Column: Lessons from the past. The ancient politics of adaptive reuse.

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If you have ever been to Italy, you will have come across, at some point, examples of that charming mash-up of styles and building materials from different ages that forms part of the country’s iconic visual identity.

Those perfect-imperfect facades scattered with reused Roman bricks, odd sections of marble columns, capitals or bas-relief, quietly celebrating and embracing asymmetry and oddity while remaining characterful and true to local archetypes.

Ironically, perhaps, those buildings, unknowingly embraced Wabi-sabi long centuries before it became an obsession appropriated by Western culture. Most importantly, they adopted reuse foundationally, long before circularity became a blip on our collective horizon.

Adaptive reuse in antiquity would not have often meant the full repurposing of a building, but it would have certainly entailed extensive ‘recycling’ of anything from decorative features to key structural elements.

During Roman times, reuse was often the result of a widespread economy of means and resources that looked to optimise energy, cost, time, engineering and labour in a landscape where machinery as we know it, did not exist, and construction had an incredibly high human cost.

The adapting of existing parts was minimised, and components were reused just as they were, with new construction being moulded by the constraints of the old.

Over time, across centuries and civilizations, reuse became incredibly lucrative to the point that laws had to be established to regulate trade and prevent the acquisition and demolition of buildings for parts.

Famously, Roman Columns were integrated in the colonnade at St. Peter’s Church in the Vatican, with some components, research shows, coming from unwanted stock made to work within the entirely new and majestic vision for the church.

As much as there is a beautiful and fundamental pragmatism to ancient reuse, politics and religion have often become intertwined with it.

From the fall of the Roman Empire to the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and as far forward as Second World War and the rise of fascism, the reuse of ancient ‘Spolia’ often came to signify asserting political dominance, expressing a claim to power and even legitimising ideologies and State propaganda.

During the often-violent rise of Christianity, pagan temples were stripped of their sacred symbols, to carry new iconography and solidify Rome’s new Christian worship.

So as much as architectural spoils had an incredible practical value, they fed a narrative of violent conquest and appropriation.

This, I feel, is the fundamental difference and opportunity we are faced with today.

Inventiveness in the face of material scarcity, the avoidance of use of virgin resources and minimal intervention should become fundamental frameworks for design in our contemporary quest to lessen the impact on the planet.

But the greatest lesson from the past, in my opinion, is one of appreciation and celebration.

Sensitive reuse is imbued with the possibility for cultural relevance, sense of place and identity. It’s a link to community, memory and it can ground a design and help to retain vital landmarks in the fabric of a city. It can be transformative and inject new vibrancy.

The results are designs that are ‘crafted’ rather than being simply built.

Inherently, as we develop the tools to refine adaptive reuse, we collectively need to accept an approach to ‘slow design’ where buildings assets are discovered, analysed and reutilised with conscience and sensitivity, appreciating that designing in longevity and relevance takes time.

Whether adopted at an architectural level or at a more elemental scale by designers and makers, reuse generates permanence, longevity and challenges the paradigm of disposable perfection.

Our thanks to Chiara Cantilena for sharing the first instalment of her new monthly Design Insider column.

Credit Nicholas Worley Photographer. 

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