The dilapidation of the modern

 

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During a recent visit to several of the new capitals in the countries of former-Yugoslavia, I came across several magnificent post-war buildings. Some better kept than others, and particularly in Bosnia-Herzegovina the period represented by these buildings, is allowed to decay without much notice.

It is raining in Sarajevo. The surrounding mountains prevent the clouds from drifting on, and the rain seems to continue with no ending. The raindrops clinging onto the facades of the new shopping centres make the buildings appear sparkling and smooth. Almost as shimmering fish catching rays of sun. But in among all this contemporary flashiness, I come across a small modernist building. It is very dilapidated and far from smooth any longer, although it is clear to see that it once was. Back in 1963, when the architects Boris Magas and Edo Smidhen built it to house the Museum of the Revolution (now it is The History Museum). At that point, the marble-cladded facades must have seemed very smooth and yet soft to the hand. The tactile satisfaction you almost only find in natural materials.

The building’s volumes play with the tension between the enclosed and the open, and are raised from the ground on a marble plinth. The ground floor is glazed and on top of this a large marble box is balanced, and an overhang, sheltering the entrance door, accentuates the drama of a heavy stone box on top of a light glazed wall.

It might almost be blasphemous to compare this building to Mies’ Barcelona Pavilion, however certain elements seem to mirror this iconic edifice. But where other buildings merely copy, this building interprets and repossesses the suspense between glass and stone, constellation of separate volumes, the directional guiding of views and the crispness of Mies’ attention to make a building appear segregated from its surroundings and at the same time make a near invisible threshold.

The entrance of the Museum faces away from the main street and a crumbling staircase leads up to the raised ground level. Here, the tiles are broken and from every missing corner and the gap, weeds shoot up. There is something almost romantic about this patina – about how nature slowly accomplishes what was spared the building during the siege.

Upon entering the building, the view is directed onto the enclosed courtyard, in which old cannons are displayed in among the over-grown grass. A remarkably elegant staircase leads up to the first floor, the only space now used for exhibitions. The rest of what appears to be a very spacious building is closed up. Up here, the space is lit by rooflights, providing an indirect natural light. A closer look at the roof reveals the dilapidated state of the museum, which becomes very visible around the rooflights. The concrete roof deck is heavily crumbled and the steel reinforcement is ominously noticeable in several places. This is a stark contrast to the exterior, where the slow process of disintegration seemed almost romantic. Inside this is just a sinister sign of an imminent collapse.

However, not even a progressed disrepair masks the understanding of the architectural intentions and beautiful detailing of this building. The change of materials is carefully planned and every transition between the different spaces adds to the experience of the architecture. The building is world-class architecture, although amongst the down played versions. There is no screaming or shouting, only solid architecture that focus on space and spatial experience.

Due to very unfortunate a gap in the Bosnian-Herzegovinian constitution, little hope for the country’s cultural institutions is left. Most have already been shut down, and as our little gem, they are left to the natural process of decay. It is hard to understand why, in a country without any significant coastline, culture is not regarded as an investment – a way to cater for a different segment of tourist – tourist not interested in sniper-street, Franz Ferdinand tours or other tourist attractions playing on the country’s troubled past.

by Runa Mathiesen

If you want to learn more about the Culture Shutdown in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and possibly offer support, visit here