even architecture – has decreased because
interest has shifted towards countries such as Holland,
Belgium, Germany, Denmark, which dictate trends and produce
more complex products in a wide range of colours and in
a variety of formats. But, for a certain period, the Baltic provided
a huge volume of supplies, and entire villages or large
residential complexes, such as the Vasilyevsky Quarter residential
complex of the Mining University, were built out of this
type of brick.
There are places with their own special perception of
what both private and multi-storey buildings are supposed
to be. That is, no one considers a house a house if it is not
made out of brick. In Soviet times, in order to increase the
volume of construction, buildings made of silicate bricks
were taken for brick, though they are, in essence only the
same thing in terms of form. If we take Vologda, for example,
then almost all the houses there are still built of brick. The
cost of housing here is not so influential because Vologda's
brick buildings still cost half or a third of what they do in St.
Petersburg.
For two years now we (Project Baltia and ARCHITILE) have been
holding a Brick Competition and putting together a jury to judge
the designs of young architects, but it’s always made up of
architects from at least two generations. In St. Petersburg, the
age situation is particularly stark, since there are a number of
v Königs Architects.
St. Marien church.
Wangerland-Schillig
(Germany), 2012
architects who cannot boast of a large number of built projects,
yet their designs are already showing serious potential. Is there
something significant in the material this generation uses in
comparison with the older ones entrenched in this sector?
I think there is a generational difference. Established
architects were came of age when they were obliged to
follow the instructions of the developer and the customer
while the younger generation takes brick from scratch as
a real material. They have more opportunities in terms
of working with the form of the façade, with more colour.
And they are often not particularly interested in any other
alternative. They successfully enter the profession at a time
when young, contemporary developers and large, reputable
companies have appeared and are ready to pay for bolder
projects. Young architects have a better handle on what their
European counterparts are doing, including in the field of
brick architecture, they're better versed in the technologies
for building façades, in subsystems, they’re more engaged
with manufacturers, and in that they have an advantage over
middle and older generations. There are young bureaus that
have entered this market immediately with a high-quality
product, studied it and give out a good, reliable result – and
they're asking for just a little less than their more eminent
colleagues. Several threads have converged here: it’s
become possible to use expensive materials, young architects
know them better and aren't looking for the cheapest
compromise. They need good designs to create a name for
themselves. Those who didn't sell out got some great jobs
done and and quickly came into their own.
What has been the most important thing for you in our Brick
Competition?
Firstly, to give young architects the opportunity to be in dialogue
with the professional community. And secondly, it is a
way to introduce architects to the fairly wide range of materials
that we have presented.
For my part, I can say that the competition lets you to better
learn the ins and outs of the material. But, on the other hand,
our participants can raise broader issues in the field of urban
planning and architectural culture. In this sense, the competition
also has a social function. Both Grands Prix – for 2020 and
2021 – set out a particular message for the cities where the
projects were done. And Anna Yagubskaya and Olga Shtyrkova's
residential complex Stena (“Wall”) and Boris Gusev and Elizaveta
Dvorshchenko's Limb have become artistic statements about
the global situation. That is to say that they clearly reflect the
spirit of the times and convey something about development in
of the two Russian capitals.
Last question: what possibilities, from your point of view,
does brick have that are not being fully understood by today's
architect? Where do you see the potential of brick architecture?
Given the vast experience of brick construction at the end
of the 19th century, I would not say that there are not many
large unexplored areas and opportunities for the material.
Rather, I would like to emphasise that there is something
that needs to be rediscovered. And that's the chance to
develop a highly intricate façade, something that takes a
lot of work on the part of the architect who has to also be a
decorator. He has to draft design elements that come out of
the bricks at the factory, and that's the kind of work our European
colleagues do for European architects. Such projects
are rare in Russia. Brick has a wide range in terms of the
production of special elements from which you can create
the ornamentation on a façade. This is now the age of ornament.
What do we see in the design? Decoration everywhere,
decor everywhere.
Of course, this often turns into a prop when polymers
are used, when you tap on the stucco, and you hear it's
empty inside. In the old days, everything was made by
hand from gypsum or plaster, very complex ornamentation,
and it was done in brickwork. Let's remember the columns
of New Holland, or handmade ceramics, tiles, majolica. Today,
all this is gradually returning and, I must say, the leading
role belongs to church architecture. For example, the
Joy of All Who Mourn church on Obukhovskaya Oborona
Ave., which had been blown up, was recreated from handmoulded
German brick 5 . An excellent example of the return
of brick to the contemporary civic architecture is the capital's
Kremlin Museum (NOWADAYS bureau). An object appears
in a new brick interpretation, but in the centre of the
old brick of Moscow.
Notes:
1. See S. 111–113 present ed.
2. See: The Project Baltia. 2014. № 3 (23). Pp. 68–71.
3. See S. 82–84 present ed.
4. See: The Project Baltia 2019. № 2–3 (34). Pp. 82–88.
5. Architects: Alexander von Hohen, Alexander Ivanov, 1896; restoration
project: ASM Group.
u Contemporary
brick buildings in
Western Europe
(facade textures)
advertising
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193 design & technology

CHIEF ARCHITECT OF ZODCHESTVO. INTERVIEW WITH ALEXEY KOMOV
IN 2021, THE CITY OF KALUGA'S CHIEF ARCHITECT, ALEXEY KOMOV, BECAME CURATOR OF THE “ZODCHESTVO” ARCHITECTURAL FESTIVAL.
AS THE FESTIVAL'S META-NARRATIVE THEME, HE DECIDED TO TAKE ON "TRUTH", RECALLING THE EXISTENCE OF ETERNAL, TIMELESS
ARCHITECTURAL CANONS. IN AN INTERVIEW WITH P R O J E C T B A L T I A MAGAZINE, THE CHIEF CURATOR EXAMINES HOW IMPORTANT
DISCUSSION ABOUT TRUTH IS TO THE PRESERVATION OF THE ARCHITECTURAL PROFESSION. HE ALSO SHARES PLANS FOR THE NEXT FESTIVAL.
interview by Yekaterina Liphart
photos are provided by Zodchestvo festival
upon which to make flexible and progressive development.
Without this foundation, everything is brittle and mortifying.
Fifteen special projects were presented at the festival and each curator
interpreted the theme of truth in their own way. Which project stands out
above the others?
Each of them was special, it is difficult to single out any one. The main
thing is that all the pieces managed to fall together perfectly into a single
concept.
I also had my own special project – "Truth in Vocation" – in the form
of an art object "Red Daedalus", made together with Pandora, a unique
Kaluga-based production association.
Lara Kopylova's special project "Truth in the City" comes to mind. The
fact is that in the last decade, the word "city" has come to mean something
amorphous, connected with urbanism, with something small, like
a bicycle-lantern. It's hard to imagine that it's become such a shattered
subject. And Lara’s tried to bring truth back to the great architectural tradition
by concentrating on academic architects and giving the issue a
well-needed reboot. There are four, as I called them, "evangelists", like
those who usually decorate the dome squinches of church naves: two
young (Stepan Liphart and Artem Nikiforov) and two more experienced
(Maxim Atayants and Mikhail Filippov). This project ended up at Gostiny
Dvor – the crossroads of Decumanus and Cardo for the entire exposition.
As in previous projects, we hosted a very cool event that featured not
just the "evangelists", but also Dmitry Barkhin and Grigory Revzin.
In general, each project leaves something to reminisce about. It is very
important to me that the issues touched upon by curators do not end with
the completion of the festival, but continue to live on and develop.
You've also been appointed as the curator of the 2022 festival. What plans?
This year, thirty years of Zodchestvo marks thirty years of the new Russia.
Zodchestvo's current theme is "Reflection". This is a serious philosophical
concept because architecture is a direct reflection of our times
and ways of life. For thirty years architecture, the fundamental meaning of
the word “zodchestvo”, has been reflecting the history of the new state,
as Zodchestvo reflects the architecture of the new Russia itself. It will be
interesting to look at the totality of reflexes to our theme and, having seen
the past, try to see the reflections of what's going on at present.
It should also be understood that this year marks the 90th anniversary
of the USSR Union of Architects as well as 100 years since the creation of
the Soviet Union itself. And here we have to do a lot of digging to find the epochs
and figures that have had particular influence on what we see today.
There are seven large special projects planned for "Zodchestvo-2022"
with the participation of main curators of past festivals that have conceived
the festival's now decades-long traditions.
Aleksey Komov is
a chief architect of
Kaluga, he is the 1st
vice president of the
Union of Moscow
Architects
What for you is truth in architecture?
In one sense, the truth is one and, in another, it can have a
million facets. For me, truth, as in Eastern wisdom, is a shattered
mirror that it's come time to put together. Now there are
an infinite number of unfounded theories that have blurred
the boundaries of understanding good and evil. Over many
centuries the existence of a canon ensured the stability of the
field, and this served as the foundation of a culture.
Today we are at the point of "dehumanisation" of all areas
of life – architecture especially, where the very existence of
creators, and therefore civilisation itself, is under threat. Human
consciousness is then just an error inside the hierarchy
of a virtual machine. Now there is a greater chance than ever
that we shall not be able to preserve the architecture profession
unless we speak out.
The subject of truth I added after the topic of eternity, and
this to me seemed logical. Truth is the necessary foundation
What is the chief curator’s role in the festival? Is it similar to the
role of the chief architect of the city?
I view my role at Zodchestvo not as that of some sort of
creator, but, in fact, as the main architect, even the caretaker
or, rather, the producer that must take into account all
costs and contradictions so that everything eventually works
out. While it's very important to keep from "tooting your
own horn", you still have to be heard. Being curator of such a
large-scale event takes, first of all, great patience and great
wisdom… actually, just what it takes to be chief architect. This
is a responsibility that you take upon yourself and, at any moment
you can and should be able to address whatever arises
during the work process.
An architect is not just about scribbling up buildings: it's
about the ability to structure space and time into a concrete
product, and that is why a real architect can build a house, write
a book, make a movie, play the base guitar and hold a festival.
194 design & technology
195 design & technology

30 YEARS OF OFFICE DESIGN IN PROJECTS BY ABD ARCHITECTS
text: Mariya Fadeeva
The changes that have occurred in office design over the last
three decades are obvious even to non-specialists. Robert
Propst’s traditional offices and cubicles have given way to the
‘agile office’ and the Google office – proof, incidentally, that
relaxation is also part of work. This is merely the visible part
of the iceberg. There have also been advances in utilities systems:
the introduction of smart lighting with new types of
lamps; new approaches to air-conditioning and ventilation;
and more stringent requirements regarding energy consumption
and quality of water.
One of the ways to trace the transformation of the office setting
in Russia is to examine the archive of ABD architects, a pioneering
Russian private architectural practice founded in 1991. At
the beginning of the 1990s, many firms started off by designing
interiors for private homes and offices; there were far fewer commissions
to design public buildings than there are today. While
most architecture firms were keen to switch to designing architecture
proper, ABD decided to develop in both directions. Its
portfolio of approximately 500 projects includes new buildings,
reconstruction of historical buildings, interiors of public zones
in retail and office buildings, and medical establishments. About
half its projects, however, have been offices.
Looking at ABD’s archival photographs from the 1990s to
the early 2000s, we see how clients became used to combinations
of glossy modern surfaces with matt surfaces intended to
demonstrate a business’s respectability. Plastic is not so common
here; the main materials are glass, stone, and finishes in
leather and wood. As in residential interiors of the time, games
are played with multi-level ceilings; exposed utilities systems
have yet to come into fashion. There are lots of horizontal
blinds on windows and in partition walls, creating romantic
chiaroscuro where there is natural light. Partitions are of glass:
a metaphor for transparency in business. An important creative
element on the boundary between industrial design and architecture
is the reception desk, which varies in severity to fit
u Office of the
Mubadala investment
company, 2018
v t Heineken
company office. 2016
196 design & technology 197 design & technology

s Debevoise & Plimpton
LLP law firm office. 2023
w Adidas Home of
Sport office. 2016
KNAUF: WORKING WITH BRICK
a company’s style. At the time ABD’s strongpoint was its ability
to use lines and textures to reflect dignity of business style.
This was the work of an expensive tailor whose suits skilfully
combine a modern cut with traditional fabrics: ABD mainly
worked for foreign companies opening offices in Russia. The
briefs for these projects had worldwide trends built into them
from the start. An important role here was played by collaboration
with the American architect Sidney Gilbert of Architects
Designers and Planners for Social Responsibility.
Russian clients were slower to get the hang of the idea of
self-identification through interior design; at the beginning
of the 2000s 80% of ABD’s clients were foreigners. From the
middle of that 2000s, however, the firm’s Russian clients became
much more numerous. And ABD itself set an example
– by designing its own office in a modern business centre at
prospekt Mira metro station. This interior was a continuation
of the architecture of a small building situated on the edge of
Aptekarsky ogorod. Considerable attention was paid to natural
light in the office; the layout shows that working with commercial
clients does not automatically mean turning the firm
into a factory. This is important: ABD’s designs are tailored
to individual circumstances. They provide a unique response
to the client’s situation – including aesthetic preferences, but
also budgetary, temporal, and technological circumstances.
‘The best projects, as far as I’m concerned,’ says Denis
Kuvshinnikov, director of the department of interior design
at ABD architects (in an interview for a book about the firm)
‘are those in which both the client and employees working
in this space are happy with the result, and we ourselves can
see that the work has been done professionally. Interior design
like this often remains on trend for many years, but that’s
not the main criterion in a market that changes so quickly. It’s
nice when clients ring up some time later and ask our advice
regarding a particular problem. This means we have created
an atmosphere of trust and respect that makes people want to
come back to us and ask our advice.’
In the second half of the 2000s a great deal of interest was
roused, including in Russia, by a study by the American company
Gensler on the office’s influence on the quality of work done
by employees. This study provided a scientific basis for what had
previously been regarded as senseless indulgence: the incorporation
of zones for quiet and active relaxation, comfortable coffee
stations with a homely atmosphere, playful design, etc. For
ABD with its reputation for quality, a reputation earned through
its work for banks, corporations, and law firms, this was a new
challenge. One of its first ‘playful’ interiors was the office it designed
in Moscow for Avito. ABD decided to make yachting the
project’s main theme. So there are sofas in the form of boats,
wooden elements covered in boat varnish, ropes holding up long
dining-room tables, round hatches in metal frames, containers,
fish skeletons, etc. The firm’s architects had custom-designed
elements of projects previously too, but in the interiors they
have designed over the last decade such elements have become
more conspicuous. In its office for the Arabic company Mubadala
a national ornamental pattern was reworked in an ornamental
suspended ceiling consisting of more than 1500 pieces of brass.
Its office for Heineken featured special partitions containing bubbles,
producing an unusual luminous effect. ABD works with
well-known Russian artists. Employees at Citadel business centre
can now admire works by graphic designer Yury Gordon; at
Moёt Hennessy employees pour drinks at a bar counter designed
by Nikolay Polissky. In the concept of well-being being developed
in the west, art objects are just as important as landscaping
or attention to air quality: they create psychological comfort.
ABD is on trend here.
At the same time, collaboration with international giants
in office interior design such as Gensler and HOK is continuing.
Striking looks are by no means everything. Also important
are layout structure and the extent to which the interior design
has been thought through. For instance, the paths for scooters
at the office of Adidas Home of Sport remain unnoticed until
the photographer actually encounters someone with a scooter.
The scooter paths both promote the company’s style and foster
well-being. Adidas’ office is at the Krylatskie kholmy business
centre. ABD also has worked on projects at the Belaya ploshchad
and Metropolis business centres, among others. Most of
ABD’s projects, it should be noted, are in modern buildings with
wide, tall windows – meaning that the urban setting is a visual
element integrated in the overall design of the work areas. Here
we cannot help noticing the similarity between architecture and
interior design in how they construct relations with the context.
In each case this is form which is slightly ahead of the existing
visual codes and yet does not go too far: a tranquil tribute to a
feeling of modernity. There is a telling quote from a report by
the journalist Natalia Shustrova published in Arkhiblog Shu following
the exhibition ‘Lighting, volume, aperture. Photographs
from the archive of ABD architects’: 1 ‘ABD architects undoubtedly
creates a humane environment for the elect – which is a bit
of a pity. But at the same time it sets standards which can become,
like the houses that characterized the Stalinist era, typological
attainments.’ 2
Notes:
1. The exhibition was held on 29 September to 3 November 21 at Tochka
photography gallery (curated by Project Baltia), which is at SHKAF
library and art residence in St Petersburg. Website: gallerytochka.ru.
2 URL: www.forma.spb.ru/archiblog/2021/09/29/fotovyistavka-svetobyom-proyom-30-let-abd-architects
(last accessed: 11.10.2021).
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text: Aleksandr Velikodny
In today’s world architecture keeps step with technological
progress. We are used to seeing buildings of futuristic appearance
and unimaginable forms, yet even in our quickly
changing age classical brickwork remains on trend. Today’s
architects are busy conceiving new interpretations of brickwork
combined with plaster, glass, or even cast-iron decorative
elements. As the speed at which buildings are erected
grows ever greater, architects and builders demand new
technologies to reduce construction deadlines; time spent
laying bricks is now an impermissible luxury. Here we look
at buildings in Moscow and St Petersburg that are examples
of a specific technology offered by the German firm
KNAUF. This technology makes it possible to reduce construction
time while retaining the authenticity of clinker
brickwork.
The first example, located in St Petersburg’s ‘grey belt’,
is the result of renovation of the old depot of the Varshavskaya
(Warsaw) Railway. Consisting of workshop blocks and
a circular building, the depot was built in the middle of the
19th century at the same time as the Varshavsky Railway
Station, to a design by Petr Salmanovich, chief architect of
the Main Society of Russian Railways. From the 1990s the
engine depot was no longer needed for its original purpose
and was used instead to house warehouses and manufacturing
workshops – which undoubtedly did nothing to improve
the condition of its load-bearing structure. Renovation of
the workshops began in 2016 and concluded in August 2019.
The design project for the workshops is by Artem Nikiforov.
The atmosphere of the engine depot was preserved by using
the so-called brick style in combination with cast-iron elements
for the window and door apertures. The brick used
was hand-shaped Belgian clinker brick.
The brick facades are a suspended system. For various reasons
of a technical nature (the load on the foundations, limi-
tations regarding minimal radius), a suspended ventilated façade
consisting of KNAUF AQUAPANEL® with an aluminium
subsystem by Hilti was chosen.
AQUAPANEL® cement panels were fastened onto the aluminium
framework of the subsystem, thus creating a plane
onto which clinker tiles could be glued. For this project the
Belgian bricks were cut longitudinally into three parts, the
middle part was thrown away, and the two faces formed the
brickwork that was glued to the AQUAPANEL®. This approach
made it possible to create an authentic facade without thermal
losses or putting additional strain on the corner areas of
the load-bearing base.
The next example has won many awards in the field of
real estate and architecture. The Art Residence complex in
the centre of Moscow is an elite neighbourhood of nine lowrise
blocks and a synthesis of Constructivism and the popular
loft style. For each of the nine buildings an individual variant
of façade decoration was devised, using materials such
as terracotta coloured panels, hand-shaped clinker brick,
fibre-concrete, stemalite, and natural stone. Understated
facades, precise geometry, metal, brickwork, and strong
chromatic and luminous accents… Here classic London architecture
meets Dutch minimalism, with the addition of details
taken from Berlin.
For this project use was made of the KNAUF AQUAPAN-
EL® suspended façade system to enable facade work to
be carried out all year round – an important factor when
choosing a facade system. The technical brief established
tight deadlines, ruling out the use of traditional brickwork.
A specially equipped workshop was set up on site; here
clinker tiles were glued to AQUAPANEL® Exterior panels,
and the panels were then installed on the façade. The missing
elements of clinker tiling were glued on when the air
temperature had turned steadily positive; the construction
deadlines were met.
s u БЦ «Депо № 1»
Aleksandr Velikodny,
senior manager
for liaising with
architect, North-
Western sales
directorate, KNAUF
v Panel
AQUAPANEL®
t «Точка кипения» ГУАП
198 design & technology
199 design & technology

u Aristokrat
residential complex
Our survey concludes with Aristokrat, a
premium-class club-type house situated at
the intersection of Rublevskoe shosse and
Kutuzovsky prospekt in Moscow. The architects,
Mezonproekt, succeeded in conveying
the cultural spirit and atmosphere of Russian
life at the end of the 19th and beginning
of the 20th centuries. Use was made of a uniform
suspended-façade subsystem together
with a combination of decorative plaster elements
and clinker tiles glued to AQUAPAN-
EL® Exterior cement panels.
s Facade
fragment featuring
clinker panels on
AQUAPANEL (R)
Naruzhnaya
Phone: +7 (812) 718-81-94 (25-751)
Fax: +7 (812) 718-81-94
Cell phone: +7-921-096-48-77
The North-Western sales
directorate, department of OOO
KNAUF GIPS (St Petersburg)
Zagorodnaya ul., 9, building 3,
Kolpino, St Petersburg, Russia
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201 design & technology

LANDSCAPING: YOUR QUALITY FORECAST
The number of manufacturers of children's play equipment increases
every year, and the attractiveness of the resulting product is growing
within a competitive environment. When choosing children's complexes,
many developers are guided not just by the fact that "any
one will do" and "the brighter the better", but by modern concepts
of ecology and functionality. Recreational complexes for adults are
also coming onto the scene with both entertainment and educational
functions.
text: Elena Maslova, Development Director, Vybor-SPb,
Gilana Badmayeva (leading landscape architect of MLA+ bureau)
Recently, the situation in the landscaping market has undergone a number
of cardinal changes. With fierce competition and growing demand
for housing, developers are looking for new, contemporary solutions to
improve the lives of apartment-buyers and to strive to bring out special
details, "hooks", for optimal, functional solutions. Functional zoning
of an area with multi-level landscaping, synchronous application of various
types of coverings, the creation of art objects, work-out stations,
so-called “hubs” of attraction for common recreation, have all become
essential features. In general, this approach can be seen in all classes of
housing under construction.
The range of materials and solutions offered for landscaping also
varies depending on the needs of the market; its segmentation matches
the class of the residential complex being built. Any developer can predict
the costs of landscaping at the initial stage, using the variability of
materials and the possibility of combining them. Let us provide a number
of examples.
Paving
On average, a single square metre of paving with underlying layers
(complete for road construction) can be segmented as follows, according
to housing class:
Garden plantings
Consider one square meter of landscaping (planting and seedlings) depending on the class of housing.
Economy class
600 roubles / sq. m
Comfort class
900 roubles / sq. m
Business class
1 500 roubles / sq. m
Premium class
15 000 roubles / sq. m
Saplings instead of trees
Small seedlings
Trees that can be called trees
Large trees and conifers
Economy class
1 800 roubles / sq. m
Comfort class
4 000 roubles / sq. m
Business class
5 100 roubles / sq. m
Premium class
8 000 roubles / sq. m
One should note that growing competition, requirements for improved
planting material, and residents' expectations are making landscaping
rules more and more strict. People buy apartments to live in a beautiful
place here and now, and arguments of "let the trees grow" don’t
meet with approval. In this regard, any developer needs to properly
evaluate their design solutions and be prepared for additional costs in
making large-scale plantings.
Monocolor concrete paving slabs,
simple form factor
"Colormix" concrete paving slabs, multior
large format
It should be noted that manufacturers of concrete paving slabs are actively
introducing new forms and technologies for processing slabs (washing,
"curling", ageing, etc.). This has a serious effect on the structure of demand
and, in fact, is setting new trends in the paving market. Today there
are dozens of types of paving slabs in different price ranges and for different
areas of operation. Modern types of coatings, characterised by a rich
colour palette, texture and geometry, are able to emphasise the architec-
Clinker paving slabs
Natural granite
tural appearance of a residential complex of any class. The physical and
mechanical characteristics of individual premium types of paving slabs
are close to the characteristics of natural stone and clinkers.
Thanks to the huge assortment and easy adaptation to changing requirements
for landscaping, concrete paving slabs can be a reasonable
choice for residential complexes of any class – from "economy" to "premium".
The concept of "landscaping" is complex, and it implies a number of
measures to create comfortable and safe living conditions for residents.
In general, depending on the class of housing, it is possible to deter-
mine the cost of one square metre of all landscaping, including paving,
planting, children's play equipment.
Children's facilities
Installation of one square metre of children's equipment according to housing class.
Economy class
800 roubles / sq. m
Comfort class
1 000 roubles / sq. m
Business class
3 500 roubles / sq. m
Premium class
5 000 roubles / sq. m
Standard Russian equipment, lack of
landscaping, cheap materials. Landscaping
"for show"
High-quality children's equipment;
inexpensive, but wear-resistant materials;
gardening with small seedlings
"for growth"
Large trees and shrubs, retaining walls
and geoplastics
Large trees and conifers, expensive
materials
* The price is calculated on the basis of the estimated improvement of objects of the corresponding class. The price of premium class objects is taken from open Internet
sources (residential complex "Malaya Ordynka" and "Bunin meadows" in Moscow).
Economy class
800 roubles / sq. m
Standard Russian playground
(large: 1.5 million, small:
200,000 roubles)
Comfort class
1 000 roubles / sq. m
European-style playground fabricated
in Russia (large element: 2.5 million,
small: 300,000 roubles)
Business class
3 500 roubles / sq. m
European-made playground (large
element: 4 million, small: 500,000
rubles)
* The sum of the standard set of elements (three large and 20 small) divided by the average area of the residential complex (1.5 hectares).
Premium class
5 000 roubles / sq. m
Individual development
Summing up, we note that when trying to outbuild competitors, developers
must necessarily calculate the appropriate class of landscaping,
since, all other things equal (location, number of floors, transport
accessibility, etc.) and with low initial costs, surroundings can make
a key contribution to the attractiveness of the residential complex as
a whole. It takes not time to spoil a high-quality example of modern architecture
with low-quality materials and equipment, or a lack of landscaping.
Conversely, it is possible to "primp up" a more economical
class of residential complex through presentable paving, natural materials
in recreational areas, and large-scale greenspace.
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202 design & technology
203 design & technology

IS IT POSSIBLE TO ‘TOUCH’ LIGHT?
A LABORATORY OF LIGHTING
EXPERIMENTS BY ALEDO
Lighting is often called ‘the new construction material’
since it is capable of significantly changing
space and sometimes of playing the decisive role
in establishing the tone or atmosphere of an interior.
But how do you use a material if you can’t
touch and feel it? It can’t be easy. You have at the
very least to understand the principles of how light
works and how it interacts with space, objects, and
human perception. This is the focus of a new lighting
laboratory – aledo light lab at Design District
DAA. ‘The Dark Room’ (which is in fact absolutely
white, but on this, see below) is an experimental
space which will first open its doors to visitors
in May 2022.
The lab’s main objective is educational: aledo’s
specialists will talk about the bases of lighting
design, the principles determining how light
is perceived, and the key rules for designing lighting.
Altogether, there are approximately 160 lighting
devices here, and approximately 80 lighting
scenes have been installed to meet various spatial
objectives.
The idea for setting up the lab was born several
years ago. The thinking behind it is simple: lighting
effects cannot be explained in words; they have to
be demonstrated and visualized three-dimensionally.
On the other hand, aledo’s main philosophy is
to produce and supply ‘lighting, not lights’ – meaning
lighting effects that change space.
‘Our approach to the products we sell is: each
lighting device should tackle thousands of objectives,’
say the company’s representatives.
The lab’s treatment of lighting breaks up into
several parts:
1. Demonstration of key approaches to and
concepts of lighting equipment using the
philosophy of Richard Kelly, the founder of
lighting design. Kelly formulated his principles
way back in 1952. In this section
we work with the object and the volume of
the space and use examples to analyse the
concepts of illumination, brightness, and
perceived contrast.
2. Work with lighting devices and modelling of
various effects on a special stand. The aim
is to show what can be done using specific
pieces of lighting equipment.
3. Experiments with various materials and textures.
This makes it possible at the design
stage of work on an interior to understand
what a specific material will look like when
acted upon by a specific light source or
lighting effect.
‘We are already organizing introductory tours for
architects and designers who are our partners,’
says Artem Yavtushenko, general director of Aledo.
‘Our plans for the immediate future include
training students from architecture schools and
collaborating with design schools in St Petersburg.
This kind of interaction will allow us to promote
the idea that lighting needs to be thought
about at the earliest possible stage in a project –
because artificial light shapes how the interior to
be created will be perceived during the evening
hours. This is why the laboratory has white walls
and no furniture. Even such a minimalist space
changes considerably when different lighting scenarios
are used.’
Aledo’s laboratory encourages people to treat
lighting as an effective instrument for transforming
space and shows that natural modelling of light
should be standard practice when working on a design
project: no research carried out on paper can
replace real experiments.
Access to the lighting laboratory is by preliminary
arrangement.
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204 design & technology
205 design & technology

ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN
AMD Architects
AMD Architects specialises in
designing technological buildings
and interiors, innovation
and science centres, and modern
museum spaces. Our thorough
knowledge of design and planning
methods (BIM, SCAD), possession
of an array of licences,
and the fact that we have our own
manufacturing facilities enable
us to take a rounded and systematic
approach to non-standard
design briefs.
+7 981 688 21 16
amdarch.com
ARK-house Architects
ARK-house Architects offers architectural
design services of every
type and scale. The office has
extensive experience in the design
of housing, public buildings,
renovations and urban planning.
Pursimiehenkatu 26 C 53
00150, Helsinki, Finland
Tel: +358-(0)9-774 24881
Fax: +358-(0)9-774 24888
www.ark-house.com
Arkhitekturnaya masterskaya
B2
Architectural and general design
of residential and public buildings
– from sketches to working
drawings. Urban planning, including
projects for site layouts
and site boundaries.
Naberezhnaya reki Smolenki 33,
St Petersburg, Russia
+7 812 610 28 84
arch@amb2.ru,
b2_arch@mail.ru
INTERCOLUMNIUM
architectural bureau
Town planning, design of residential
and public buildings,
tech nical documentation.
Bumazhnaya ulitsa 15,
office 715, St Petersburg, Russia
+7 812 703 12 33
info@intercolumnium.ru
www.intercolumnium.ru
KATARSIS ab
KATARSIS ab is a St Petersburg
architectural bureau. Design
of small urban buildings, public
spaces, and private country
houses.
+7 953 370 90 72
arch-katarsis.com
arch.katarsis@mail.ru
Kirsti Siven & Asko Takala
Arkkitehdit Oy
Sustainability and ecological
aspects belong to our tools in
making timeless architecture
responsive to various needs
and functions. Innovative designs
and solutions are realised
in competition entries (over 40
prizes), sharpened and perfected
in practice.
Korkeavuorenkatu 25 A 5 00130,
Helsinki, Finland
+358 9 686 01 60
toimisto@arksi.fi
ludi_architects
Architecture, urban design, object
design, concept design, interior
design, public and museum
spaces, exhibitions. We have
won prizes in Russian and Finnish
architecture and design competitions.
+7 921 755 51 78
+7 812 336 40 10
lu@ludiarchitects.com
www.ludiarchitects.com
SLOI ARCHITECTS
In making sense of the context,
we try to make the building a
self-sufficient system in which all
elements are connected to one
another. For us good architecture
is always a delicate mechanism
in which aesthetics and elegance
of design are combined with development
of detailed technical
solutions encompassing everything
from the moment of the
building’s construction and during
its use.
191040, Teatralnaya ploshchad 12,
room 33, St Petersburg, Russia
+7 911 235 79 52
sloiarch.com
valentin.kogan@sloiarch.com
TOBE architects
We shape the environment of our
new life. Shaping the environment
for a new life. We specialize
in: master plans and environmental
design and architecture.
+7 995 890 40 44
tobearch.com
t.me/ab_tobe
mail@tobearch.com
PROFESSIONAL UNIONS
The St Petersburg Union of
Architects
Bolshaya Morskaya ulitsa 52,
St Petersburg, Russia,
House of Architects
+7 812 312 04 00
arcunionspb.ru
SAFA
Malminkatu 30,
Helsinki, Finland
+358 9 5844 48
safa@safa.fi
www.safa.fi
The Union of Estonian
Architects
Pohja pst 27A,
10415 Tallinn, Estonia
+372 611 74 30
info@arhliit.ee
www.arhliit.ee
Architects’ Association of
Lithuania
Kalvariju 1, Vilnius,
Lithuania
+3705 275 64 83
info@architektusajunga.lt
architektusajunga.lt
MATERIALS
ARCHITILE
ARCHITILE has more than 10
years experience in selling
bricks and brick-look tiles in
Russia. Our company is the exclusive
Russian dealer and official
Russian representative of 14
factories from Germany, Denmark,
Holland, Belgium, and
Russia. We do everything in our
power to give you the chance to
buy the exact brick which your
project deserves at the best
possible price for you. We offer
bricks to suit any project, be it
a dacha or a luxurious mansion.
You can see all the types of brick
and the latest new products at
our unique showroom in the
Docklands loft district on Vasilyevsky
Island.
Naberezhnaya Makarova 60,
str. 1, St Petersburg, Russia,
197022
+7 812 910 35 55
unique-bricks.ru
ENGINEERING
ASTAL
ASTAL is a structural-engineering
firm which designs loadbearing
structures and foundations for industrial,
public, and retail buildings
up to 25 storeys high. We
also design prestressed cablestayed
steel structures.
Ulitsa Marata 20, St Petersburg,
Russia
+7 812 438 38 45
+7 950 034 90 95
astal.spb@mail.ru
www.astal.spb.ru
LIGHTING
aledo
Technical lighting company in
St Petersburg. Production of architectural
and interior lighting
fixtures and professional realisation
of technical lighting design
projects.
Design District DAA,
3 rd floor, section Е3 087
Krasnogvardeyskaya ploshchad
3, St Petersburg, Russia
+7 812 448 58 49
+7 800 555 56 72
info@aledo-pro.ru
INTERIOR
Crane Design
Crane Design is a creative space
which brings together a unique
collection of retail brands, including
more than 100 leading
European manufacturers of bathroom
fittings, tiles, furniture, and
lighting. Our showroom consultants
have a close knowledge of
all the latest new products and
the technical aspects of manufacturing,
installation, and use.
Each day, we find inspiration in
our work with world-class suppliers,
which is why we are ready
to inspire you to perform feats of
creative interior design.
+7 812 507 88 44
info@crane.design
crane.design
BOOKSTORE
Podpisniye Izdaniya
Family bookshop in the centre
of St Petersburg, established in
1926. We focus especially on intellectual
literature: classic and
modern fiction in Russian and
other languages. Come to us for
the first book in the Library of
Diogenes series: Zametki o trude
by Leonty Benois (published by
Project Baltia).
Liteyny prospekt 5,
St Petersburg, Russia
+7 812 273 50 53
podpisnie.ru
hello@podpisnie.ru
MUSEUM
Memorial apartment of Leonty
Nikolayevich Benois
This venue has been created
by descendants of the architect
Leonty Benois. Alongside old artefacts,
here you can see pieces
of contemporary art made by
members of the Benois family.
Tours of the museum, including
an in-depth account of the history
of this artistic dynasty, are
given by the museum’s keeper,
Anastasiya, the architect’s greatgreat-granddaughter.
Almost
every evening, the apartment is
a venue for classical music, lectures,
and other cultural events.
+7 921 965 75 50
vk.link/piterklass
206 catalogue
207 catalogue
реклама

PROJECT BALTIA
Review of architecture and design from Estonia, Finland, Latvia,
Lithuania, and North-West Russia
No. 37: 2–4/2021 – 1/2022
Publisher: Balticum Publishing House
Director: Vladimir Frolov
Project manager: Darya Shekhovtsova,
dsh@projectbaltia.com
Editor-in-Chief: Vladimir Frolov, vf@projectbaltia.com
Editorial board for this issue: Artis Zvirgzdins, Tarja Nurmi,
Triin Ojari, Evgeny Lobanov, Liutauras Nekrosius,
Danil Ovcharenko, Elizaveta Parkkonen
Correspondents: Elizaveta Parkkonen,
elisaveta@projectbaltia.com; Danil Ovcharenko,
ovch@projectbaltia.com; Karina Kharebova,
karina@projectbaltia.com; Liza Strizhova
Translations: John Nicolson, Walker Trimble
English-language editor: John Nicolson
Literary editor and proofreader: Andrey Bauman
Design project: Yelena Bovicheva
Photography: Alisa Gill, Alexey Bogolepov
Layout, pre-press: Yelena Bovicheva
Website: editors@projectbaltia.com
Advertising: info@projectbaltia.com
Competitions: competitions@projectbaltia.com
Cover design uses a painting by Yulia Malinina
from the Distopolis series, 2002 (2018, oil on canvas).
juliamalinina.com
Distribution in Russia: Project Media
Moscow: proektmedia.info
St Petersburg: House of Architects, Bolshaya Morskaya ulitsa 52,
office 2. +7 812 640 21 92
Distribution in EU: info@projectbaltia.com
The Russian version of the issue is printed
by the Lubavich printing house, St Petersburg
Print run: 1,000
Full or partial reproduction of texts or illustrations
without written permission from the editors is
prohibited.
Opinions expressed by individual authors do no not necessarily
coincide with those of the editors.
ISSN 1994-9367
s Yulia Malinina.
Distopolis.
The 3 rd etude,
2019
Ink, feather, colour
pencils and acrylic
on paper
On p. 1:
Yulia Malinina.
Distopolis.
The 42 th etude. 2020
Ink, feather, colour
pencils and acrylic
on paper
On p. 149:
Yulia Malinina.
Distopolis.
The 16th etude.
2020. Ink, feather,
colour pencils and
acrylic on paper
Address:
Bolshaya Morskaya ulitsa 52,
office 15N, St Petersburg,
Russia, 190000
+7 812 640 21 92
balticum.ru
info@projectbaltia.com
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vk.com/projectbaltiamagazine
Instagram: projectbaltiamagazine