Financial Times, February 23, 1997, p. IV.
Renaissance echo in Roman saga
Jennifer Grego gives an example of why Italy's architects
prefer to take their talents abroad
Genoese architect Renzo Piano, one of Italy's best-known
exports, modestly refuses to be drawn on a direct
comparison with his 15th century compatriot, Brunelleschi.
But Piano's struggle to convince the Rome authorities that
his acoustically sophisticated concert hall will stand up
echo Brunelleschi's to persuade the reluctant Florentines
that his dome would not collapse.
One thing is certain, claims Piano: Brunelleschi's
revolutionary Roman-vaulted wooden structure for the dome
of Santa Maria dei Fiori would never be approved in modern
Italy.
The new auditorium, or concert hall, to be designed by
Piano for a run-down site in north-west Rome, looked like
being a project as exciting as Brunelleschi's. It had been
hailed in February last year as the symbol of Italy's urban
renaissance.
The concert hall was to mark the sloughing off of the last
traces of the ugly Tangentopoli (Bribesville) scandal,
which had paralysed the construction industry. It was to be
a test case for architectural competence getting its just
reward after more than a decade in which the profession was
more concerned with pleasing politicians and construction
companies than good professional practice.
No one can fail to notice just how many of the best talents
of a country which invented architecture (in classical
times) and re-invented it with Alberti in the 15th century,
have preferred to work abroad. Piano, author of more than
40 key public buildings around the world, is a prime
example.
The Auditorium Saga, as it has come to be known, started in
September 1994 when Piano's design for a concert hall for
the city was chosen from those provided by a small invited
group of international competitors.
Rome has managed without a decent-sized concert hall for
more than 60 years, ever since the old Augusteo was
destroyed in 1936 as part of Mussolini's efforts to
modernise the city. Its resident symphony orchestra, the
Santa Cecilia, has since had to make do with rented
"temporary" premises in Vatican City.
Officially commissioned by the city council in November
1994, the completed project was submitted to the
controlling body. the Consiglio Superiore at the public
works ministry, for approval. Piano provided 3,000 drawings
and 60 pages of explanation of his complex design involving
three separate halls: a 2,700-seat one for symphony
concerts; another seating 1,200 for chamber and
contemporary music: and a smaller building for experimental
music and a large open-air performance space. It would cost
Lira213bn (L79.09m).
One of the most compelling features was to be the three
curving scarab-shaped roofs made of "laminated" wood (legno
lamellare), designed in close collaboration with Helmut
Muller, the German acoustics expert. Minor modifications
were required and Piano obliged.
Then, in November 1995, as tractors began ploughing up the
muddy site to lay foundations, the remains of an important
villa complex dating back to the 7th to 6th century BC came
to light.
The problem of dealing with archaeology is common in Rome,
but often leads to hold-ups of months, if not years. In
this case, the matter was resolved in just eight weeks,
Piano himself being astonished at the co-operative attitude
of the normally severe archaeology department.
He agreed to move one of his halls to allow the villa to
become part of the project and, if all goes well, drinkers
at the bars will be able to admire the Roman remains during
the interval.
In September last year, another 3,000 working designs
incorporating the villa were presented to the works
ministry body. Then, on January 26, the bombshell exploded.
Wood, the Consiglio thundered, could not be used as a
roofing material, as it was not listed as suitable for
public buildings according to a law (No 64 and about 20
years old), under which the body operates.
It immediately toned down its remarks, turning them more
into a criticism of calculations made by Piano's office,
which it believed threatened the stability of the building.
But its first outburst had already caused a public furore.
Piano flatly refused to alter his project and won support
from other distinguished Italian architects, such as Gae
Aulenti and Vittorio Gregotti who, like Piano, have done
most of their best work outside Italy. His anger was not
surprising since he had provided 600 drawings of the roof
alone 18 months previously (working under stricter but more
up-to-date German rules).
As architect of buildings from the Beaubourg in Paris (with
Richard Rogers) in the 1970s, to the recently opened Kansai
airport at Osaka, which withstood the disastrous 1995
earthquake without so much as a cracked window, Piano was
unlikely to bow to such out-dated rules.
A neutral observer can recognise that this was more a case
of over-dramatisation, than of one side being clearly right
or wrong. What could have been a perfectly amicable
discussion ended up being conducted under a public
spotlight.
As Mario Docci, head of the architecture faculty at Rome
university and a member of the Consiglio, moans: "In our
country, every debate becomes a row, and everything is
maliciously misinterpreted to serve personal or political
ambitions."
Given the determination of the city council and the
architect, the auditorium will almost certainly go ahead
once the fuss has died down. The mayor has his prestige
staked on the building as one of the main pieces of
architecture for the Jubilee year of 2000.
And the debate has been all the more acrimonious as the
auditorium is the most important piece of modern
architecture to be built in the city since Nervi's
Palazetto dello Sport - created for the 1960 Olympics. But
it is the sort of row that scarcely encourages members of
Italy's dispersed architectural fraternity to hurry home in
search of work in their own country.
[End]
Renaissance echo in Roman saga
Jennifer Grego gives an example of why Italy's architects
prefer to take their talents abroad
Genoese architect Renzo Piano, one of Italy's best-known
exports, modestly refuses to be drawn on a direct
comparison with his 15th century compatriot, Brunelleschi.
But Piano's struggle to convince the Rome authorities that
his acoustically sophisticated concert hall will stand up
echo Brunelleschi's to persuade the reluctant Florentines
that his dome would not collapse.
One thing is certain, claims Piano: Brunelleschi's
revolutionary Roman-vaulted wooden structure for the dome
of Santa Maria dei Fiori would never be approved in modern
Italy.
The new auditorium, or concert hall, to be designed by
Piano for a run-down site in north-west Rome, looked like
being a project as exciting as Brunelleschi's. It had been
hailed in February last year as the symbol of Italy's urban
renaissance.
The concert hall was to mark the sloughing off of the last
traces of the ugly Tangentopoli (Bribesville) scandal,
which had paralysed the construction industry. It was to be
a test case for architectural competence getting its just
reward after more than a decade in which the profession was
more concerned with pleasing politicians and construction
companies than good professional practice.
No one can fail to notice just how many of the best talents
of a country which invented architecture (in classical
times) and re-invented it with Alberti in the 15th century,
have preferred to work abroad. Piano, author of more than
40 key public buildings around the world, is a prime
example.
The Auditorium Saga, as it has come to be known, started in
September 1994 when Piano's design for a concert hall for
the city was chosen from those provided by a small invited
group of international competitors.
Rome has managed without a decent-sized concert hall for
more than 60 years, ever since the old Augusteo was
destroyed in 1936 as part of Mussolini's efforts to
modernise the city. Its resident symphony orchestra, the
Santa Cecilia, has since had to make do with rented
"temporary" premises in Vatican City.
Officially commissioned by the city council in November
1994, the completed project was submitted to the
controlling body. the Consiglio Superiore at the public
works ministry, for approval. Piano provided 3,000 drawings
and 60 pages of explanation of his complex design involving
three separate halls: a 2,700-seat one for symphony
concerts; another seating 1,200 for chamber and
contemporary music: and a smaller building for experimental
music and a large open-air performance space. It would cost
Lira213bn (L79.09m).
One of the most compelling features was to be the three
curving scarab-shaped roofs made of "laminated" wood (legno
lamellare), designed in close collaboration with Helmut
Muller, the German acoustics expert. Minor modifications
were required and Piano obliged.
Then, in November 1995, as tractors began ploughing up the
muddy site to lay foundations, the remains of an important
villa complex dating back to the 7th to 6th century BC came
to light.
The problem of dealing with archaeology is common in Rome,
but often leads to hold-ups of months, if not years. In
this case, the matter was resolved in just eight weeks,
Piano himself being astonished at the co-operative attitude
of the normally severe archaeology department.
He agreed to move one of his halls to allow the villa to
become part of the project and, if all goes well, drinkers
at the bars will be able to admire the Roman remains during
the interval.
In September last year, another 3,000 working designs
incorporating the villa were presented to the works
ministry body. Then, on January 26, the bombshell exploded.
Wood, the Consiglio thundered, could not be used as a
roofing material, as it was not listed as suitable for
public buildings according to a law (No 64 and about 20
years old), under which the body operates.
It immediately toned down its remarks, turning them more
into a criticism of calculations made by Piano's office,
which it believed threatened the stability of the building.
But its first outburst had already caused a public furore.
Piano flatly refused to alter his project and won support
from other distinguished Italian architects, such as Gae
Aulenti and Vittorio Gregotti who, like Piano, have done
most of their best work outside Italy. His anger was not
surprising since he had provided 600 drawings of the roof
alone 18 months previously (working under stricter but more
up-to-date German rules).
As architect of buildings from the Beaubourg in Paris (with
Richard Rogers) in the 1970s, to the recently opened Kansai
airport at Osaka, which withstood the disastrous 1995
earthquake without so much as a cracked window, Piano was
unlikely to bow to such out-dated rules.
A neutral observer can recognise that this was more a case
of over-dramatisation, than of one side being clearly right
or wrong. What could have been a perfectly amicable
discussion ended up being conducted under a public
spotlight.
As Mario Docci, head of the architecture faculty at Rome
university and a member of the Consiglio, moans: "In our
country, every debate becomes a row, and everything is
maliciously misinterpreted to serve personal or political
ambitions."
Given the determination of the city council and the
architect, the auditorium will almost certainly go ahead
once the fuss has died down. The mayor has his prestige
staked on the building as one of the main pieces of
architecture for the Jubilee year of 2000.
And the debate has been all the more acrimonious as the
auditorium is the most important piece of modern
architecture to be built in the city since Nervi's
Palazetto dello Sport - created for the 1960 Olympics. But
it is the sort of row that scarcely encourages members of
Italy's dispersed architectural fraternity to hurry home in
search of work in their own country.
[End]