DERELICTION

//by Jose Luis Garcia del Castillo y Lopez//
 * DERELICTION**

In architecture, as buildings are objects created by man, they are usually erected to be inhabited by man. It is in their full use and maintenance that architecture stands at its greatest splendor. Or at least, that is the most accepted convention. But, although architecture is meant to be lived, there are plenty of reasons that can break this relation: obsolescence, budget, comfort, disaster, fear... all of them making the building not apt for its purpose anymore, and hence leading to one of the most interesting states in architecture: //dereliction//. This research will go through a variety of case studies where the disappearance in architecture is manifested in the //presence of time// and the //absence of humans//.

Although some other reasons may apply, the main cause for the abandonment of an architectural object is usually related to it failing in serving its function anymore, may the building not be apt for it any longer, or may the function have simply changed. And this becomes interesting, since the first stage in the //disappearance of architecture// is marked by //the disappearance of man//. This should probably make sense, since architecture is an artifice of mankind.

It is this disappearance, the absence of man, which provokes an incredible fascination in us. Our environment is so full, so saturated with ourselves, we are so present everywhere… that the contemplation of space designed to be fulfilled, but suddenly void of our presence is perceived as a unique experience. This is the main focus of **Thomas Jorion**’s work. Through his research and travels, he documents contemporary abandoned structures covered with a heavy layer of damaging and decay, in the pursue of bringing images of familiar environments to the viewer transformed by the disappearance of its natural inhabitants. This experience becomes extreme in **Alan Weismann**’s book ‘The world without us’, or the **History Channel** series ‘Life after people’, both non-fictional science speculations on the hypothesis of a sudden vanishing of mankind from earth, and its consequences over our built environment.

This fascination for human-free conditions is also in the foundations of our attraction to nature. Again, we are so exposed to human presence in our daily environments, that we are eager to experience not only those that have been devoid of us, but also those that have never been exposed to. The romantic movement in the 18th century grew as an opposition to the rationalism and scientific approach of the Age of Enlightenment, emphasizing the human need to manifest its irrational roots in the form of extreme emotions, passionate love, violent encounters, far away travels, etc. **Caspar David Friedrich** was one of the maximum exponents of this movement in painting. A dark palette, dense atmospheres, deep dusks, lonely figures, wild nature, architectural ruins... all of these were his techniques to mastering the evoking of the most intangible of the emotions, such as eternity, supremacy, infinity, melancholy, nostalgia, and finally, materializing a notion as elusive as the course of time. Notorious is also the case of Friedrich’s coetaneous John Soane, and more precisely, of his master draftsman **Joseph Gandy,** whose technical skills were crucial in building Soane’s reputation as one of the best architects of his time. Gandy was an expert in the art of watercolor, light and perspective, and a visionary who lived up to his time’s taste of romanticism. He exceled in bringing Soane’s design alive as colossal monuments in idyllic environments, or as showcased collectible objects in a georgian living room. But his most renowned works are the designs he made for the Bank of England, and in special, a series of drawings of how he envisioned the aging of the building, eventually emphasizing the majestic and beauty of the ruins it would leave behind.

But what is the origin of our fascination for abandoned buildings? One of the reasons is the effect of //physical embodiment of time.// Due to erosion, dilapidation, decay, aging... the building in its process of disappearance becomes a tangible manifestation of the course of time, which becomes imprinted in the agent's character. It is almost as if time became a physical layer that wrapped and stuck to the object, merged with the materiality, and formed a very thin and delicate coating that could be immediately corrupted by human presence again. But there are also some other factors related to this effect: the longer we perceive this passing of time, the stronger the rise of emotions related to what we associate to the mystery of the object’s disappearance. We become engaged in the //speculation// on the original condition of the building and what led to its current state; we are seduced in the //rediscovery// of the forgotten, and we find ourselves filled with the //rush// of appropriating of this discovery before the disappearance of the building may become absolute. It is these feelings which games like **Tomb Raider** are based on: the attractive of exploring long forgotten ruins and discovering the secrets hidden under a thick cloak of time.

The course of time can also greatly affect how we conceive architectural design. There are situations where emphasis and explicit use of //time becomes the main design tool//, such as in Carlo Scarpa’s **Brion Cemetery,** where porous concrete, stainfull steel, dense vegetation and shallow ponds were his resources to turn this construction into time-sensitive, willing to create architecture that would transmute itself and evolve into a richer state. The opposite is also true: //freezing the course of time// as an architectural design purpose. Lots of reasons may lead to the decay of a building, such as a natural disaster –the collapse of the **Convento do Carmo** in Lisbon during the 1755 earthquake-, destruction in armed conflicts –the complete wipeout of the **old town of Belchite** during the Spanish civil war- or simply abandonment of a building for safety reasons –the pillaging and slighting of the **Jedburgh Abbey** in Scotland. But no matter how dilated or instant the process of dereliction might be, the new state of the building can often raise a new attention due to its transformation, and be subject to intervention where, without reverting it to its original state, the process of decay is halted, and the building is brought back to a new life after death. And even sometimes, the effect of the abandonment and decay on architecture becomes so relevant, so glorified, so sought after… that there are examples of //new built architecture designed to emulate dereliction//, like the **Ruinenberg** in the Sansoucci Park, near Berlin. Also in the romantic taste of the époque, the complex was built as part of a landscaping project commissioned by Frederick the Great, and was erected as the background of the main viewing axis behind his summer palace, intentionally designed and built to already look like an ancient ruin.

Finally, of great interest is how derelict architecture, in its embodiment of time, can constitute a //present presence of the past// for communities they belong to. In their origins, but also in the manifestation of their life and struggles, they became a physical link with people’s roots, and in their disappearance they generate engagement as cultural inherited objects. Although many reactions are still possible. The **mining legacy** in the region of Linares (Spain) is a perfect example of how a landscape of abandoned industry can become a sign of identity for a whole community. Because of the abundance of these abandoned structures and how recent the cease of their activity was, this vast complex of infrastructure has still not reached the level of cultural heritage and protection that it probably requires, but in their accelerated process of disappearance, the people of Linares is ever more raising awareness in the need of conserving these icons as part of their identity. On the other hand, examples as the collection of **yugoslavian commemorative sculptures** erected by Josip Tito all around the country are significant in how the link with the past can be broken for political reasons and how these objects became devoid of significance, while still standing as living witnesses of a very recent past, in a still undetermined state of attention. Or examples of how the rise of engagement can lead to active and passionate community movements, such as the efforts to save the theaters in Detroit, of which the **Michigan Theater** is an unfortunate example of a lost battle.

Our fascination with disappearing architecture comes from emotions deep within, such as fascination, nostalgia, character, mystery, speculation… all of them active engagers. But although this commitment should definitely be praised, it seems as it should also be desirable for non-derelict architecture. Is time so evasive to the process of design in architecture, or is it just the value we add to it because of its uniqueness?

......................................................................................................................................................................................................... media type="custom" key="15668160" http://weburbanist.com/2011/01/01/detroits-michigan-theater-the-worlds-most-beautiful-parking-lot/
 * Project Presentation:**