I’m a fan of this strangely megalithic museum and cultural center made from a series of concrete shells, colored white with crushed marble, proposed for the Czech city of Olomouc.
According to the designers, Šépka Architekti, the project “attempts to draw inspiration from both… a small scale of mediaeval subdivision of land on the one hand and the large scale of palaces, ecclesiastical and military buildings of the Předhradí beginning here on the other.”
The museum is divided into five apparently separate but linked buildings; this is due to “the necessary separation of the individual functions of the exhibition halls, library, entry hall or bookshop and refreshments,” a “necessary separation” that also generates a convenient spatial identity for the overall project.
One of the coolest things about the design, though, is what Šépka Architekti call their “house in a house” idea, inspired by access to indirect sunlight: “Even in the cases when an upper floor is inserted in an individual building, daylight is ensured on the lower floor through placement of a smaller structure. We thus approach the topic of a ‘house in a house’, which ensures favourable conditions for the the display of exhibits on the walls while providing light from above on both floors.”
You can see the formal implications of this in the below image, where a massive, seemingly hovering trapezoid acts both as another, elevated room for gallery use and as a massive, light-filtering device for the skylights further above.
It’s a mass that casts shadows inside the building.
Provided the exterior concrete ages well, the museum’s fivefold street presence—briefly stepping back at one point to form a public plaza—is actually pretty stunning. It manages to allude to design languages as diverse as Neo-Brutalism, the Romanesque, a kind of Tatooine Moderne, and computer harddrive casings (although I’m reminded of Owen Hatherley’s recent quip about “a modernised classicism, monumental yet free in details, that usually gets subsumed under the meaningless retrospective coinage ‘art deco'”—here, we might say, “modern geometries, imposing in size, built from concrete, and thus subsumed under the meaningless retrospective coinage ‘Neo-Brutalism'”).
The results are quite beautiful in profile, even when simply rising up behind the walls of neighboring buildings.
In any case, the interior volumes also lend themselves well to defining an overall spatial experience, even while departing from one another just enough to keep each bay or gallery distinct.
As mentioned earlier, that interior is a mix of art galleries, a library, a bookshop/cafe, performance spaces, and, oddly enough, as if Photoshopped in simply to prove a point, a basketball court. Note that the stadium seating visible in many of these images has been mounted on rails for ease of rearrangement.
In plan, it’s interesting to remember that the separate units of the building here were generated from what Šépka Architekti referred to as the “small scale of mediaeval subdivision of land.” In other words, the buildings take their formal cue—at least abstractly—from ancient real estate divisions on the ground in Olomouc, not from some overzealous application of the architects’ own stylized form of site analysis.
The complete building, seen in slices:
Further, the “small scale of mediaeval subdivision of land” that I’ve mentioned three times now also means that what could very easily be an imposing, alien monolith made from smooth white concrete, stuck irresponsibly in the center of the city, actually manages to be appropriate in scale.
The building hasn’t been constructed, of course, and we have no real idea how the concrete will age; but I was struck by the images from the instant I saw them, flipping through a back issue of a10 yesterday afternoon.
Check out more images courtesy of Šépka Architekti.