Exploring Romanina

 

When we told our Roman friends that we had spent the afternoon in Romanina, one said "that's not even a place." That's a harsh judgment, but not entirely inaccurate. Romanina is a third-or-fourth-ring suburb of Rome, southwest of the Center and flanked on one side by via Tuscolana. It has the feel of an area, rather than a town or village. There's some commerce on the streets that course around it, but there's little to be found on the residential streets. The furniture store in the photo above is "the exception that proves the rule" (one of our favorite phrases, guaranteed to win most arguments). Despite our friends' cool response to our venture into Romanina, we came away once again appreciating what we found--the "Roman" experience.  

We parked our scooter at a McDonald's--here seen from in back--on one of the area's major thoroughfares. 

Down the street was an establishment that could have been in "beautiful downtown Burbank" (as Johnny Carson put it) or in Waco, Texas--or anywhere. The signage on the long building with a classic suburban parking lot reads "Old Wild West," and inside the structure, part of it was (in English) a "Steak House."

Across the busy street was a very Italian-looking building, whose function was impossible to determine.

Within 5 minutes we'd located the area's treasure--a long, thin, slightly curving park: Parco della Romanina. At each end, a painted arch welcomed patrons to (at that time) its parched grounds. Pine trees bent from prevailing winds.

It was mid-day and hot, and not much was happening in the park.

On one wall, a painted sign featured drawings (and names) of two women, presumably from Romanina, and the words "For all the women who struggle against the mafia(s)."

In contrast to the somewhat inviting Parco della Romanina, a small neighborhood park was overgrown to the point of being unusable--not uncommon in Rome and environs. 

We always enjoy looking at housing, including apartment buildings.

And we found an unusual single-family residence with a castle-like turret. Perhaps abandoned. Or they're just not picking up their mail.

The La Mela Hotel, not far from the western entrance to the park, had some interesting high balconies. 

We found an open (and worthy) church to explore and admire.

After combing the neighborhood for some time, we finally came across a compact shopping area. It's a relief to know you can buy stuff in Romanina. Dianne appears uninterested.

Exhausted by the richness and splendors of Romanina, we returned to McDonald's--and our scooter.  

Bill

Looking for Brutalism: Balsamo Crivelli, Serenissima, and the 544

Some time ago one of our readers--we'll call him Mr. X (if, indeed, he is a man), responded to a piece we had written on Brutalist architecture.  What set off Mr. X was our statement that "There isn't much brutalism in Rome and environs."

"WTH?" began Mr. X.  "The entire 544 ATAC bus line is nothing but Roman Brutalism.  I invite you to visit here and ride it with me.  Get off, take a look at Balsamo Crivelli and tell me the entire facility isn't classic Brutalist architecture.  La Questura headquarters at Serenissima station as well. All of post-Fascist Rome is as Brutalist as it comes. How can you have missed it?  Dear God, come see it! Rome is almost entirely Brutalist.  Look at her government architecture.  I live here!"

The 544

RST didn't ride the 544 with Mr. X, but we did, indeed, take the 544 bus from Balsamo Crivelli to Serenissima station.  Despite asking a dozen people where the Questura might be found, we never found the headquarters to which Mr. X refers, and an internet search revealed no Questura within a mile and a half.

What we did find is the subject of this post. But first a little background on Brutalism.  As used by scholars, the term Brutalism refers to an architectural movement of the mid-1950s through the 1970s. The word Brutalism derives from the French term beton brut (raw concrete), the material identified with Brutalism.  Buildings made with raw, unfinished, and uncovered concrete often have a fortress-like feel and appearance.  Then there are the "brick brutalists," who combine detailed brickwork with concrete.

So, whether you're talking about Brutalism or Brick Brutalism, you've gotta have concrete, and it has to be "raw"--that is, unfinished.  It doesn't count as Brutalist if it's covered with marble, or even if it's covered with a concrete finish, such as stucco.  There are thousands of stucco buildings in Rome, but none of them are Brutalist by the standard architectural definition.

Some of the post-1960 apartment buildings that line Viale della Serenissima.  "Brutal" perhaps--that's a matter of
taste--but not Brutalist.  

Brutalism is most often identified with government buildings, universities, shopping centers, and housing projects.  Architects have generally avoided using the term.  And, importantly for the Mr. X argument--the term has more recently become part of the popular discourse, referring (says Wikipedia) to "buildings of the late-twentieth century that are large or unpopular--as a synonym for "brutal."

To our knowledge, the only Brutalist
structure in Serenissima.

Here's the bottom line: neither Serenissima nor Balsamo Crivelli has many buildings that qualify as Brutalism by their use of raw concrete.  We found only one such building in Serenissima: curiously, a church bell tower.

And Balsamo Crivelli has one, maybe two.  Nor did we find much raw concrete on the ride between the two suburbs.

The Autostrade HQ, ahead center right.

The headquarters of the Autostrade, which lies just outside the center of Balsamo Crivelli, is
standard, government-issue late modernism, but it isn't Brutalism.

All concrete all the time.  Brutalist.  The Soviet look.

Just to the south of the Autostrade building is an apartment complex that seems to us to qualify as Brutalism.  We first saw it from the 544, again on our walk back.   









Both places have plenty of large apartment buildings, many of them without distinction, some of them downright ugly.  Most are not Brutalist, but the one on the left, above, is.

Corviale-esque in its length and sameness.  But unlike Corviale, it's not concrete.

And Serenissima has a large apartment complex made up of identical, stucco-covered buildings, one after the other, receding into the distance (below).  Not enticing, but not Brutalism.

Looks like "projects."  You might not want to live there, but it's not Brutalism.

In short, Balsamo Crivelli and Serenissima have many buildings that are "large" and "unpopular" (for Mr. X, a at least)--that is, "brutalist" with a small "b," buildings that look "brutal" (again, to Mr. X, at least). Aside: Serenissima is a generally unappealing place, but it does have a new, chic, modern bar/wine bar.

Amidst all those big apartment buildings and "projects," this
elegant coffee/wine bar.  Estro, Viale della Serenissima 67

Balsamo Crivelli is centered on a park that could be elegant, or at least attractive, were it not so overgrown.  Across the street from the park we found a building that, while perhaps not Brutalist in the classic sense, was shockingly so by the cultural definition--and has a Brutalist feature.

One of the ends of the "U"

The ends of the U-shaped building, facing the street, seem to be mostly raw concrete.  The interior of the U is leavened by the balcony railings.  But the centerpiece of the building--the mass of concrete that apparently feeds underground garages--took us by storm.

Ground level shops, now mostly abandoned, swallowed
by the concrete pit.

It's both Brutalist and brutal--one of the ugliest interior courtyards ever designed.  The architect expected that the space just above the parking area--the ground floor of the apartments--would be lined with shops.  But they're mostly gone, victims of that concrete pit below.

According to one source, Brutalist structures often express in the most obvious way "the main functions and people flows of the buildings."  That's what is happening here. From the street one can see where people live, where they are expected to shop, and--especially in this case--where they'll park.

RST would like to thank "Mr. X" for his comment; for helping us work out some of the issues; for getting us into two interesting and seldom-visited neighborhoods, both remarkably close to central Rome; and for leading us to that new wine bar.  Now if only we can find the Questura.

Bill

Giò Ponti's Rome Apartment Building

Building entryway.  Fluorescent lights at left, opened for replacement.  Note striated ceiling in contrasting whites.  You can
drive cars in here, unload, turn left down the ramp into the garage.  

Ponti's School of Mathematics, U. Rome, side view

To our knowledge, the talented and prolific Italian architect and designer Giò Ponti created only three Rome buildings.  One of them, the building that houses the School of Mathematics (1933-1935) at the University of Rome/La Sapienza, is well known, a luscious example of 1930s modernism and, fortunately, open to the public, in the sense that most university buildings are.  Another is in Prati, near RAI's headquarters.

The other, an apartment building on via Duse (corner of Piazzale delle Muse) in the upscale Parioli neighborhood in the north of the city, is both little known--we can confess now that we didn't know it existed--and, unfortunately, usually inaccessible.  People live and work there, and the building has a portiere.  We were pleased, then, when we saw Ponti's Palazzina Salvatelli (1940) listed for Open House Roma, an annual 2-day event run by the city that encourages the supervised opening of facilities normally closed to the public.

Our genial tour guide was architect Claudio Greco, who twenty years ago had taken on the task--enviable or not--of converting one of the apartments from a residence to a professional office.   Our group of about 15 saw the office he remodeled--tastefully, and with due consideration of the features of Ponti's original design.  More on that, in a moment.

Note 1940-era supports for balcony railing.  

As Greco explained, the exterior of the building was originally covered with off-white mosaic tiles. When they began to fall off in the late 1980s, endangering passers-by, they were removed, leaving the rather ordinary, traditional white facade one sees today.

Portiere's office, at left of entrance

We began our interior journey with the building's entrance--the same today as it was 75 years ago--which consists of two doors: one large sliding door (Ponti was into sliding doors) and, within that large door, a smaller door for individuals.

Ramp to garage

Although the entrance has a human dimension, it was intended for automobile access; the building's tenants could drive their vehicles inside, discharge passengers under cover, and--beyond another sliding door to the left of the fluorescent lights--with a sharp left turn onto an elegant striped ramp, proceed to a parking space below.

Flourescents, lit

The portiere's substantial office--the current portiere proudly made it known he had been in the position 27 years--is on the left as one enters (see above).  A bank of vertical fluorescent lights, which turn out for easy replacement, illuminate the area and reveal the white-on-white pattern of the ceiling, a Ponti feature. A stone bench offers a place for waiting and, to its left, a round--or is it oval?--stairway, serving two apartments per floor, beckons.

Stairway

Front door, from inside.  All original.
Note kickboard. 

Greco's alterations to the apartment were significant.  The kitchen, for example, became an office working area with a pass-through feature, and the front hallway became a waiting room for clients--nicely accomplished in Ponti style.  A new wall, one end of which intersects rather awkwardly with a Ponti arch, was constructed so that employees could pass from one office to another without intersecting with those in the waiting room.

Remodeled hallway

A hallway, while significantly redone in the changeover, retains the look and feel of Ponti's work.

Nice door handle

The interventions were tastefully accomplished, and many of Ponti's signature details remain: the wooden doors frames--set about half an inch from the adjacent walls--the elegant brass handles, the partial kick-plates at floor level, simple, dignified, glass paneled doors, the parquet floors (30 x 30 cm), a sliding door with horizontal stripes in wood and white paint.  The ceiling in what was once the living room is notable too, with a center inset of white stripes of different depths.

Office painting combines de Chirico with Picasso's "Guernica."
Note sliding, striped door at right.  Our guide--the guy who
remodeled the apartment in 1995--is at center.  

The current occupants have taken to decorating their offices with paintings that resemble and take off from those of Roman artist Giorgio de Chirico, certainly the most famous exponent of metaphysical painting (a style that most art history sources describe as existing for about a decade after 1910).  We wish they hadn't. The reference lacks the sublety of Ponti's vision, and it competes--and not well--with Ponti's design.






But it may have been irresistible.  An early photograph of Palazzina Salvatelli, below, presents the building as mysterious, even haunting, possessing a significance somehow beyond its parts, even beyond its whole. The building as essence. In a word, metaphysical.

Bill

  

Apartment Gardening, in Rome

Rome is overwhelmingly a city of apartments, rather than houses, but that doesn't stop the gardeners, who benefit from a long growing season.  Even so, this building, on Via della Marrana at Via Nocera Umbra in the Tuscolano area, is in a class by itself.  The gardening committee must run the place.  Bill

Remodeling, the Roman Way

When a Rome apartment is "ristruturatto" (restructured, remodeled), the teardown is a major event, mostly because of the materials used. Romans know nothing of drywall. Everything is plaster, cement, and marble, floor to ceiling. This means that when walls are torn down or moved, there are sledgehammers at work and noise reverberates throughout the building. If the remodeling coincides with your month-long rental, you're better off being gone all day. And where does the refuse go?
Not into dumpsters, which aren't used for construction materials, at least not for apartment-sized jobs. Instead, the rubble is placed into small, heavy-duty plastic bags, tied at the top, each weighing about 75 pounds (a guess). The bags--often dozens of them--are placed outside the apartment building and collected (we assume) by the contractor. In the photo above, taken outside our apartment in the San Paolo neighborhood, the bags have been arranged at curbside, and four of the bags have been placed in the street, presumably to reserve a parking place for someone, maybe a construction company vehicle. So, now you know.

Bill