Tension and Tears: Holocaust Memorial by Peter Eisenman

Arial Perspective: Getting lost in your emotions

 Tension and Tears

Placed in the center of Downtown Berlin, Germany is the “Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe” to honor the life and death of the victims of the genocide which was the Jewish Holocaust of the 1930’s and 40’s. In 1998 an architectural competition was held and Peter Eisenmans design was selected from a pool of well-known architects, however the project wasn’t finished and dedicated until 2005. Before the project was completed there were years of controversy for its banal and undecorated design. After the projects dedication most of those controversy’s diminished, however architecture like this is experienced best through an open mind and unbiased opinions.  

I chose to focus on this project because of its strong, yet simple use of emotion and unsettled wonder. Designed to be a space of tension from the normal everyday world, this project allows the user to walk through a maze of solid rectangular concrete slabs, weaving through a grid of both the unknown and the interesting. Tessellated in height these volumes act as a “wave” in elevation as they cross a sloped terrain, gradually changing the perspective of the nearest juxtaposed slab. An area of interstitial movement which doesn’t try to be a representative form or museum, yet a space of complete emotion where the user is left to convey their own feeling as they pass through. Unlike most memorials which highlight the names of the victims or hero’s, the “Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe” leaves a bare finish to the volumes, highlighting only the strange sensation of disappearing into a space where you feel you most uncomfortable. 

While I have never personally experienced this space, I would most certainly make an effort to visit if I were in Berlin. The idea of a space taking you into a place where you are stripped of your comfort is spot-on in my mind, for conveying the emotion which respects and resembles a dark moment in history such as the holocaust.  

Sketch: "Unknown destination"

 

3D Cutting:

"Walking Through Unadorned Field of Volumes"

The Malleable Memorial

The Holocaust Memorial in Berlin designed by Peter Eisenman has become an iconic and emotional project in the past few years.  The memorial was completed in December of 2004 and was dedicated in May of 2005. Thousands of concrete slabs span a massive area of 19,000 square meters and are placed in an organized grid pattern.  

Although I have not personally visited this site yet, it looks as if the space is extremely dynamic in that it changes based on the time of day, season, weather conditions, sunlight, etc.  In addition to these aesthetic changes, the change in scale is also very intriguing. My analyses include two different views of the memorial: one from an aerial perspective and another from the human experience.  From the aerial view, the space takes on a rippling, textured skin effect that is more seamless.  From the scale of the average person, the blocks seem more massive and the pattern more maze-like.  It is interesting how malleable this space is based on aspects like scale. 

Textured skin from birds-eye

Detail of texture

VERSUS:

Human experience

Peter Eisenman-- Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe- Peter Eisenman

The first thing I noticed about the memorial located in Berlin was the ratio solid to voids.  The memorial appears very sterile and clean, while representing such an important topic in the history of Europe.  The sterility of the memorial left me with a frightened and somber feeling.  The intensity of the large concrete blocks successfully conveys the severity of the crime against the Jewish population. 

I also appreciated the design which incorporates a variety of heights in addition to a sloping plane.  The variety in elevation creates even more interest and, in my opinion, better represents the individuals that were killed as opposed to a mass. 

Many have been opposed to the design of the memorial in addition to the focus on only Jewish people. While I would not want to "hang out" in the memorial every day, it respects the people and creates the perfect atmosphere to seriously consider the crimes of the past. 

My cuttings below focused on the strong grid of the design.  the 1:1 ratio is very apparent in the memorial.  I studied the void in comparison to the raised concrete structures resulting in the forms below. 

plan view of grid system in memorial

comparison between block structures and the voids that they create

intense linear alignment of memorial

slight topographic change on site

Emotive and Symbolic Spaces

By Abbie Gentry

The architecture of Berlin, Germany, has transformed greatly in the past century. Monumentality, which acted as a physical representation of Germany’s political dominance and leadership within the world, led to partial obliteration by the Great War. This then opened doors for reconstruction, renovation, and reconsolidation of its damaged past to a brighter, more peaceful future. However, there are still emotional scars that will take a long time to heal. Berlin’s emotional history, where pride, power, prejudice, and pain coexisted, can be expressed through architecture that can have a profound impact upon visitors. Two architects in particular, Daniel Libeskind and Peter Eisenman, strove to design in a way that portrayed the anguish and dehumanization that were felt by, and to honor, the victims of World War II.

Because of his Polish and Jewish heritage, Daniel Libeskind felt a strong connection to those who had suffered from Nazi oppression. When he designed the Jüdisches Museum in 1998, he aimed to create a space that was emotionally stirring and extremely metaphorical. More specifically, he “wanted to express the feelings of absence, emptiness, and invisibility” (Kroll). Symbolism is manifested through every detail, beginning with the zigzag shape of the building, which is arranged to create an abstraction of the Star of David (Krull). Its zinc façade displays thin lines of windows that slash through the building in a violent and seemingly random manner but are not, however, without reason. The contours are derived from the relationship of “addresses of prominent Jewish and German citizens on a map of pre-war Berlin” (Lenhardt). These connections form “an “irrational and invisible matrix on which he based the language of form, geometry and shape of the building” (Lenhardt). Within the museum, there are three main axes for visitors to choose a path: the Axis of Continuity, the Axis of Emigration, and the Axis of the Holocaust. The first axis represents the history of Berlin and the continuum of time. The second comprises of an increasingly tight and enclosing staircase that leads to the Garden of Exile. The garden was designed to disorient visitors so that they can understand the how lost those cast out of Germany felt. The last axis is a dead-end, a disturbingly accurate metaphor for the lives that lost (Lenhardt). Furthermore, five deep Voids occur throughout the building to represent how empty, hopeless, and lost in despair the victims felt during the Holocaust. They feature “concrete walls [that] add a cold, overwhelming atmosphere to the space where the only light emanates from a small slit at the top of the space” (Kroll). The building in its entirety is psychologically unsettling. Its sharp angles, voids, and darkness, all of which allude to the horrors and cruelty endured during the Holocaust, invoke a keen sense of sadness and empathy. I can only imagine how incredibly moved one would feel to personally experience the building because simply viewing photographs makes me cringe.

Peter Eisenman also sought to illustrate the abhorrent narrative of the Holocaust in his Memorial to the Murdered Jews in Europe. On a large scale, the memorial is symbolic because its “grid… can be read as both an extension of the streets that surround the site and an unnerving evocation of the rigid discipline and bureaucratic order that kept the killing machine grinding along” (Ouroussoff). A graveyard of rectangular masses, the site is comprised of “ 2,711 pillars, planted close together in undulating waves, [that] represent the 6 million murdered Jews” (Quigley). Visitors experience a range of emotions while traveling through the monument. They may walk in between the rows and sit on the lower blocks that lay on the perimeters. However, when one wanders further into the maze, the blocks grow taller and soon tower far above the human scale where tallest blocks are 4.7 meters high and block all views of the cityscape and vegetation (Quigley). This severance from the city creates feelings of confinement, insignificance, and loneliness that echo the emotional experiences of those who were persecuted during the World Wars. One of Eisenman’s key concept was to “speak to one of the Holocaust's most tragic lessons: the ability of human beings to numb themselves to all sorts of suffering - a feeling that only intensifies as you descend into the site” (Ouroussoff). Furthermore, he wanted the memorial to be just that, memorable. He did not “want people to weep and then walk away with a clear conscience” but to remember and reflect on the reality of what occurred only a few decades past. It speaks to “those who looked the other way, [those who] continued with their work, [those who] refused to bear witness,” and especially those who allowed themselves to become numbed and apathetic to the truth of the situation (Ouroussoff).

These buildings have begun to pave the way to allow Germany to move on from its guilt for its involvement in the World Wars without disrespecting or forgetting those who lost their lives in the great tragedy. It acts as an educational resource and is, and will continue to be, successful because of its powerful symbolism and strong, psychological effects on the human spirit. 

Sources Cited

Kroll, Andrew. “AD Classics: Jewish Museum, Berlin/Daniel Libeskind.” ArchDaily.  25 November 2010. Web. 01 September 2012. <http://www.archdaily.com/91273/ad-classics-jewish-museum-berlin-daniel-libeskind/>

Lenhardt, Maja, Lubrich, Naomi, and Tesche, Doreen. “The Libeskind Building.” Stiftung Jüdisches Museum Berlin. Web. 31 August 2012.

<http://www.jmberlin.de/main/EN/04-About-The-Museum/01-Architecture/01-libeskind-Building.php>

Ouroussoff, Nicolai. “A Forest of Pillars, Recalling the Unimaginable.” The New York Times. 9 May 2005. Web. 31 August 2012. <http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/09/arts/design/09holo.html?pagewanted=all>

Quigley, Sarah. “Holocaust Memorial: Architect Peter Eisenman, Berlin 2005.” The Polynational War Memorial. 21 September 2005. Web. 1 September 2012. <http://www.war-memorial.net/Holocaust-Memorial--Architect-Peter-Eisenman,-Berlin-2005-2.66>

Beneath the Surface

By: Emma Lyne Pouch

Today, Berlin is known as the central figure in the new modern identity of European architecture. The city has experienced a transformation from the Nazi architecture of the 1930s to a hyper modernist style shown by Daniel Libeskind’s Jewish Museum. The pivotal point in this new movement towards modernism was Mies van der Rohe’s design for the modern art gallery in Berlin known as the Neue Nationalgalerie. With this project he discovered an element of architecture that would be an inspiration for other architects and their future designs in Berlin.

            The Neue Nationalgalerie’s most recognizable aesthetic conception is the steel grid roof with the glass box below. This look is powerful and expressive yet the pure geometry and transparent space leaves you with a tranquil feel. The smooth floors and open plan create space beyond boundaries as the light reflects off the polished floors. This statement in the design is what we associate with the building yet this level doesn’t even serve the main function of an art gallery. The art is all stored below ground with only a few pieces rotating on display in this glass space to give an indication of what is below and prepares the viewer for the experience. We are forced to go deeper to discover the substance of the place. What Mies van der Rohe didn’t know as the time was that is idea of going deeper would be carried into the more modern future of Berlin’s architecture.

Daniel Libeskind is the first example of using the idea of going beneath the surface in the Jewish Museum. The entire project is filled with symbolism and well thought out representation to create different suggestions and experiences for the people. From the outside we see an 18th century courthouse next to Libeskind’s modern design with no visible connection from the surface. Thus, a visitor must enter through the old courthouse and experience the underground entrance to the new building as a way to emotionally pull them into and prepare them for the experience, just the opposite of Mies van der Rohe’s art gallery going from above to below. In both scenarios we find that this change in levels can affect the experience of the visitor. If we look into these projects further we see they also use the light to enhance this change. At the Neue Nationalgalerie a visitor would go from a space letting in all light to a reserved, closed off space with soft overhead lighting. At the Jewish Museum, Libeskind carefully considered the shapes and spaces through which the light comes through as it leads the eye to voids that are not accessible. This gives the sense of the heavy history of the missing Jews and the personal stories of the people. At the end of the journey the visitor will once again be outside in natural light as a contrast to the restricted areas within the building.

In relation to these pieces of architecture in Berlin is the Holocaust Memorial designed by Peter Eisenman. He uses 2,700 concrete block structures all at different levels to fabricate an uncomfortable feel that is only further intensified by the way the light shines through the rows of blocks. An interesting element of this monument is that most of the blocks are below street level and then even beneath them is the “place of information” which resembles a small museum to list the names of those who died.

It’s this reoccurring element of going below that I find most intriguing. I often associate a great building by its height, showing power and making it stand out but these important structures head us in a different direction. They bring about this sense of emotion, a heaviness that makes you stop and think and take in your surroundings on a deeper level that you hadn’t originally prepared for. The architects’ use of light in these particular situations enriches the experience and leaves you with a lasting impression. That is what we should aim for in our own designs. Not something that gives a false sense of power from it’s substantial height but a piece that makes you go deeper, maybe not literally but figuratively. Make the visitors stop and think and remember the space. That is a successful building.

The Process

By Caroline Smith

The Memorial to The Murdered Jews, designed by Peter Eisenman is a controversial piece, built in the heart of the setting of the very crime that it represents.  The 2500 granite stones stand to remember those lost during the Holocaust in Berlin.

I had the opportunity to visit the monument recently where I was impressed by the ­­­solitude of the memorial. From the outer, shallower parts of the monument, crowds gather for pictures, picnics, and a place to hang out. It seems as if the power of what the monument represents is overlooked and disregarded, presenting itself  almost as a disappointment in regards to the peacefulness of a memorial .  However as you move into the narrow spaces, the concrete blocks grow taller and taller, restricting vision and sound to create an element of solitude. In this way the architecture is telling a story that can not be otherwise told. Each intersection of paths creates an opportunity to collide with someone in the other direction, so attentiveness increases as you move through the space. Now you are alone in silence, but constantly aware, and therefore able to experience the journey of those who inspired the story.  All connection to the city is lost as you wander through the intimidating, cold stone, allowing you to feel how a Jew might have felt during this time. The experience can be much more powerful than ­pictures or words about the holocaust as the journey becomes personal.

            Each block is a different height, with a different angle set on top. While understanding the effect it had on my emotions, I wondered if there was a pattern or system that Eisenman used to develop each height and angle.  What I found was that Eisenman used a process called Deconstructivism. He decomposed a basic object into its primary parts, the square granite blocks, then subjected them to a series of analytic movements and geometric transformations by subtly changing their heights and angles. These movements are a product of the surroundings, like the slope of the ground, and the views of the city from within the structure. This technique allows you to appreciate not only the design, but the process itself.

            In an interview with Eisenman he admits  “You pray and pray for such accidental results, because you really don't know what the finished product will be like. For example I didn't realize that the sound would be so muted inside. You don't hear anything but the sound of your footsteps.”  Eisenman’s process is very important to understand as a student of architecture because the effect is something that could never be generated from one single idea. Often times when I am presenting a project I have an immediate idea in my head of what it will look like in the end. If this was the only part of the process, the meaning would shallow. The process through diagramming and breaking everything down into its simplest form, like Deconstructivism, allows an idea to branch and grow into something much more powerful; architecture that can tell a story that might not otherwise  ever be told.