Cellulose Factory
| ||
| Cellulose Factory | |
|
Siiri Vallner | |
|
||
|
||
|
The Tallinn Cellulose Factory is a no-man’s-land and home
of limitless possibilities gradually beginning to slide into the
realm of legends, where tales of strange time warps, the subconscious
of the town and other weird, unique and unnecessary
matters are waiting for it.Compared with Riga, Helsinki or St Petersburg, Tallinn has never been a remarkable industrial city. So, the former paper and cellulose factory towering over the town seems even more majestic. The first information about a paper mill on the nearby Härjapea River originates in 1664. The river disappeared a long time ago, and there is no trace of paper production and its smell. The river was directed into the sewage system, and the sulphurous odours accompanying the industrial era paper production are hidden deep in limestone and concrete. The current dominant limestone buildings date back to 1893–1926. The building material of the edifices on the limestone klint 36 m above sea level came from the same Lasnamäe quarry. The entire Old Town of Tallinn, with its churches, town wall and residential houses, is built of the same material. The four hectares of former factory buildings (the size of the whole complex is 7 ha) are divided between several owners. So far, the northern part is still following a peaceful evolution, offering shelter to various activities, from galleries to bowling alleys. A seemingly inefficient usage of space, together with freedom and unpredictability, are the components that make us love the former factory buildings. An event space emerges, providing us with deviations in the otherwise predictably functioning urban environment. |
|
|
||
|
A lot of talk has recently focused on the radically and rapidly
reconstructed southern part, which includes the most
striking building in the whole complex – the 34 m tall boiling
house, which acquired its simple exterior forms under
the influence of 1920s functionalism. The young architects
Raivo Kotov and Andrus Kõresaar, from the KOKO office,
added six storeys to the limestone boiling house. The mighty
vertical prism is now opposed by a simple glass body with
horizontal division. The tall, and thus especially striking,
solution deserves praise because of its modesty – the moderate
superstructure emphasises the old limestone building.Even if you do not like the aesthetics of the superstructure, a convincing argument in its favour is the breathtaking views from the upper storeys. This is the only place where Tallinn seems a truly big city. Well illuminated boulevards, high-rise buildings wrapped in gentle mist, six-lane roads, landing and departing aeroplanes, old town below, the harbour and ships – this is the city you see from here. During the planning of the reconstruction, a short-sighted and silly decision was made – there are a great number of small flats. Instead, there could have been classical, lofttype, spacious and multi-purpose living areas. That kind of ‘product’ is totally missing in our property market. To reduce the space to narrow corridors and tiny residential units is unforgivable. What kind of space would have been possible is seen only in a few parts of the building, and in earlier projects. As we know, various cultural centres, an art academy, concert and theatre halls and offices have been planned here in the course of several decades. In reusing industrial buildings, it is wasteful if no space is wasted. The rooms are charming, with their delicate treatment of materials. The surface finish of the factory has been preserved as well as possible. Robust surfaces, revealing different layers, contrast with modern materials. The real flavour of the factory can be detected in two places. The corner entrance hall and wooden bunkers have been preserved nearly in their original condition and thus they convey the mystical atmosphere of the former interior. The bunkers offer quite a sight, with their bristling reinforcement and well-worn concrete. When the factory was operating, wood was transferred from concrete funnels into huge digesters, which reached through all the storeys. Wood boiled until it turned into cellulose. The round traces on the inserted ceilings give an idea of the size and location of the boilers. The high limestone walls of the boiling room only support themselves, whereas the inserted ceilings sat on concrete posts. The 80-year-old posts were reinforced with 12 cm thick concrete supports and are now holding up the six additional storeys. Despite the remarkable achievements, urban culture gourmands have no reason to rush there panting. The extensive supermarket-type parking area around the building rather spoils the general impression. The existing compact building structure has remarkable possibilities for colourful street life, so the parking arrangement is, hopefully, something temporary. The paper and cellulose buildings offered inspiration in the 1990s to many photographers. Pictures by Andrus Kõresaar, Liina Siib, Peeter Laurits, and others show unreal spatial situations touched by destruction. Quite a few generations of architects have found ideas and spatial experiences here, which is indirectly reflected in their work. What inspires today’s young people will be evident later. The end of one dream is the beginning of another. I believe that evenings and mornings above the city add excitement to many a life. The reflection on the lake of planes taking off elevates ideas. As for me, I don’t think I will climb to the bulging roof of the factory again to admire the view, because it was quite dangerous, especially with all that glazed ice. Siiri Vallner (1972), architect, works at the architectural office KAVAKAVA |
|
|
||
|
||
|
| Estonian Art 2/06 (19) | Published by the Estonian Institute 2006 | ISSN 1406-5711 (Online) | ISSN 1406-3549 (Printed version) | einst@einst.ee | tel: (372) 631 43 55 | fax: (372) 631 43 56 | |
|