Control, pt. 2: Jüdisches Museum BerlinSUMMER 2014

Kristina YuKristina Yu

Reflections on Daniel Liebeskind’s Jewish Museum in BerlinSubject

Professor

Housing and TechnologyHousing and TechnologyCourse

In 1988, the Berlin city government held an anonymous competition for a Jewish history wing to be added to the existing Berlin museum on Lindenstraße in Kreuzberg. Daniel Libeskind's proposal involved adding an entirely separate building to the site, claiming that in order to truly honor the Jewish history in Germa-ny, a wing added on to an existing building would not suffice. Hence the creation of the Jüdisches Museum. His building was radical, a zigzag in plan whose form was derived via an abstraction of the Star of David. The jury was besotted with the striking design, which would undoubtedly generate significant media exposure.

Libeskind’s design and the jury ’s decision are indicative of a desire for “wow factor architecture” intended to stimulate urban regeneration through contrast with context. The intention therefore is to foster curiosity in the architecture in hopes of promoting an image of the city as a cultural destination, attracting tourism and investment. This outcome is known as the “Bilbao Effect,” referring to Frank Gehry ’s Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, which was credited with revitalizing a depressed urban area.

Representative of an age of mass media, the intent in “wow factor architecture” has become consequent to that which can be framed and distributed. Considering the entanglement of celebrity within the profes-sion, this architecture becomes an extension of a starchitect’s public image. The troubling result is that buildings such as these are perhaps best classified as products.

Shiny, silver and skewed, the Jüdisches Museum stands in stark contrast to the original building on site, a baroque construction from 1735 that once housed the Prussian Court of Justice. It is inaccessible from the outside; entry is by a dramatic stair that descends beneath the the original building. The conceptual itiner-ary of the Jüdisches Museum involved a narrative of Jewish history as interpreted by Libeskind, which is recounted via three primary axes: the Axis of Continuity, the Axis of Emigration and the Axis of the Holo-caust.

The Axis of Continuity is described by Libeskind as the continuation of Berlin’s history, which turns into a long staircase from which the permanent exhibitions are accessed. The staircase functions more as a spine from which to attach spaces of various heights to than an actual stair leading to somewhere, as it abruptly dead ends into a wall (oh the irony of the Axis of Continuity).

The Axis of Emigration has slanted walls and a sloping floor, intended to evoke the feeling of confusion that the Jewish population felt in emigrating to other countries. It leads to the Garden of Exile, which reiterates the feelings of disorientation of Jewish emigrants through the employment of a nausea-inducing tilted courtyard containing 49 concrete pillars.

The Axis of the Holocaust grows narrower and darker, until one reaches the Holocaust Tower, a 24 m tall concrete silo that allows only a splice of daylight to enter from above. The museum is periodically inter-rupted by voids spanning the full height of the building, the irregular shape of which renders them incapa-ble of accommodating exhibitions. Such a move allowed Libeskind to let his architecture take center stage, in case you had somehow forgot about it while travelling through the other oppressive spaces.

Control, pt. 2: Jüdisches Museum Berlin

While the intent of the Tower of the Holocaust was to create a moving space, I must admit that after having traipsed through Liebskind's theatrical experience, the space made me uncomfortable. Not the type of discomfort due to architectural intent, but the type that comes from having someone tell you how to feel and when. It was as though there was an obtrusive voice in my head, constantly interrupting my thoughts to tell me what I should be thinking and feeling.

Adjacent to the tower entrance, there is a Daniel Libeskind quote on the wall- the fact that there are quotes from the architect on the wall describing the building is another matter entirely- which begins "My architec-ture is completely open to interpretation." I found this incredibly ironic because in wielding such a heavy hand in designing an (his) experience and creating a (his) narrative, Libeskind effectually closed the door on multiple interpretations. As such, the building is overwrought and underwhelming. There is something decidedly forced about the entire thing. It shows its effort, even boasts of it. There is a contrivance to it that may attract attention but fails to accomplish the real task of holding it. It is the architecture of "wow... huh?!" rather than that of "huh... wow?!"

Aerial view; inside the Tower of the HolocaustCourtesy of Guenter Schneider; Stuart Chen Knight-Williamson