House #39 on Tenor Masini is a bit like the neighborhood of Sants itself. It has not been ignored nor has it really been acknowledged. It has coats of plaster over layers of wallpaper. The change in times, people, and environment has occurred in this building in the same manner as it has in the neighborhood: without cognizance. When a new owner moved in, a coat of plaster was applied, a ceiling hung, a kitchen installed. It’s hard to find traces of anything that has been removed. People who have occupied this flat seem to have either accepted the surfaces before them, and left them untouched, or plastered over them as a quick fix. Now as we, a fresh wave of occupants, begin familiarizing ourselves with this house by open- ing doors, windows, ceilings, walls, and floors, we are discovering lives that have been buried under the musty smell for almost 150 years. Beyond the false ceiling are large wooden beams that span the entire width of the build- ing. Between the beams is a wallpaper from the 1930s. Behind the wallpaper is masonry vaulting that supports the floor above. Hidden in walls are two large masonry arches: one which serv|es as the front entrance, another as the rear exit. Beyond the back door and the darkness of the interior is a large, sunny courtyard overgrown with weeds, dandilions, hibiscus and lemon trees. The walls of the courtyard were originally built with brick, then extended with stone, later filled in with con - crete and covered at some point with chain link. Through the jungle that is the courtyard is a small outbuilding with wooden beams that sag so low, they almost touch the empty chicken cages left over by the last owner. How can we work with elements that have been disregarded so long? How do we deter- mine what is of value and worth recognizing? How do we interject new ideas in a place that already conceals so many old ones? Perhaps the answer lies in the act of surfacing layers, both new and old, that exist in this project. Old planes will be removed until older planes are revealed. We will peel away history layer by layer until we find a reason to stop. We will learn about the faces that preceeded us and consider those that will follow. Then, and only
then, will we respond with new ideologies. New materials will be inserted in a manner such that old materials are reused. New sur- faces will be introduced so that older surfaces will be recognized. New experiences will be inserted in order for older experiences to be understood. The next group of tenants who will live in this building will do so with an understanding of the surfaces that came before and those that will come after. And maybe with that understanding they will become empowered to bring some of these surfaces out onto the street and eventually into the neighborhood. For years Sants has been thought of as a neighborhood from the outside in. But now there exists a possibility to regard this neighborhood from the inside out.
s ants is not the neighborhood that comes to mind when we think of Barcelona. It is not the home of modernista architecture as in the Eixample nor does it vibrate with public space as does the Barri Gotic. In fact, Sants is not considered to be one of the desir- able neighborhoods in which to live or work. As we turn onto Tenor Masini Street, this is immediately apparent in the first person we see on the street: in the clothes she wears, in the way she walks, in the places she meets neighbors. She slowly strolls into a café, orders a coffee and a slightly stale croissant. At one time, Sants used to be one of several autonomous villages on the periphery of Bar- celona. While other villages like Sarria were housing the upper crust of society in elaborate mansions, Sants was the humble home of many working class Catalans. When other towns like Gracia were harboring bohemian thinkers and artists, Sants was the place of local artisans and craftsmen producing everyday objects with wood, metal, and glass. Eventually all of these villages became incorporated into the modern metropolis of Barcelona. And what once was considered a village came to be regarded as a neighborhood. These neighborhoods merged to create a city with many social, economic, architectural and urbanistic surfaces. Some of these surfaces were carefully maintained; sev- eral were renovated and brought back to life; others were simply plastered over. Over time, Sants has received coats and coats of plaster. People, buildings, cafes, houses, industries have been layered on top of whatever may have existed underneath, without much regard for past, present or future. There was no concern for the older surfaces that existed and even less for the new surfaces coming in.
letter from barcelona — On the surface
Aniket Shahane
Aniket Shahane is an architect in New Haven, Connecti- cut and has taught architectural design at the Wentworth Institute of Technology in Boston and the Rhode Island School of Design in Providence. He is currently pursuing a Master’s degree at Yale University.
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