A Significant Second Life

               “A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on” – this quote by the late former US President John F. Kennedy is perhaps the most prolific case for the prevalence of adaptive reuse and recycled architecture. At its core, our profession lives and dies by creating new ideas and willing those ideas to life – although, we not only will new ideas to life, but also preserve those important pieces of the past that mean so much in the present. Adaptive reuse and recycled architecture are the architectural expressions of the quote by Mr. Kennedy – men have died, nations have risen and fallen all over us, but the built ideas that they have left for us, the society they have gifted us (whether good or bad) has lived on. Our profession has been given an immense responsibility to ascertain which of these old structures must stand the test of time – the built ideas that encompass architecture are, after all, one of the greatest gifts they could have given – they created wondrous cities filled with various cultures all to progress our society forward.

 

               Although it is interesting to note that even though ideas have lived on, some built ideas have perished to the immemorial enemy of all, that is time. Time has beaten some of the buildings and historic places that we hold dear. The problem, therefore, is that no matter when a building was created, however good or however bad the execution is, the building has a life cycle – in economics, the structures we create are classified as products, these structures and buildings being by-products of our profession. In economics, there is a theory that pertains to this life cycle – the Product Life-Cycle Theory posits that a product’s life has 5 stages: Introduction, Growth, Maturity, Saturation, and Decline. Translated architecturally, the 5 stages go a little like this: you conceptualize and design the initial concept, you develop the concept further, you get your design built, your initially original design has now found new iterations created by different designers, then your design is made obsolete by the new advancements and iterations stemmed from it. From that rough translation, it would seem that every building’s purpose and life will end once it becomes obsolete or dilapidated – however that shouldn’t be the case. In this regard, adaptive reuse comes to the rescue – adaptive reuse adds a sixth step in this cycle which I like to call ‘Reinvigoration’.

 

Professional knowledge dictates that once a building has been deemed in decline, we architects have a professional responsibility to understand the original intent and ideation of the structure and to ascertain if we can destroy the structure with minimal impact or if we have to breathe new life into it. Take the Elbphilharmonie, for example – Elbphilharmonie, designed by HdM, has quickly become one of the most iconic pieces of architecture in the modern era. The design reflects the principles and ideals of HdM in a very obvious way and the history of the building is something out of the adaptive reuse manual. While the warehouse’s history stretches back for decades, it didn’t truly have any historical impact other than the fact that it has been a staple of the area for quite some time. The intervention introduced by HdM not only saved the life of this building (thereby preserving its quiet history) but also allowed them to create a juxtaposed mix of the old and the new. Another example of brilliant use of adaptive reuse is Thomas Heatherwick’s Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa in Cape Town, South Africa – the museum was located in an old grain silo, upon losing its usefulness, the building was supposedly on the brink of demolition when the project was created - a brilliant piece of modern architecture with immense cultural significance stemmed from something that was deemed on its deathbed. Finally, the Tree of Life inside the National Museum of Natural History in Manila, Philippines – this example is the one closest to my heart, I always used to see this piece of architecture whenever I went to and from college (where I was studying architecture). The Tree of Life (designed by Ar. Dominic Galicia) was created as a rebirth project to an old and under-utilized government building turned museum. Since the museum was going to house natural history, the courtyard located in the middle of the building was instead incorporated into the interior with this massive sculptural tree the canopy of which doubled as the roof. Long story short, the modern take of the sculpture paired with the historic significance of the revitalized building created a piece of architecture that would serve as a symbol of what architects in the Philippines could emulate – since the Philippines has a lot of these old and under-utilized structures, the design fulfills an iconic secondary purpose.

 

These example projects that I have given all reinforce the idea that buildings need a step 6 in their lifecycles and that adaptive reuse has truly saved some antiquated ideas and has given them a new life – a significant second life at that.

 

Idea and conceptualist, building and designer are all relationships that demand a bond – an immense and irrevocable need of both creator and creation to will new things to life. Sometimes, the thing that we must create, the new idea that we have to summon from our minds, is attached to an old building – something that society has deemed purposeless. This perhaps is one of the best things about our profession – we can respect the work, architect to architect, while also adding our unique flavor and design identity to it. I’m irrevocably sure that the original designer or creator of the warehouse that is now part of Elbphilharmonie envisioned that their old piece of work would be the foundation of an iconic piece of modern architecture more than 100 years after its creation. I also doubt that Daniel Burnham imagined a modern canopy on one of the buildings he imagined when he designed Rizal Park back in his day. Of course, Adaptive Reuse wasn’t a thing back in their day but it is a great thought experiment to think about the magnitude that adaptive reuse has contributed to our profession and our progeny – we have successfully found a way to bring dilapidated buildings back to life. Furthermore, it is a relief that the practice of Adaptive Reuse does not require the 100% restoration of a structure – it does, however, require that the original intent and ideation are made apparent within the new confines and purpose of the building.

 

Who would’ve thought that architects would be one of the first professions to bring back old mementos, and old things, to life – who would’ve thought that a profession that loves creating new things would be so attached to adding to important structures instead of ruthlessly destroying them? As I’ve laid out, adaptive reuse isn’t just for old important buildings – its uses are too great for it to focus on just these important historic buildings. Buildings that have lost their purpose through unfortunate obsolescence should also be given some love in this area. It’s something to think about really – adaptive reuse is the key to giving dilapidated, unwanted, and neglected buildings a significant second life, or maybe even a third, who knows?