Scars and Mutilation of Restoration

A topic I've long wanted to address, but never found the right platform for, fits perfectly in this blog. Specifically, the scars and mutilations resulting from the restoration of medieval architecture. Beyond the methods deemed necessary for repairing deteriorated structures, I hold a distinct perspective on this which I'm eager to elucidate and substantiate.

old photo from the origional structure and the new build in 1905

Ever since I developed an interest in old architecture, I've noticed that there's a broad interpretation of how to appropriately restore or repair an old building. The city where I grew up, where I spent countless hours wandering its historic center, has always left me with numerous questions about the sometimes careless restoration approaches. From an early age, delivering newspapers through the city, my youthful curiosity was piqued by the histories behind many of its buildings. The city's long shopping street, lined with ancient structures, always had a magical allure.

There was a particular building that felt cold and impersonal, despite its grand façade. Its location was peculiar, not adjacent to the main street. I'd pass by it every week. While some buildings oozed history, others failed to inspire me in the same way. But this one structure, trying so hard to appear majestic, elicited no emotion. Years later, I stumbled upon a book with a captivating painting of that same building on its cover. The disparity between the painting and the building I knew was stark.

Book cover showing a painting of the "Old Orphanage"

That moment of realization was a profound one in my life. Without formal education or external influence, this book showcased the pure essence of creation. Comparing the book's image with the real thing, it became evident that something strange had occurred. The building had been relocated and was no longer on the main road. The reconstruction was flawed; where the book depicted a powerful and dominating structure, the actual building resembled a lifeless statue. Back then, with no knowledge of construction materials or techniques, I could only judge based on instinct. And that intuitive judgment remains a tool I employ to this day in assessing a building's authenticity.

Over time, I unraveled the story behind the building. It's called the 'Old Orphanage' from 1616. Until 1905, it sat by the road, but to accommodate a new church, the street was redesigned. The decision was made to dismantle the orphanage and reconstruct it a few meters back. The restoration included molding concrete replicas of the original sandstone ornaments. The new stones, while aligned correctly, were too modern, giving the edifice a neo-renaissance feel. The structure's current upright posture contrasts with its original inclined stance over the street.

We're talking not just about restoration scars, but a complete mutilation of a structure. It's a dire outcome in the realm of preserving old buildings. Demolition can at least leave behind memories captured in photos or paintings, but mutilation is often more egregious. The original was a symbol of rich history, its sandstone ornaments signifying purity and uniqueness. Its replica, however, feels cold and lifeless to passersby. Replacing sandstone with concrete is akin to sacrilege; while concrete symbolizes modernity, sandstone embodies purity and distinctiveness. Its relegation to a corner feels like a historical injustice.

This approach seems like the vendetta of a modernist against Dutch Renaissance prominence. The city lost one of its rare jewels to this mutilation. While this is an extreme case, even minor modifications can significantly mar a building's aura. Even today, in the zenith of modernism, we often remain oblivious to such scars. Partly because we deem them unimportant, but more tragically, our senses have become so desensitized that we often overlook them. I'll elaborate on this phenomenon in a future piece.