I wonder if you feel, like I do, that we are always either chasing time, or being chased by it. It can be enough to put you in a state of permanent transit—neither being here or there. We feel it sometimes with age, we are neither young or old; that life hasn’t really started and it certainly hasn’t finished. I’m fascinated with this space in time as I have often lived my life in the in-between.
In Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s The Leopard, one particular description of the protagonist stuck with me. It describes an old prince in a fictional city in Italy during the time of Italian unification and his emotions during the time of transition from multiple kingdoms and principalities to one unified country. The prince sees a new generation embracing a new world, while he is too old to participate in the change. He has lost his status. He walks around his ancestral palace—derelict and crumbling, a sign of a different time. This palace, like him, has no place in the future of Italy. This building was neither old enough to be the past, nor able to move into the future.
In Saudi Arabia we are living through the making of history—a time of transition, rapid change, exciting possibilities, towards Vision 2030. But we are not there yet, we are on a journey. We are in transit. And many beautiful houses, public buildings, government projects are like the palace described in The Leopard. They are wondering what their role is today, in a decade and beyond.
One of the things that fills me with pride about the cultural movement happening here at the moment is the preservation of historical and cultural buildings—from the Diriyah Gate development to the magical AlUla; the boutique hotel groups restoring old royal palaces to the development of JAX warehouse as an art district. Most of these projects are of very old sites, and their preservation is not up for debate. What interests me are the buildings that are not old enough to be considered ‘heritage’, nor modern enough to serve an obvious function. The architecture of the 1970s and 1980s, the architecture that is neither here nor there.
It was a time optimism, when new designs were entering Saudi Arabia—1970’s modernist factories, educational institutions, neighbourhood planning, public parks. A time of excess, wealth and monumental buildings. Buildings like the King Khalid International Airport, the Saudi Central Bank and many ministries. Those buildings represented the future of Saudi Arabia at that time, with international architects designing for this booming nation. It was the first-time modern architecture took inspiration from local architecture and a post-modernist Arabic aesthetic was born.
A wonderful example is a small building by the late architect Nabil Fanous, which housed the Saudi Holandi bank in the Diplomatic Quarter. Thankfully, the building was renovated by the Ministry of Culture and is now a cultural destination for art works.
Many of these early ‘modern era’ buildings being demolished are residential houses. They tell of a time of abundance, when families flew in international architects to design their homes. The designs were new, experimental, extravagant, and impeccably constructed and finished.
Of the many hats that I wear (designer, artist, Esquire columnist), one of the secrets I hide is that I’m a real estate developer. And I’m good at it.
As a developer I respect the need to demolish before starting a more efficient project. It’s easier and maybe even more profitable. However, our culture is craving authenticity. If we take a moment and look at the individual buildings with an open mind, possibilities begin to emerge. Yes, these structures are too big for modern families, costly to run, and in need of major refurbishment, but they are incredibly well-built and can find new lives as cultural spaces, apartments, offices, coffee shops, hotels etc. These buildings have stories built into them that the public will relate to.
Giving a second life to these buildings will make our cities a more diverse and could create places for communities to interact. Greek artist Angelo Plessas— who recently completed an artist residency in Riyadh’s JAX District—said: “physical interaction is such a luxury now.” And he has a point. Our built environment is constantly in a state of transit, with its usage able to change and evolve every few decades to better fit its purpose.
It’s time to embrace the kind-of-old along with the very old that already has a place in our hearts. For me, the current state of transit these buildings are in mirrors the state of transit that we are in. Taking care of them is taking care of us.