Authenticity Instead of Decoration
The building stands on the corner, quiet and distinct. Its form is simple, proportions clear, materials almost ascetic. Nothing about it shouts, pretends, or tries to appear as something it’s not. This is a townhouse that has undergone renovation while preserving what matters most — its truth. Authenticity has replaced decoration here, and design decisions were based on eliminating excess, not adding it.
In times when renovations often lead to stylization, this building chose a different path. Instead of recreating historical details or masking contemporary elements behind a facade of nostalgia, its owners and architects committed to material and spatial honesty. This approach requires courage — because it means showing what is, rather than what might be pleasing.
Impulses for Change — When a Building Demands Truth
For decades, the townhouse accumulated layers — plasters, additions, extensions meant to “improve” it. Each era added something of its own, often without respect for the original structure. As a result, the building lost clarity. It was no longer historical or contemporary — it became a patchwork of compromises that, instead of protecting it, blurred its identity.
The new owners faced a question: what to do with this? Restore the original state? Add another layer of stylization? Or finally allow the building to be itself — with its imperfections, traces of time, and structural truth?
The choice fell on authenticity. Not as a marketing slogan, but as a design principle. This meant abandoning ornaments without structural justification, imitations pretending to be something else, details added “for beauty.” Instead — exposing the structure, organizing proportions, introducing materials that don’t pretend to be anything other than themselves.
Decisions That Transformed the Building’s Character
The key decision concerned the facade. Rather than recreating lost stuccowork or creating new elements “in period style,” the architects exposed the brick. It wasn’t perfect—cracked in places, varied in color, with visible traces of alterations. But it was authentic. And this authenticity became the building’s new value.
Windows were replaced, but not with stylized “historic” ones. Instead, they chose simple wooden frames with contemporary proportions that respect the facade’s rhythm without pretending to be from another era. The frames are narrow, the glazing larger—the building gained more light without losing its character.
Inside, they didn’t hide beams and ceilings. Wooden structural elements were exposed, cleaned, and protected. They’re not decoration—they’re load-bearing components that can now be seen and understood. This changes how residents perceive the space. The house is no longer a smoothly finished box—it’s an organism whose structure is visible and comprehensible.
The Roof as a Moment of Redefinition
The roof is where the new approach is most evident. The old structure was complicated, repeatedly patched, burdened with additions and illogical connections. The architects decided to simplify it. The new roof has cleaner geometry while respecting the original ridge line and building proportions.
They selected metal roofing—not tiles imitating old solutions, but contemporary titanium-zinc that openly declares its era. This material ages beautifully, developing a patina that integrates it into the landscape over time. It doesn’t fake the past but honors time itself.
The space under the roof, previously unusable, was reclaimed. Instead of creating a typical attic with sloped ceilings, the architects introduced skylights—simple, flat windows in the roof plane that bring light in vertically. This keeps the interior bright without compromising the proportions of the building’s form as seen from the street.
Old and New — Dialogue Without Dominance
Authenticity doesn’t mean freezing in time. It means being honest about what was and what is now. In this tenement, new elements don’t try to hide, but they don’t dominate the old ones either. They coexist.
The steel beams reinforcing the floors are visible. They weren’t plastered over or hidden behind dropped ceilings. Their raw presence contrasts with the original wooden beams, but this contrast is clear and honest. You can see where history ends and contemporary intervention begins.
In the bathroom, a section of old brick wall was preserved — unplastered, with visible traces of former installations. Next to it, modern fixtures and simple white tiles were installed. The juxtaposition is sharp, but it works. There’s no loft or industrial styling here — just a decision that the past can coexist with the present without decorative mediation.
The floors are another example of this dialogue. In the living area, original boards were preserved — wide, with visible knots and irregularities. In new rooms, polished concrete was poured — smooth, cool, contemporary. The boundary between them is clear, but not jarring. Two languages that don’t mix, but understand each other.
The Building in Its New Street Context
The tenement’s transformation also changed its relationship with its surroundings. Previously, the building was nearly invisible — obscured by trees, dirty, without clear identity. Now, revealed and organized, it has become a reference point in the block.
Its simplicity contrasts with the richly decorated neighboring tenements, but not aggressively. It shows you can be part of historic development without pretending to be history. That contemporaneity doesn’t have to mean rupture, if it’s context-aware.
The ground floor, previously closed and dark, was opened to the street. Large glazing admits light and allows views inside — not in a showy way, but naturally. The building became more present, more visually accessible, while maintaining its privacy.
Daily Life After Choosing Authenticity
The residents say the house “breathes.” Not metaphorically—literally. Exposing the structure, eliminating sealed cladding, and using natural materials have allowed humidity to self-regulate, temperature to stabilize, and air to stay fresher.
Light changes throughout the day in ways that were previously impossible. Roof skylights let in morning sun, large south-facing windows capture midday light, and by evening the stone walls release heat absorbed during the day. This isn’t the result of technology, but of thoughtful geometry and materials.
Living in such an interior requires a different mindset. You can’t hide everything behind smooth surfaces. Systems are visible, materials show their age and character, and the space isn’t “finished” in the traditional sense. But that’s precisely what creates authenticity—you’re living in a building that doesn’t pretend to be something else.
Inspiration from Approach, Not Recipe
This townhouse isn’t a template to copy. Every building has its own history, structure, and challenges. But the approach used here can inspire: instead of adding more decorative layers, consider what can be revealed. Rather than styling for an era the building never experienced, better to show its true identity.
Authenticity requires courage—it means abandoning safe, proven solutions. But it offers something beyond aesthetics: it gives the building coherence, residents a sense of place, and the city proof that modernization needn’t mean uniformity.
A building’s second life can begin with the question: what’s really here? Not: how should this look? Answering that first question leads to architecture that’s honest, enduring, and—paradoxically—more timeless than any stylization.
