It is perhaps ironic that the architectural identity of many cities was born out of disaster. Take the proliferation of Art Deco architecture in Napier, New Zealand, born out of the 1931 earthquake or the postwar architecture in European cities such as Berlin, the resulting architectural character is defining. Miami's characteristic Art Deco 1920s architecture was also made possible after a hurricane destroyed the city.
I was unaware until I planned my travels this year, that disaster also struck Skopje, the capital of Macedonia in 1963 when an earthquake hit, killing 2000 people and destroying more than half the buildings of what was previously an ancient city. There are still remnants of the past such as the fortress and orthodox churches and mosques, but most buildings were gone. It was in 1965, that an international competition to redesign the city was held, the winner being Japanese architect Kenzo Tange. It is no surprise then, that Tange was a big fan of the French-Swiss Modernist, Le Corbusier, renowned for designing modernist icons such as Unité d'Habitation in Marseille, that I was coincidentally visiting almost this time last year.
I am unsure as to why I have such as love of Brutalism; we are a cult group of fans, which makes travel at times difficult – few travel guides mention Brutalist buildings amongst the ‘must see’ sites, but I think this makes it all the more challenging and fun. Today I searched for the epitome of Brutalism the central post office, without any reference and failing internet. I had remembered glancing it from the bus when arriving from Ohrid yesterday so I knew it was in the 'centar' somewhere. This made the discovery like gold for me, and the few passers-by must have wondered what the attraction was as I frenziedly snapped it with my Iphone6 from various angles.
Of course, a trip to a large city isn’t complete without visiting some of the other sites, so, as an art educator I sought the Museum of Contemporary Art, a 45 minute walk from my Airbnb as first stop. After ascending a steep hill, and circumnavigating the large, concrete, graffitied building, my hopes were dashed when I discovered that it was actually closed, due to exhibition installations. Not all was lost however, as only from this hilltop I took in panoramic views of the diversity of architecture, the blending of past and present, new development opposed with obsolescence. Although the scorching sun was hitting the 30s, in the distance there was visible snow on the hilltop.
With a plethora of other museums to attempt, I chose the nearby Museum of the Republic of Macedonia. Always distracted, on the way, I passed a mosque, and witnessed the customary washing of feet before prayer in the forecourt; a while later, and partway through my museum visit I was struck by the strange sound of loud music in the near empty building; this was followed by what I realised was the call to prayer. Despite being an atheist, I found this melodic sound and singing moving, captivating, and worthy of tears. I could sense the silence outside and felt grateful that I was able to take part in the pure enjoyment of the sound as a guest to this city. After the museum visit, I headed back to the bazaar region, just in time to witness all the men to return to work, shutters on businesses vigorously sliding up, hands being shaken, greetings made, a fully social experience. So, I am sorry, Richard Dawkins, but I disagree with your tweet ‘Listening to the lovely bells of Winchester, one of our great medieval cathedrals. So much nicer than the aggressive-sounding “Allahu Akhbar.”’ There was nothing aggressive about the call to prayer I heard; I think Dawkins is drawing a long bow to associate such beautiful (but non-Western sounding) music and poetry with violence. Maybe, you need to listen to a greater diversity of music such as the non-linear Lisa Gerrard (Dead can Dance) or others with Eastern influences such as Philip Glass. Broaden your experiences, Dawkins; it's possible to to enjoy the spiritual in sound without losing your atheism.
The museum itself was another great example of concrete Brutalism from the outside, but, like I have experienced with numerous Eastern Europe museums, a mystery as to how to enter. Even the main doors had chains on them and only minimal signage. Thankfully, after lingering, I was met by a staff member opening the door for me, seeming grateful for a visitor. Despite spending significant time in the historical part of the museum, I am still somewhat baffled as to the history of Macedonia, but I was somewhat shocked to have learnt that many children of ‘Macedonians’ were taken from them during war time and raised in the orphanages. The didactic labels implied that this benefited the children greatly. I wonder how accurate this is. To my shock, I also learnt, beyond the museum that there are still orphanages in Skopje. I wondered how there could still be homeless children in Europe. Some of these children, taken from their parents in 1948, were forced to trek across mountains for days during the height of Greece's brutal civil war. Many of these children, now adults, stripped of their Greek citizenship and property have only been allowed to re-enter Greece, their birthplace temporarily.
Read more about these orphans, now adults: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2003/oct/17/greece
With a much more auspicious and classical facade, the Museum of the Macedonian Struggle, was surprisingly, only established in 2011. A crazy mixture of history style paintings, didactic labels, diorama style displays and mannequins, the number of wax figures in this museum must surely rival any of Madame Tussaud’s displays, only these ones were mostly of serious nature, rather than of Hollywood celebrities. Room upon room of unsmiling, seated, standing, hanging, and tortured figures depicting the history of the resistance movement from the Ottomon rule through to the declaration of independence in 1991, were paranoia inducing, especially when you are the sole visitor. Maybe, fortunately, photography was not permitted, otherwise, I would have stayed there all day.
With such a rich and complex history, it seems paradoxical that in Macedonia, the city is trying to revitalise the architecture by creating quasi-classical buildings through the Skopje 2014 Project. These building designs look old/ classical but they are not. One hopes that they will not destroy the unique concrete buildings created in the second half of the 20th century, so that Skopje can retain the nickname of Brutalist capital of the world.
