Without Reconstruction, With Respect
The tenement building stands at a crossroads, where the street slows down and more light appears. The facade is bright, the windows larger than in neighboring buildings, the roof flat, without ornaments. Nothing shouts about the past, but nothing pretends it wasn’t there either. This is a building that has gone through change – calmly, without the gesture of reconstruction, but with a clear intention: to endure, but differently.
Contemporary modernization of old tenement buildings rarely involves restoring the original state. More often, it’s an attempt to find balance between what was and what should be. It’s not about recreating details, but understanding what still works in the building, what requires reinterpretation, and what can be let go. It’s a process full of choices – sometimes difficult, sometimes obvious only in hindsight.
Reason for Change
The tenement was over a hundred years old when the decision for major renovation came. It wasn’t a ruin – rather a tired building, with visible traces of makeshift repairs, additions, and adaptations that had layered on top of each other for decades without a common plan. The apartments were cramped, dark, divided into small rooms. Some units stood empty because they didn’t meet contemporary standards. The owners faced a question: demolish and build from scratch, or try to preserve what still made sense.
They chose the latter. Not from sentiment, but from the conviction that the building’s structure – its location, proportions, relationship with the street – still held value. But for it to function going forward, it had to change. Not into a historical costume, but into a form that would allow it to operate for decades to come.
This decision required a different kind of courage than building a new house. Here, there was no blank slate for design. They had to listen to the building, recognize what was permanent and what was incidental. And make choices based on that.
What Stayed, What Left
The first step was understanding what constitutes the building’s essence and what was merely an accumulation of time. The masonry structure proved solid – the load-bearing walls could remain. The stairwell layout also made sense, though it required widening and better lighting. However, the internal apartment divisions, suspended ceilings from the seventies, old installations – all of this could go.
The architects opted for radical simplification of the interiors. Most partition walls were removed, floor slabs were exposed, mezzanines and passages that had evolved chaotically over the years were eliminated. The apartments became larger, but most importantly – more legible. Space breathes, light penetrates deeper, room proportions began to harmonize with ceiling heights.
This wasn’t a brutal intervention, though. The rhythm of street-facing windows was preserved, along with the original staircase with its stone steps and a section of decorative balustrade. These elements didn’t require reconstruction – they were simply durable and well-designed enough to stay. Their presence gives the building continuity without dominating the new solutions.
Materials in Dialogue
New elements – steel beams, glazing, smooth plaster – don’t attempt to imitate the old. They’re contemporary in form but chosen with a sense of scale. They don’t compete with brick and stone, rather coexist with them. The steel is matte, the glass transparent but not glossy. All this ensures the new enters the old without aggression, yet with clear intent: I’m here because the building needed it.
The Roof as a Turning Point
One of the key moments in the renovation was the decision about the roof. The original roof was steep, covered with tiles, with several dormers added at different times. The structure was in poor condition, and the attic was unsuitable for living. It could have been reconstructed in its original form, but that would have meant giving up the opportunity to gain additional living space.
The architects proposed a different solution: a flat roof, slightly set back from the facade line, with terraces and glazing. It was a bold decision, as it changed the building’s silhouette. The tenement became visually lower, more horizontal, calmer. But it gained something essential – light.
The new roof allowed for the creation of apartments on the top floor that were previously impossible to use. Large roof glazing brings light into the interiors, and terraces open up views of the city. This is not a reconstruction – it’s a reinterpretation. The roof ceased to be merely a covering; it became part of the architecture that shapes how people live in the building.
This change also affected the tenement’s relationship with the street. The building doesn’t dominate its neighbors or try to be taller or more ornate. It stands quietly in the row, but its new form signals that it has undergone a transformation – conscious, deliberate, without nostalgia.
Life After the Change
Today the tenement is fully occupied. The apartments have a different rhythm than before – they’re open, bright, functional. Residents talk about how their day has changed: more light in the morning, quiet in the evening, the ability to step out onto a terrace instead of going down to the courtyard. These are subtle shifts, but they shape daily life.
The building hasn’t lost its identity. It’s still a tenement – with thick walls, high ceilings, solid construction. But it’s no longer a museum piece. It’s a place where you can live in the present, without compromising on comfort, yet with a sense of continuity.
The relationship with the neighborhood has changed too. The tenement is no longer a building requiring pity or special protection. It’s an equal element of the street – perhaps even more open, since the ground-floor glazing lets you see inside, and the roof terraces connect residents to the city in a new way.
Respect Without Reconstruction
This tenement’s modernization shows that a building’s second life doesn’t have to mean returning to the past. You can honor history without freezing it in museum form. You can preserve what’s enduring and add what’s needed – without pretending one matters more than the other.
This approach requires maturity – from both architects and owners. You must accept that not everything can be preserved, and not everything is worth recreating. But you also need to recognize what makes a building’s essence, and what’s just an accidental patina of time.
The tenement at the crossroads isn’t a manifesto or a model to follow. It’s an example that you can think about old buildings differently – not as a problem to solve, but as a resource that still has something to offer. All it takes is the courage to let it change.
