March 2024
Breakdown
57/03
Breakdown
Our world is constantly breaking down, from our bicycles to our phones, to the buildings we live in and the ecosystems that make up the planet. We are constantly engaged in preventing things from falling apart or putting them back together after they have failed. Ten years ago, STS scholar Steven Jackson asked, “What happens when we take erosion, breakdown, and decay, rather than novelty, growth, and progress, as our starting points?”1 In the last few years, this provocation has been picked up by architects, artists, and academics across numerous fields. It demands that we pay close attention to the impact of our actions, but most importantly, it allows us to reconsider how we approach urgent and complex challenges, from the reuse of waste, to the environmental impact of construction, to climate change. An outlook on the world that begins with breakdown or failure brings practices of maintenance, repair or salvaging to the forefront, and questions architecture’s longstanding obsession with novelty.
Editorial team
Nathan Döding, Stefan Gzyl, Karolina Krajčíková, Sem Verwey, Maja Liro, Joost Hoepman
With contributions from
Tijs Reijer van der Eng, TJ Rivera, Casper van Engelenburg
Cover design by
Editorial team
Editorial
Our world is constantly breaking down, from our bicycles to our phones, to the buildings we live in and the ecosystems that make up the planet. We are constantly engaged in preventing things from falling apart or putting them back together after they have failed. Ten years ago, STS scholar Steven Jackson asked, “What happens when we take erosion, breakdown, and decay, rather than novelty, growth, and progress, as our starting points?”1 In the last few years, this provocation has been picked up by architects, artists, and academics across numerous fields. It demands that we pay close attention to the impact of our actions, but most importantly, it allows us to reconsider how we approach urgent and complex challenges, from the reuse of waste, to the environmental impact of construction, to climate change. An outlook on the world that begins with breakdown or failure brings practices of maintenance, repair or salvaging to the forefront, and questions architecture’s longstanding obsession with novelty.
Seen in this critical light, ‘Breakdown’ seems like a logical follow-up to ‘The realm of comfort’, the theme of Bnieuws 57/02. As humans, we dedicate immense energy and material to create environments where we smoothly fit in, erasing discomfort and all (good and bad) that comes with it. Instead of continuing along a path of numbness and ease, issue 57/03 takes a detour and explores other possible outcomes. Our journey begins in Turkey, where Tijs Rijer van der Eng’s photo-poetic essay looks at daily routines and rituals that help individuals and communities carry on amid collapse, in this case the aftermath of the earthquake in Antakya (page 4). Back in the Netherlands, Karolina Krajčíková shines a spotlight on the sanitary team of BK. Through a photo essay and interviews, we realise their constant fight against breakdown (page 10). Joost Hoepman takes a critical look at the state of contemporary Dutch architecture, responding to Aaron Betsky’s claims that it has become persistently more boring (page 12). Maja Liro takes us to Warsaw where she unravels how the memories of this city can be found in the rubble within its grounds (page 16). Nathan Döding delves into the (fading) soul of Rotterdam as a working-class and rough city, as preserved in the stories of elderly residents of a nursing home in Delfshaven, Rotterdam (page 20). Stefan Gzyl looks at the film ‘Inside’ as a metaphor of breakdown and considers the film’s impact on his own fieldwork in Caracas. Material residues of an old world, he tells us, are always the raw matter out of which the next one is created (page 24). Then, TJ Rivera takes us to Antwerp, where cruise ships functioned as sanctuaries of liberation and acceptance for gay men in the 1950s (page 28). Finally, Casper van Engelenburg invites to stay focused and centred in his review of The Zen of Climbing (page 30).
[1] Jackson, Steven. “Rethinking Repair.” In Media Technologies: Essays on Communication, Materiality, and Society. MIT Press. Cambridge, 2014
Contents
Pen Pal
4-9
pg.
“To be forgotten in these sad times is not unusual - What is depressing, is the lack of consolation” - Lady Murasaki in The Tale of Murasaki
In the aftermath of collapse, and in the regenerative phase that follows, how does one seek moments of distraction? How does one remain sane? How does one subtract oneself from collapse's harsh reality, even if it is only for an instant?
10-11
pg.
When 3000 people pass through doors, toilets and hallways every day, breakdown is certain. For such cases, maintaining a place becomes just as important as its construction. Bnieuws spoke with the cleaners of BK, who are in a never ending battle against breakdown. What are their tasks, where do they come from, and is the job ever done?
From the editors
12-15
pg.
Have we lost our ability to explore the future with curiosity and imagination? Somehow it feels like our buildings are becoming more and more the same, even though we live in a time when we are finally aware of the great diversity of people and ideas. Why don't we see this revelation reflected in the buildings we make? Is it true that, out of fear of making mistakes, we have stopped daringly experimenting? It seems like a new crisis has occurred: our imagination is lost!
From the editors
16-19
pg.
"Our ghosts are the traces of more-than-human histories through which ecologies are made and unmade."
- Anna Tsing, 2017
After the end of the Second World War, one of the first sights encountered by residents returning to Warsaw were burnt walls and “a desert of debris”. Ruderal vegetation quickly began to transform the rubble, initiating ecological succession - if left alone, in a few decades a forest would grow on the ruins of the city1.
Instead, thanks to the work put in by the residents, the debris got transformed into the man-made ground of Warsaw as we know it today. Visual traces of ruin and violence, when embedded within the landscape, operate at both archaeological and infrastructural levels. Architectural wreckage thereby reads as a palimpsest of hybrid transformations performed by both mankind and nature.
From the editors
20-21
pg.
There is a certain soul to Rotterdammers that you can’t find anywhere else. As a result of the city’s industry, a Rotterdammer is tough, cold, but honest. In recent years however, this working class nature of the Rotterdammer is being replaced for the more intellectual yup. Nowhere is this more evident than in Delfshaven, shared by workers, immigrants, and students. In this melting pot of cultures, one place holds ground as the living archive of a city’s soul: the nursing home. What follows are short stories, representative of that soul, loosely inspired by real interactions I had from the 5 years I worked there. Names have been changed for anonymity.
From the editors
24-27
pg.
Collapse is not only an end-of-world stage but marks beginnings and opens possibilities for familiar objects. It is a state where old values crumble, and only some things endure. This article explores these ideas by weaving a film review into lived experiences. What can architecture learn from film and art about what we preserve? What lives through mundane acts of preservation?
Pen Pal
28-29
pg.
Introducing the Queer City Series, an enlightening exploration of queer histories interwoven within urban landscapes globally. Our first destination? Antwerp - a city steeped in cultural richness and layered narratives. Let us journey back to the enchanting era of the 50s, where cruise ships evolved into sanctuaries of liberation and acceptance for the queer community, transcending their utilitarian roles to symbolize resilience amidst societal constraints.