Thanks to esteemed colleague Mr Buhr, who kicks off this new SLAB Collection with the above photo he recently submitted. This series will probe the challenging aesthetic dimension of damage in modern façade design, and in doing so will debunk the authority of the surface in contemporary architecture. It will also be good for a whole bunch of laughs.

Let’s go at this one layer for layer. First there’s the smeggy, cream-cheese surface treatment; the exterior equivalent of anaglypta wallpaper and just as soul destroying. Below this a chalky crust of hardened powder has been adhered to a flimsy aluminium mesh, underneath which everything becomes rather obscene looking. I should imagine that the mud-encrusted anus of a Merino sheep is not dissimilar in appearence.

Judging by the subtle dent in the blue metal surface, this is probably a door frame which has been rear-ended by some motor vehicle or other. The resulting scar is a vulgar reminder of what is keeping modern homo-sapiens safe from the elements, and poses the quesiton of whether or not we are happy for our most visible of art forms to appear as if it has been congealed rather than composed.

→ The “Modern Façades Today Now” Collection

Was it thermal expansion by sunlight?  On the east, a clustering of events along the left edge seemed to confirm this. Thermal differentials of materials – cooled by night, then heated by the morning sun – were perhaps here the highest. The southern surface showed a much more uniform distribution of incidents, with a more gradual increase in surface temperatures before exposure to the sun. Inward surfaces without direct solar exposure displayed no incidents.

The observed increase in events at human height between the aluminum profiles is attributed to the frequent posting and removal of bills.

There’s so much Berlin crammed into this scene. For those not well aquainted with the city, let’s go through the picture point for point, and then not draw any conclusions.

1) The burnt bin: a recurring motif in the city. The bin is a great target for the hobby arsonist. They produce tonnes of thick black smoke, and a whole neighborhood can stink like hell for days afterwards. Recently though, Porsche Cayennes and VW Tiguans have become the objet du jour for a new breed of semi-professional arsonist, who reason that torching cars is a legitimate political act which will help bring back low rents to gentrified neighborhoods.
2) If the bin is pushed against the wall of a freshly rennovated building before ignition, it’s possible to melt away the polystyrene foam cladding and leave a crust of plaster dangling in front of a narrow cavity. Old brickwork is exposed, and a temporary canvas for street artists is revealed.
3) The daubed number 6 and the yellow smiley are the work of graffiti artist ! 6-_-.4rtist.com#-_-. Rumor has it, that ! 6-_-.4rtist.com#-_- is a friendly 46 year old with a robust collection of 500 vandalism charges.

Sometimes though, the whole city seems like a giant Zwischennutzung. The 18.000 square meter recreational lawn which has replaced the Palast der Republic is a case in point:

Berlin: a bustling lawn metropolis of 3 million people

The adage about life imitating art carries little weight in Berlin where there is often no clear boundry between the two. As structural interventions go, there is little aesthetic difference between the wooden gangways in the lawn ‘project’ shown above, and the improvisational ‘necessity’ of shielding pedestrians from the falling plaster of an unrennovated building, as shown below. The only real difference is in their formal reception.

Sturdy measures taken in the name of art, health and safety

Both phenomena are temporary. They are things which get done before Something Else happens. But they open up an exciting grey zone, where artistic appraisal may be applied to utilitarian ventures. If someone had said to me that the debris catcher currently being built on Gormannstraße was a feeding station for giraffes, and therefore ‘an artistic intervention in public space’, then this would have been equally plausible.

Act I. Scene III.
Interior. An architect’s office. Late at night.
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Famous Architect: We need to consider location, when thinking about materials.
Associate: Indeed.
FA: And we’ve already commited ourselves to light green curtains.
A: A tricky one. Remind me, where will this hotel stand?
FA: On the site of the old Bavarian brewery, in the St. Pauli district of Hamburg.
A: I see.
FA: The brewing of beer, and the drinking of beer …
A: … and urinating afterwards.
FA: Very good! Keep it there! Let’s stay with urine … You piss up a corner on the way home from the pub and … Oxidization!
A: Oxidized bronze!
FA: Better yet: glass-bronze – it sounds fancier.
A: Fuck yeah!
FA: The glass-bronze cladding gets urinated upon by boozed-up students and left-wingers in protest against gentrification …
A: … it oxidizes, turns green …
FA: … and then matches the curtains in the cocktail lounge.
A: Perfect.
FA: I’m not shit-hot and famous for nothing, you know.

The Empire Riverside Hotel, Hamburg.
David Chipperfield Architects.

Photos: Chipperfield Architects/Rik Nys [top]; DDP [above], via Berliner Morgenpost

The work has been criticised by some for fetishising war damage. But the old and the new have been sensitively intertwined. Homegrown critics always misunderstand that the whole point of Berlin is that it’s history’s freakshow. And Chipperfield should be commended for giving Berlin something with dignity and honesty.

The New Museum is so called, because it was completed in 1855, and is slightly newer than Berlin’s Old Museum, which was completed in 1828. The former shouldn’t be confused with the New National Gallery, which opened in 1968, and the latter shouldn’t be confused with the Old National Gallery, which was completed in 1876 but is younger than the New Museum. You follow? Shit just swings that way in Europe.

One concluding observation though: this temporary ticket office is clearly the most exciting piece of fully contemporary architecture on Museum Island at the moment.