Ghosts in the Shell
Sometimes it happens. Gentrification
preys on small row houses that suddenly turn from outcast to highly enviable.
As a result of historical accidents in the evolution of either small or big
cities, what was once marked as socially invisible can reveal itself alluring
and eye-catching.
This is the story of one of these
places.
With its view on the Oporto river and
one of its many bridges, this little house was indeed an attractive target. At
little more than 40sqm here was a stone shell that, stripped of its prior
ghosts, could turn into a highly desirable commodity.
Amazing as its cityscape was, the
architecture of the house was poor and incomprehensible, except if considered
in pure economical terms. Its single floor seemed impossibly full with kitchen,
dining and two rooms. Openings were scarce and ungenerous. A cellar space was
no more than a half height forgotten hole.
In comes the architect, the wizard of
Oz, to do his magic and create new ghosts to replace the old ones. Even if the
crisis strides out there, enters the golden touch of property development
hypermodernity.
The place’s liveable area is magically
tripled under the very same roof: it expands upwards and downwards.
On top, a bachelor pad is born, a
spaceship for sex and sleep complete with a diving view onto the green and a
sentinel’s lookout onto the sky. Below, the ground is excavated to create
temporary rooms from which the young sons can step up onto the private
courtyard garden.
The entrance floor is totally demolished
to reveal a hidden scenario and welcome a new way of life. Here, the architect
does his thing and casts his spell: out goes Cinderella, in come the
Transformers© and what looks like the paraphernalia of new manga
heroes.
The new inner landscape thus
accommodates functional parasites that stand in a stark contrast with the shell
stripped bare.
Against the white, colourful geometric
beings seem to emerge out of nothing: an entrance box pushes forward with an
eye on things, a wormlike staircase perforates the house until it transforms
into the skylight, a petrol green caterpillar flowers from kitchen fitting onto
dining room sideboard.
These animals, let’s call them such,
rest against the back entrance wall. As everything and everyone in the house’s
middle floor they face three dissimilar apertures that have been cut down to
the floor to let in the powerful view at uneven intervals.
Inwards and outwards, the house is now
ruled by a new breed of genius loci.
Pedro Gadanho