Architecture and Gastronomic Triumph

Boris Podrecca (photo: Maja Bacer)

In the Prague Gallery of Jaroslav Fragner, the exhibition Architecture and Wine in Central Europe can be seen until January 26. It maps local manifestations of a global trend that connects distinctive and quality architecture with the production and promotion of wine. One of the wineries presented was designed by the prominent Slovenian-Italian architect Boris Podrecca, whom I had the opportunity to briefly speak with at the opening.

Filip Šenk: You have designed numerous diverse buildings as well as public spaces. Was designing the winery something special for you?
Boris Podrecca: Everything depends on the area where the task is to be completed. It makes a difference if you go to a place as a hired architect or as someone who is part of a certain tradition. In the latter case, you incorporate your own small personal story, your own emotions. That was indeed my case. The winery is located in the Istria region, and I grew up in Trieste. I still live in both Venice and Vienna. I move within this Central European environment and like to leave traces here. Like many others, such as the writer Claudio Magris or the excellent novelist Boris Pahor, I care about the tradition of this place. I could best describe it by saying that I don't do architecture, but archiculture. I try to be part of something, to fulfill the identity of this area with countless historical layers. It has always been on the border of the Ottoman world, the Byzantine world, and the Roman world. Here cultures meet, which is why I often say that I do archiculture rather than architecture.

Is history important for you in your work?
In some cases, yes. I have some disputes with my colleagues from the Netherlands regarding context. However, it depends on the specific site. If there are already historical layers, I stick to them. I would never build a deconstructivist explosion in Venice. That would simply not be wise in a place with such a strong identity. When I perceive a specific place, it determines the basic parameters, and I try to respond, to lead a dialogue—I work contextually.
At the same time, there are many places where I must work due to the investor, which can be destroyed or empty like the Sahara. Then I can do without history. Yes, I am generally interested in history; I prepared exhibitions of Otto Wagner and Jože Plečnik. I discovered Plečnik for the world with an exhibition at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. Naturally, I am also interested in Czech history, particularly figures such as Janák, Gočár, and Kotěra. They were great people.
Sometimes, though, it’s better to forget all this. Sometimes, you can even "kill the father" to express the ideas and spaces you carry in your head.

In Southern Europe, there’s a long tradition of wine—did you draw inspiration from history or the place for your specific design? Or the history of the place?
Careful, we cannot call it Southern Europe. For us, Southern Europe means south of Rome. I still work within the realm of personal history. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, I could take on work in Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia (by the way, I was born in Belgrade), and northern Italy. That is my home area. Sure, you could argue that I built a museum in Limoges, France; I have a large project in Naples, and I built the Slovenian pavilion at the Expo in Shanghai. But I focus primarily on Central Europe, addressing the prompts of a specific identity. In the case of the winery you’re asking about, it's the landscape of dry walls. Just stone and stone monoliths. However, they have almost completely disappeared over the last century.

Winery Brič, Slovenia (2002), photo: Miran Kambič

What does that mean in the case of the specific building of the Brič winery?
The combination of wood and stone is archaic, basic, and simple. My duty was not to create some architecture with an erotically appealing form. My duty was to create something very simple. Perhaps it is my simplest building to date. On one side, there is the product—wine—and on the other, the place. When you put them together, a certain impulse arises, a certain taste that you feel rather in your stomach. It is hard to describe in words.
It is a great place. The winery stands on a hill, on which I made several terraces. We dug up a huge amount of stone and divided it into three size groups. We even came across a spring of water. It was all really quite archaic.
I also had to act as a teacher because all the stonemasons we worked with had completely forgotten the traditional way of building dry walls. I created hundreds of meters of terraces where they learned it. It was not just a winery, but also a stonemasonry school.
The building itself is an enfilade of wooden cubes and stone walls in cascades. It is very elementary work, but it is connected to the landscape and wine.

One of the main motifs is the terrace with a viewpoint.
If you have Venice in front of your eyes, you cannot close them. I call it an echo space; the place, the area resonates within it. That can be achieved through architecture. Imagine it this way: You stand on this terrace with wine, good lamb meat, and excellent white bread; let’s say it’s a moment of gastronomic triumph. And at the same time, you are enjoying the exceptional view with your eyes.
Today we live in an age that is a kind of bridge between the industrial and telematic age. The telematic age is global. You live with your computer constantly connected and linked to the transatlantic world. Ultimately, however, you are completely alone; sociology terms it the terror of intimacy. Architecture must stimulate a holistic experience, affect all the senses. That is why we architects in this emerging telematic age must provoke emotions in people amid the all-pervasive grayness or deconstructivist chaos. To not do architecture as a brand. If you walk around Los Angeles, architecture waves its ears at you to stop and spend fifty dollars.
In Central Europe, we must care for our beautiful tradition. It is a wealth of history, nations, and religions. We are neither Atlanta nor Detroit, nor Kuala Lumpur. What gives me strength is Central Europe, and I want to preserve it.

Winery Brič, Slovenia (2002), photo: Miran Kambič

How do you perceive wine in this regard?
Wine is a hedonistic product, but consequently, through wine, you can momentarily forget all the difficult moments of life; it is a magical elixir, even priests drink it. There is a sacred and hedonistic dimension present. That is why we drink wine; we must dream.

Can an architect really play such a role in society?
There are three very important parameters. First, you must pay attention to where you work. Petrarch once said to have his eyes covered and to be taken from Siena to another city. By the smell of the place, he could tell where he was. Cities used to have characteristic scents, but that is gone today. Everywhere we have the smell of McDonald's. Back to the place. You must notice what it is like, whether it is a destroyed urban environment or a functional one, how life operates here. Second, you must of course make those who pay you happy. You have a tremendous financial responsibility. A painter, sculptor, writer, or composer doesn’t have that. Third is the hypothetical responsibility for the people who will live in your spaces, even after you are underground. If you pay attention to these three points, you are doing good work for society.

How does this reflect in dealing with the client?
I naturally do not say such things to the client. If I told him, he would think he’s paying extra for things he’s not interested in. He wants only one thing—to be happy. If I described it to him as I just did to you, every client would run away. An architect must have the strength and skill to explain the whole project very well, not to lie with silly arguments, and to offer the client new qualities of life through architecture. I had a client who was not at all interested in architecture, and by the way, he is also the builder of the Brič winery, but he soon understood what architecture can do. We built a villa on the seaside near Dubrovnik. That was a reconstruction of an older building. We also worked together on the castle he purchased. Today, his eldest daughter is studying architecture, the second one is too, and his wife has started painting. I was the cause of a tremendous revolution in this family. He is a very wealthy man who comes from this area but lives in Frankfurt. I showed him the qualities of life with his invested money that he had no clue about. That is what architecture must do.

That is quite a responsible activity, to intervene in life this way.
Yes. We do not learn this in school, but it would certainly be appropriate if the system of architectural education included teaching argumentation. You cannot just tell the client that it will ultimately be a beautiful building. You must persuade with arguments. We only have one life, and therefore it should be of high quality.

Is that why you chose architecture as your field?
I started as a sculptor. I studied under Fritz Wotruba. But I soon began to notice the space between people and the space between people and objects. Through my understanding of various spaces, I arrived at architecture. And Wotruba was not happy about that at all.

The interview appeared in Lidové noviny.