Due to the constant renovation and rebuilding in Berlin, many projects are not permanent, but artists tap into this chance to experiment with an evolving and living city. Many projects directly address the changing cityscape by building add-ons, creating temporary architecture or greening-up areas that were formally wasteland. NYARTS
In Berlin, not far from Alexanderplatz, a bulldozer is noisily demolishing a wall, adding red glass shards to a pile of rubble, a pile that is slowly growing larger than the building that is being destroyed. This is not an unlikely scene in a city that, until recently, was known as the largest construction site in Europe. But this particular building is highly contested and historically charged—the location not only of the Prussian castle (badly damaged in World War II and later blown up by the new East German Government), but also the Palast der Republik or parliament building of the German Democratic Republic that was built on the castle’s foundations.
After reunification, it was discovered that the Palast was ridden with asbestos, and after a lengthy cleaning process and much more debate, it was decided to demolish it entirely and to rebuild the original castle in its original style, an repugnant act of Disney’s “imagineering” and what the then Councillor Schröder called, “a choice of the beautiful over the ugly." But, for many, it was another way of whitewashing one more, somewhat benign building in Berlin’s history.
In 2004, thanks to the work of think tank Urban Catalyst, the gutted building (by then not much more than a skeleton of glass and metal ) was given over to cultural organizations to use during the interim stage, which breathed new life into its walls. Literally hundreds of artists participated in a variety of exhibitions, performances and concerts. For “The Berg,” a mountain was built inside and above the building. Norweigian artist Lars Ø. Ramberg placed three-story-high letters spelling out the word “Zweifel” (the German word for Doubt), on the rooftop for his installation. It symbolised the growing feeling of apprehension about the building, and Berlin’s future urban panning incentives. The final exhibition, “36 x 27 x 10” in December 2005 was arranged at the last minute and, although it only lasted for nine days, it managed to bring together art world heavyweights like Olafur Eliasson, John Bock, Angela Bullock and Olaf Nicolai. The demolition has now finally begun, and any interested voyeurs can currently watch its day-by-day destruction via on the Senate’s website.
This example of cultural squatting is not an isolated case and, here in Germany, a name has been given for it—“Zwischennutzung.” Directly translated, it means "between use," and describes the temporary use of buildings or spaces whose future is, as yet, undecided.
Another example of Zwischennutzung was the “Blinkenlights” project in 2002, initiated by über-hackers The Chaos Computer Club. Using the then vacant Haus der Lehrers building, they were able individually to illuminate each window, like a pixel, and they transformed the 12-story structure into a giant computer screen. Simple animations, SMS and even interactive pong games were displayed in larger-than-life format.
Due to the constant renovation and rebuilding in Berlin, many projects are not permanent, but artists tap into this chance to experiment with an evolving and living city. Many projects directly address the changing cityscape by building add-ons, creating temporary architecture or greening-up areas that were formally wasteland. Many go a lot further than the simple layering seen in the stencil art and graffiti that has long been an unmistakable plug-in of the streets here.
It’s also in the places away from Berlin’s gentrified inner city, a few more trains stops than one would usually go, that a different kind of urbanism can be seen. Outside of Berlin, the large socialist housing blocks are also becoming vacant as people move to the bigger cities in a phenomena known as “shrinking cities.” For the art project “dostoprimetscatjelnosti,” 55 young architects, designers, artists and students from 17 countries moved into one of these buildings for three months in summer.
There they created temporary works, such as a giant sundial using the shadow of the building and chalk markings on the surrounding parking lot. Depending on where the shadow fell, one could tell the time from a bird’s eye view. The redundant doors were also used to design a new chair, called the Dosto Chair.
In the Marzahn area of East Berlin, 75 old kindergartens and school buildings currently stand empty. Studio UC and Klaus Overmeyer operate in “the challenging field of urban development, characterised by eclectic transformational processes.” As part of their “Space Pioneers and Neuland” project, they are offering up these empty spaces for camping, horse riding and urban gardening.
It is not just the buildings themselves, but the spaces in between—the gaps—that are being utilised. Architects Kenny Cupers and Marcus Miessen refer to these gaps, in a book by the same name, as "spaces of uncertainty." For Phillip Oswald from Urban Catalyst, they are “the residual.” These redundant spaces often follow the route taken by the Berlin wall, a scar running through the city centre. Here, one finds caravan communities living in brightly coloured wagons. On another spot, a sports park has been built for skateboarding and BMXing, transforming this former death strip into one of leisure. There are ad-hoc parks, dog walking areas and urban farms. And, of course in summer, due to the kilometres of excess vacant riverside land, Berlin’s shoreline is transformed into a myriad of beach bars by simply depositing sand and scattering a few umbrellas. Sometimes temporary architectonic projects become permanent, like the “Badesciff,” a swimming pool jutting out over Berlin’s Spree River. Part of an experimental competition, it will now be sealed off in winter and will offer a heated spa.
Artists Harry Sachs and Franz Höfner have also used the former no man's land of the Berlin Wall to build a mini-city for bees. The project—“Honig Neustadt”—currently houses around 500,000 bees and produces ecologically controlled honey too. The wonderful landscape architects Atelier le Balto (Berlin/Paris) plant temporary gardens, often unofficially around Berlin. “Where is the garden” lasted all year long, and involved planting trees and flowers in unkempt areas and holding events in the summer. Recently, they designed a series of three gardens—a plant collection; an exotic garden and a cocktail garden—all in the old market area of Kopenick.
The organization Urban Drift has also been important in showcasing the work of these artists and architects. Through festivals, seminars and exhibitions, founder Fransesca Ferguson has successfully crossed the lines between, art, architecture and design, creating a platform for a new genre of urbanism.
So, while Berlin battles with the financial burden of being the capital, and the desire to build and upgrade is seen on every corner, there seems to be a never-ending supply of forgotten and empty sites. Berlin is still not finished—it is not new and the cranes will remain for a long time more, but the feeling of possibilities here is infectious.
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